My Response to Common Piracy...aw, fuck it

I give up.

I feel like I'm pretty much alone in my point of view...and so many smart folks that I respect tremendously disagree with me. It's at that point when I start saying, "Jesus Christ! No one understands this but me!!!"

Of course, when I find myself saying that I immediately start thinking, "Wait...am I the one who's wrong about this?"

It's like that old poker saying: "If you can't spot the sucker...you are the sucker."
Being wrong happens...and it's usually pretty embarrassing when it does, but this is a forum I use primarily to broadcast embarrassing things about myself (see this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, and this). I mean, I enjoy it when I'm wrong (or proved wrong), and I typically read views I disagree with before I try to digest any consenting viewpoints just to see if I am wrong about something.

I'm wrong a lot. It's rare that I broadcast my wrong-headed views (or the eventual realization that they are wrong), but when it happens, I'm fine with it.

So, am I wrong about SOPA?

I don't know. It's possible. I can't say "Yes" definitively, but I've certainly modified my stance since I first read the thing a couple of months ago. I stand by my support in general, even if the strength of that support has weakened considerably.
I came into this discussion with a lot of knowledge about online piracy -- knowledge that only a handful of people possess (I'm not bragging, it's just that this is a small community comprising the pirates, and the anti-pirates).

So I read SOPA, and it looked fine to me. Pretty good, actually. It was that magic bill that could actually address some of the piracy frustrations I've been faced with at my job, and it looked very good for my employer. It was vague at points, sure, but not more so than any other regulatory bill or law (I mean it's not a technical manual, it's legislation -- there has to be room for interpretation).

Then I started reading what people were saying about it. The law was pretty much universally reviled. It seemed to me that people immediately went looking for "abuse potential," instead of considering the "practical application" (seems everyone assumes that any law passed will be immediately abused to its fullest extent...a view I consider to be quite cynical, and I do not share).
Basically, I thought that people were just getting riled up over nothing. The fear came from a lack of knowledge about online piracy. So I attempted to educate...sharing my unique perspective as "actor," "producer," and "anti-piracy enforcement professional."

I started to notice that powerful tech companies were driving the paranoia. I found myself on the opposite side of my favorite companies (Google, Wikipedia, and Amazon have long been favorites of mine). I found myself defending some asshole Texas Republican, and disagreeing with friends and colleagues that I respect tremendously.

"Fuck," I thought. "Am I missing something?"

I examined the claims of the anti-SOPA crowd:

• SOPA overreaches.
• No due process.
• Piracy is largely the entertainment industry's fault because they failed to innovate (I hate this one -- it's blaming the victim and shitting all over an industry whose product is easier to copy and distribute than any other intellectual property out there).
• SOPA could close down many legitimate websites.
• SOPA is unconstitutional.
• The entertainment industry is making record profits, so obviously they're not being affected by piracy.
• Piracy numbers are debunked, and over-inflated.
• SOPA is censorship.
• Movie stars make too much money anyway.
• The entertainment industry doesn't want to innovate, since there's more money in the status quo.
• SOPA wouldn't fix piracy anyway, since people could just enter the IP address of the infringing site.
• Tech companies would be forced to police their users, placing a unfair financial burden on them.
• Innovation depends on the open flow of information, and SOPA would destroy that open internet, thereby destroying innovation.
• Congress is out of touch, and wrote an out of touch potentially devestating bill.
• Input from the tech industry was ignored.
• Et cetera.

I'm sure I missed some...but those are the points I recall off the top of my head.

None of them swayed me...and I have an answer for each charge...but I'm frankly tired of defending it at this point.

Like I say, I give up.

I'm not looking for support or sympathy or anything, I don't need encouragement or whatever...I'm just telling you where my head's at.

So where does this put us, now that SOPA is fucked?

A compromise bill could pass, but if it doesn't contain many of the provisions outlined in SOPA, it'll be toothless.
It's also possible that no compromise bill passes...but the populace becomes much less tolerant of piracy than it has been up to this point...and (consequently) more tolerant of piracy enforcement efforts (putting the ugly RIAA lawsuits behind us). However, after the shit went down with Megaupload today, and the response from Anonymous, I think it's unlikely.
On the other hand, the issue could be totally forgotten next week, the news cycle will turn its turny-turn, and piracy will continue as before. If this happens, either the entertainment industry comes up with the magical "innovation that pleases everyone" that can never exist (and has already been attempted by Hulu, iTunes, Netflix), or the industry starts to feel the full impact of piracy and people (like myself) start to lose jobs.

That would suck, but what can you do, right? There's no competing with internet vigilantism, and I can't convince people on my own...I'm just not eloquent enough.

Plus...fuck it. I could be just be wrong about the whole thing. There's no point in fighting any more.

Injured...

Quick update time: I've been taking Karate (technically Hapkido) lessons for the last three months.

Okay, up to date now? Good.

So today I went to my usual 6:45 PM lesson at the Team Karate Centers in Woodland Hills. I was running late, so I came in at the end of the stretching (this would prove crucial).

After a few warm-up roundhouse kicks, me and my fellow orange belts started doing some "power kick" drills with a partner. The first one was the front kick. I ripped off about ten of those without a problem. The next drill was the switch front kick, where you quickly switch your feet then kick with your off-foot.

My first kick was great. But on the second one, right after I switched my stance, someone whacked me in the back of my calf with a staff or stick or something.

I was a little irritated so I whipped around to face my attacker. No one was there.

Oh. Shit.

I took a seat on the mat. Ow. Owowowowow. First thing I thought was: Achilles tendon. I remember hearing horror stories in my football days of guys rupturing their Achilles tendons, and having it bunched up in a little ball in their heel.

I felt my Achilles. Still there. The pain was focused on the meaty part of my calf, well out of the way of my Achilles.

Speaking of pain. Yeah. It was not going away. It wasn't getting any worse, but it was kind of just this low, aching rumble. I knew I had myself a classic "bad injury."

Someone fetched some ice for me, and I sat on the mat...lamely holding the plastic bag of ice on my injured calf muscle while I tried to wrap my head around this. I've never had any kind of crippling injury before, after about 20 years of competitive sports in my youth, so this was a new thing for me. Images of emergency rooms, surgeries, pain meds, and medical bills swam through my head.

I told my Sensei that I was done for the night. He told me to take three days off and get some rest. I nodded, bid him goodnight, hobbled to my car, and threaded my way through a clogged 405 freeway.

When I got home, Google calmed me down a bit. From my good friends at Foot Education: "Calf (Gastrocnemius) muscle tears commonly occur in middle-aged recreational athletes while performing actions that require sudden changes in direction."

Recreational athlete? Yep. Middle aged. Yep. Change in direction? Uh huh. Looks like I got me a torn calf muscle. I remember when I was young and limber and invincible...ah well. Crap like this is just going to start happening to me now, I guess.

Bummer.

So, the good news is: no surgery (probably). Bad news is: crutches, pain, immobility, and a terrible inability to render parental assistance. I guess it could be worse...

The Time I was Almost on a Game Show: Part 2

If you missed part one, click on the blue underlined word, right here: here.

If you want to read part two, then just keep reading.

If you don't want to read anything, then you should probably just turn the computer off and look at the floor.

Still here?

Ah. Good.

Where the hell was I?

Oh yeah. Damn. This is probably going to be a three-parter, isn't it?

Sorry.

Um...

GET ON WITH IT!


All right. Fine.


So, I spent the good part of the week listening to country music, whenever I could tolerate it. Truth be told, this was not very often -- if you know anything about me, you know I have a pretty terrible work ethic.

At my computer, I listened to the "No. 1 Country Radio" option of the online radio CMT website. I also listened to the Los Angeles country music station when I drove anywhere in my car. What I heard on this station confirmed all of my fears about country music: I frigging hate it. I hate listening to it. I hate the precious simplicity of the lyrics. I hate the up-tempo fun songs. I hate the trite, hackneyed, horrible "serious" songs. I hate the steel guitar. I hate the preposterous, cliched, populist message of most song. I hate how they constantly rip on "technology" and "city folk" while the singers are making millions off of the Walmart loving rubes. I hate how they're so obviously lying when they're singing the verse of a "story-driven" song. I hate, hate, hate everything about country music. It sucks so much. So badly.

And if you think country music is good, then I'm sorry. You're wrong. So very wrong. Or you're confusing "old country music" with "new country music." Old country music is a totally different genre of music...and I don't really consider that "country music." For instance, here's I song I heard over and over and over and over. And over. Try to listen to this entire song without punching yourself repeatedly in the face:




Did you make it? I know I didn't. But hey, if you did, here's three points I want to make:

1) No. That didn't happen to you, liar. It never happened. You heard (or thought up) the chorus, sent it to two songwriters, then they sent you back a song that earned you a Grammy nomination for "Best Country Song."

2) If you think that message is profound you're either an alcoholic, an idiot, or an asshole.

3) Stop singing through your nose...and hey, nice job to ripping off "Down by the Riverside."


Anyhow, here's some "old country." Try to find the similarities.




Well, even if you skipped those two songs, you get the idea. Old country = charming, heart-felt, and simple. New country = soulless, corporate, simplistic, and manipulative.

But I digress (that should really be the name of this blog, shouldn't it?). The point is, I re-discovered a deep loathing that I felt for the "country music" genre, and I confirmed that my deep loathing is wholly justified.

So, back to the story. I showed up at a random office building just off of Ventura boulevard, and climbed the stairs to the "Singing Bee" corporate office. There, I saw some of the staffers from the original screening, as well as 5 other "potential contestants." They were all reasonably attractive Caucasians who were, in all likelihood, aspiring actors and/or singers like myself (I mean, they're in Los Angeles for a reason, right?).

We filled out some more paperwork, took some Polaroids, and had a quick interview with one of the interns where we had to tell "something interesting" about ourselves.

I generally hate the "something interesting" question. Firstly, I don't like talking about myself (unless it's part of a conversation). Secondly, I don't have good stories...just a long string of mediocre stories, and a razor-sharp wit (that second part is a lie).

So for me, the interview is tricky...because actors cannot be game show contestants. It ruins the whole "these are just regular folks" vibe of a game show. Game shows pull from the population of Los Angeles...and these people are generally transplants from somewhere colder, who moved to Los Angeles to become actors. If you got an honest nameplate for every contestant on a game show, I betcha' 90% would say: "So-And-So Johnson, 25, Aspiring Actor, Los Angeles."

This meant that, during my interview, I couldn't talk about acting or performing. Since that's the only really interesting thing about me, I do what I always do when backed into a corner -- I tell "half-truths."

So during my intern-interview, I happened to mention that I enjoyed ballroom dancing. It was true...kind of. I mean I took a couple of ballroom classes in Seattle and Bellingham...and I watched more episodes of "So You Think You Can Dance" than any straight man ought to admit to. But...it was vaguely interesting...as I don't look like your typical "Ballroom Dancer." I like to play on the "that balding 30 something can't possibly dance and sing" stereotype.

But my fib was good enough. I'm sure I said some other things too...but I can't remember any of them...and the fact that I can't remember any of them probably means they weren't very interesting...so...

After the "interview," we were all paid. Yep. We were each paid $50 for doing a "test run" of the game show. I thought, "This is probably all of the money I will make from this, because there is no way in hell I'm would win this if I were a contestant." At that time $50 was a lot of money for me, and quite a pleasant little surprise.

I probably spent it on groceries.

Anyway, with a fat 50 large in my wallet, we waited around a bit as a gaggle of "network executives" and "creative types" were wrangled into a conference room, where we were to play a mock round of the game.

It was here we got to meet the host of the show. Her name is Melissa Peterman, and she's a seventeen-foot-tall blond woman who was, apparently, an actress/comedienne of some renown. I'd never heard of her before, but my wife had (because she pays attention to stuff, and junk).

The conference room we were to host the show in had been hastily transformed into a stage. The same Asian guy from the first audition was sitting in the back, manning a laptop loaded with songs, and in front of him were about 20 "suits" -- producers, network people, writers, directors, who the hell knows?

One guy in the front row looked particularly disinterested (meaning he was probably the highest-paid guy in the room). I don't know if he looked up from his Blackberry the entire time.

So, remember all of that talk about listening to Country Music? Well...I did. But apparently you can't learn the lyrics of an entire genre of music over two weeks. Crazy, right?

So predictably, when the show started, I started sucking right away. The first round was a kind of an "elimination," where each person got a whack at completing the lyrics to a song. The first four people to complete a lyric moved on to the next round.

"Just get through this first stupid round," I thought to myself, "Then you can make an ass of yourself in the second round, which is oh-so endearing."

Luckily, an "oldie" came up. The guy in front of me -- a good ol' country boy, had never heard of the Monkees. Ouch. Mickey Dolenz just rolled in his grave.

The girl after him failed as well -- she was more Kanye, less Davy.

Those two had whiffed, and it was my turn.

Would you have advanced?

Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings
The six o'clock alarm would never ring
But it rings and I rise wipe the sleep out of my eyes
__________________?

DING!!!!!

Thank God. No one-and-done for the Ty-man.

After that, we got to "meet the contestants." This is where the contestants (and producers) got to see if they were actually interesting.

Ms. Peterman sidled up to me and read from her little card.

"So, Tyler. It says here you like ballroom dancing?"

"Oh yeah. I can cut a mean rug."

"Who do you dance with."

"My dear wife, we've been dancing steadily for about a year now." God I'm a terrible liar.

"That's great! Yeah, I always wanted to do that stuff, the paso adobe? What is it?"

"Pasodoble." (thank you "So You Think You Can Dance")

"Yeah, that's the one. I'm coming back to you for the commercial break, you can spin me around the floor a bit, cutie."

Oh shit. Wait, did she just call me cutie? What the hell? "Bring it on."

Then she moved to the next contestant.

"And this young lady is..."

Well, hopefully I gave those bastards enough personality to bring me on the real show. Sure, I was lying out of my ass...but I bet I could fake a pretty convincing Pasodoble if I needed to...especially if she didn't know what she was doing either.

Luckily, she didn't make out with me during the commercial break, or force me to dance. We advanced to the next round...which did not go well for me...but it was not an elimination round, so I got to stand up front for a while longer.

The object was to fill in the blanks of the lyrics to a popular song.

My turn was a song by some guy named "Kenny Chesney."

Shit.

How would you have done?

Well, me an' my lady had our first big fight,
So I _____ around 'til I saw the neon light.
A corner bar, an it just ___ _____.
So I pulled up.

Not a _____ around but the old bar keep,
Down at the end an' looking half asleep.
An he walked up, an' said : "What'll it be?"
I said: "The _____ stuff."

He didn't reach around for the whiskey;
He didn't pour me a ____.
His blue eyes kinda went _____,
He said: "You can't find that here.

Cos it's the ____ long kiss on a _____ date.
Momma's all ______ when you get home late.
And droppin' the ring in the _______ plate,
Cos your _____ are shakin' so much.
An' it's the way that she looks with the rice in her hair.
Eatin' burnt _______ the whole _____ year
An' askin' for _____ to keep her from tearin' up.
Yeah, man, that's the good stuff."

You get five points for every correct answer.

I wound up with 5 points at the end of my round...because one of the missing lyrics was from the title of the song.

Another reason to hate Kenny Chesney.

The round after that was some kind of betting round, and the group was winnowed down to two people. I don't remember how the game went exactly...but I (of course) did terrible. I ended the round with those 5 stupid points, and sat my ass out for the final round.

Once the pretend show had concluded, we all went our separate ways. I got in my car, immediately switched the channel off of the Country Music station, and drove home.

One week later I received a call. Was I available tomorrow? Because they wanted me to be on the show.

Uh oh.

And I'll tell you all about that...in Part 3 (which at this rate, should be ready a year from now).

Success?

This year's tax return was quite a shock, for a number of reasons. The first (and most important) being that, for the first time since I was a teenager, I owed money. Not just "money," but a substantial amount of money.

So I decided, after consulting with a few "entertainment biz" colleagues, to see if an "accountant" could improve my numbers at all.

I assembled all of my 2010 receipts...laboriously went through my checking account statement...and printed out about 100 pages worth of tax document information from the current and previous year. I was planning on writing off as much as I legally could.

I brought it to the accountant...who was a very unconventional, borderline slovenly older gentleman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He spent about 10 minutes looking at my assembled tax documents:

"I see that you put all of your deductions on your Schedule C."

"Yep." I guess that's the name of the document the HR Block software used.

"Makes sense. That's the only was you're going to get any money back."

He continued flipping through my documents, looking a little nervous. "So, Tyler, are you familiar with the hobby loss rule?"

"Um...no."

"Basically, it's an IRS law that says if you lose money on your business in three of five years, it's considered a hobby, not a job."

"Oh."

Awesome. So this meant I probably wasn't going to do much better on my tax return (shortly after the hobby loss discussion, he said, "I'm going to be brutally honest with you; I can't help you. I'm not going to take your money, but I suggest you just eat the cost.").

But not only that, it also meant that I'm not sure I can call myself a professional actor any more; technically. I mean, I'll still do it...because it sounds cool. but according to the IRS, I currently have a very expensive "acting hobby."

Don't worry -- you haven't stumbled upon a "Woe is me!!! I'm not famooose yet!" blog entry that every actor with a blog posts a minimum of once a year.

On the contrary...I've never wanted, nor expected fame and fortune. I mean, my goal from the moment I moved to Los Angeles was to be a "working actor." It hasn't happened yet, but that's why it's a "goal," not an "expectation." If it never happens...then so be it. I tried, like hundreds of thousands that have come before me, and I didn't quite get there. It's totally fine, and I'm prepared for it.

But ideally, of course, I'd like to be a working actor. I'm trying, sure, but I definitely could be doing more. I think that's one of the great fallacies that actors buy into -- the "I've worked my ass off, and I have nothing to show for it" whine. Not everyone works their ass off as much as they should/could/say they do. It's a lie that actors tell themselves to excuse their lack of success. Most "actors" have day jobs that consume too much of their time...or they watch television...or play video games...or take on a non-acting hobby of some kind...and time gets wasted.

Then again, only crazy people are actually thinking about how to improve their acting careers every waking hour...and crazy people are generally pretty terrible actors (in spite of what you may have heard).

Another lie actors tell themselves is: "It's just a matter of time" (I tell this lie to myself all the time, in an effort to stay positive). I mean...that's true for some people, but for a lot of people it's just another excuse for the inevitable depressing career examination. For most folks, no matter how hard they try, no matter how much effort the into it, and no matter how long they try, they're probably not going to reach the level of success they desire/deserve.

Success is a funny thing. I've been around quite a bit of success...which is what prompted this blog entry, I suppose. I've worked with two Tony winners (one also has a Pulitzer, the other owns a Peabody), an American Idol Runner-Up, six actors that are currently (or will soon be) appearing on Broadway, and countless others with Broadway credits, legitimate film and television credits, and popular voice-over credits (including the voice of Portal's GlaDOS).

If you couldn't tell, I love name dropping.

The point is (is there a point?) I've seen success happen. For the most part, when I knew these people they weren't successful working actors; they were struggling local actors who became successful through hard work, talent, perseverance, and good fortune.

And of course, success was richly deserved by each person.

Now, if I were the jealous type, I'd be pretty disheartened by all of this. "Why not me???" an annoying person might moan. But I'm not that guy (for the most part). I'm proud of all of them, and honored to have known them before they hit it big. I consider them friends, and I think they'd consider me likewise.

But what about my "career?" Personally, I don't think my time has passed, to be delusionally frank (it's just a matter of time!!!), and I don't think I'll ever give up on it. When I look back at my silly little life, even if I don't ultimately become a success in the entertainment industry, I can always be proud of the fact that I moved to Los Angeles, tried to achieve all of my dreams, and came pretty damn close.

So I'll keep trying...because nothing's stopping me, really. There will be some months where I'm working very hard, and doing a lot. There will be other months where I'm just sorta' sitting on my ass, doing nothing. But I don't see myself ever really stopping. If it's a job, or just a hobby, I don't think I'll ever stop acting.

And if success happens; cool. If not...well damn; at least I tried.

The Time I was Almost on a Game Show: Part 1

When I moved to L.A., I had a fool-proof plan.

I was going to audition for "every game show" out there. And I was going to get on those game shows, because I think I'm smart (I'm not), and people generally like me (they don't). If I could just get on one...one tiny little show, I'd be set (to the tune of, at least, several thousand dollars).

It was foolproof.

And I got close a couple of times. I auditioned for "Are you Smarter than a 5th Grader." Apparently, I'm not (fifth graders know that "yellow" plus "red" equals "orange," not "purple").

I also tried out for the show "Don't Forget the Lyrics." Apparently, my audition was pretty damn forgettable (they made fun of me for wanting to give most of my money away to my family...jerks).

However, eventually I did appear on a game show.

Well, kinda'.

I'll explain.

A little over a year ago I saw a "audition notice" for a show called "The Singing Bee." I was all, "Hey, I can sing! And I frigging LOVE bees!" So, I sent in my details, and promptly forgot about it.

Lo and behold, a week later, some casting intern wrote back, asking me if I'd be available to come and audition...at beautiful CBS Radford Studios (a place I'd been, probably, about a dozen times already, for background work).

So I show up, sign in, and take a seat in a vast "underground cafeteria-looking room." It was filled with tables and chairs -- in front of each chair was a nice little "release form," and a free pen (free-ish). I took a seat next to a scary-looking young couple who smelled like cigarettes, gasoline fumes, and meth lab.

It was here that I found out that the show was being produced by the Country Music Channel, and that the song-mix was going to be about 60% country, 40% everything else.


Shit.


I hate country music.


Oh well. I'll gave it the ol' "sporting try." I figured, maybe there'd be a lot of Johnny Cash and Dixie Chicks.

Did I say "Dixie Chicks?" I meant Merle Haggard. Yeah.

So, the concept of the show was basically "Don't Forget the Lyrics," except, instead of Wayne Brady, there was some woman from the show Reba. And instead of "good music," there was a bunch of crappy country music.

My task was to take a "lyrics test." This is...exactly what you think it is. A bunch of song lyrics, with "blanks" to be filled in.

I did my level best, and handed over my sheet of paper. There were, maybe, about 90 people in this first room...and I thought that maybe a third of them were "country music fans," so that was the third that was going to be kept...while I'd be given a "better luck next time" by the 20-somethings who seemed to be in charge of casting the show.

True to their word, there was a lot of "good music" mixed in with the country...and a lot of the country songs were things that I'd heard. But there was also a crap-ton of wild guessing.

After everyone had completed the test, we sat around as the the tests were graded. They read off the list of those who'd be advancing to the next round of the interview process (a group of 24).

They started reading the names...and...well, because you're reading this blog entry, you probably guessed that I was one of those 24 names.

Cool.

What now?

Well, I'll tell you.

They split us into three groups (of 8) for a camera test, where we'd get to play a pared-down version of the show. I was in group #1, which was nice, because I was hungry...and going first meant I could get something to eat sooner.

The casting folks took us into another room, lined us up against the wall, and executed each of us with a single bullet to the back of the head.

Wait, whoops. Sorry. Let me try that again. They lined us up against a wall and asked us a series of questions, drawing information from one of the sheets that we filled out earlier. That's right. Sorry, I got confused.

My turn came up.

"Hi, what's your name?"

"Tyler Rhoades."

"And Tyler, do you listen to country music?"

"All the time."

"Who is your favorite country singer?"

Pause.

"Oh, y'know. Johnny Cash. He's incredible."

"It says here that you're a Paula Abdul fan?"

"Yes. I frigging love Paula Abdul." (I don't, but I thought it'd be funny)

"Could we just get you to say that directly into the camera?" Apparently they'd been talking over the part where I said that...so they made me dance like a monkey. I was happy to oblige.

"I...frigging....love....Paula....Abdul."

"What do you like about her?"

Pause.

"I had her poster on the wall," (another lie). "It was the one where she was wearing a kind of leather cap, and..." (I imitated the imaginary poster, to the delight of the interviewers) "Just all the metal and leather. It was a pretty amazing poster."

"And can you tell us one interesting thing about you?"

Pause.

"I've been using Rogaine for the last three years, and my scalp has never been more luscious and full than it is now."

Laughter. Couldn't tell if it was polite or not. But...laughter is laughter, right? Self-deprecation FTW.

Anyways, they worked their way down the line, interviewing those other poor saps, and then the "game show" part of the interview started.

They had a laptop set up, preloaded with songs. They'd play a bit of the song, then stop it. If you knew the lyrics, you'd raise your hand. They'd call on you. Then you'd step forward and "sing the hell out of the missing lyrics," whether you were accurate or not. Because they reminded us, you don't have to be a great singer, just really animated and interesting.

If you were right, they'd ding a bell. If you were wrong, they'd push the button on a buzzer.

The game started. Nobody scored on the first song. Probably just early jitters. I didn't even try.

Next song started:

My heroes had the heart
To lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember
Is thinking, I want to be like them...

Uh oh. Gnarles Barkley. Crap. I can't understand the guy most of the time, but I like the song. Maybe I can snag this one.

Ever since I was little
Ever since I was little
It looked like fun

And the music stopped.

I raised my hand.

They called on me.

I stepped forward.

I was told to wait until the camera got a close-up of me. Then I was supposed to say my name.

"Tyler Rhoades."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done"

DING!!!

Thank God that happened...because that part of the song always confused me. It doesn't really make sense grammatically. Though, who am I to criticize the great Gnarles?

And luckily for me, this part kinda' played to my strength as a singer -- I could give 'er a little "rock growl," without having to get too high, or sound too pretty. The casting folks looked sufficiently surprised, and impressed.

We continued on. I think I got two or three more songs right (pretty sure one of them was a Phil Collins song). Which, among the group of 8, made me the highest scorer.

Needless to say, I felt pretty good about that second part of the audition. I mean...I think they sensed that I wasn't quite the "country music" fan that I pretended to be...but I have what my wife likes to call "A Surprisingly Good Voice." Which sounds like a back-handed compliment until you get a good look at me...then it makes sense.

So a week or two later, I got a call from one of the casting folks. They wanted me to come in to do a "trial run" of the show for producers, writers, network execs, and the host of the show (that woman from Reba).

I agreed. And thought, "Aw, dammit. I've got to listen to a bunch of country music now, don't I?" So, I logged into CMT.com and forced myself to sit through the worst genre of music ever conceived -- young country.

Ick.

TO BE CONTINUED (and hyper-linked...eventually) IN PART 2!!!

Bike Crash! POW!

So, I got in my first "bike crash" today. Pretty big milestone for me -- I had a paper route for 3 years, and I've been riding here for about 7 months...and I'd never come into contact with another bike or car in all that time.

But I got it today. The brass ring. I got my ass run over.

Or...at least...my front tire.

It started off like any other Thursday morning, riding into work. As I pulled off of Glenoaks onto Buena Vista, I saw a line of cars stopped at an intersection. So, tucking myself as far right as I could, I started cruising past the stopped automobiles.

"Suckers," I thought to myself. "Bet you wish you could be me, all foot-light and fancy free."

However, annoyingly, one dude in a black Jeep started creeping into my lane...either because he saw me and wanted to block me in...or because he didn't see me, and he just sucks at driving. This happened at the "red X."



Either way, I motored past him and headed for the light. To my dismay, another motorist in a white car was creeping into my lane as well. I tried to speed up and pass her.

But she wasn't creeping, she was turning. Right. Onto the freeway on-ramp. I wasn't watching for an actual right-hand turn, because we hadn't reached the intersection yet -- she was using that little space between the "parked cars on the right" and the "intersection" to turn early.



Consequently, I didn't realize what was happening until too late. My front tire lost a "battle of tires" to her right-front tire, and I was launched about 10 feet off of my bike, onto the nice little grassy area between the road and the sidewalk.


Luckily for me, there was no limo parked there...so I had a nice, soft landing.

The first thing I thought was: "Shit." Not because I was upset, but because I had, apparently, Superman'd through a pile of dog shit, which was now all over the front of my green hoodie.

I started laughing, even as I was skidding across the grass. This was probably out of embarrassment...but also because it was kind of neat to slide across a patch of wet grass. I secretly hoped that it looked pretty cool to the other cars waiting at the stoplight. This is kinda' how I imagined it:



Now there is this weird moment in time, where a "vehicle" somehow magically transforms from an "obstacle to avoid" into a "human being." It's a really bizarre thing...and anyone who's been in a car accident is probably familiar with this transition. It's jarring. One moment there's a car that's somehow drifting into me...at the next moment, there's a very nice, older woman standing next to me telling me "I'm sorry -- I didn't see you there. Are you okay?" with an indeterminate eastern European accent.

And I was. Okay. The bike was...well...beaten up, but it looked like it hadn't been too damaged, structurally. The tire was bent, but not extremely so (I was still able to ride it, once I'd disengaged the front brake). But the fork, brakes, handlebars, pedals, and gears all seemed to come through with minor scratches. Heck, my clothes even came through unscathed...unless you count the smear of feces down the front of my hoodie. But my newly-purchased khakis didn't have so much as a grass stain on them.

But I ran into another problem: "So...what now?" It's not like we could exchange insurance info (that's part of the reason I ride a bike -- no insurance). And it's not like she's on the hook to pick up the tab or anything. I mean...I suppose she is legally...but it's not like I was going to file a claim with her insurance or anything. It was just a stupid little bent wheel.

"Oh shit," I thought, smelling poop, "was this my fault?"

I went over the accident in my mind. Squeeze past asshole in Jeep. Approach intersection. Try to squeeze past car turning. Bike tire squished. Flying. Shit.

This is officially collision type #7 on the bike safety checklist...it's also known as "The Right Hook, Pt. 2". Of course, legally, I was in the clear because she hit me, not the other way around. According to Johnny Law, she should have checked her blind spot before turning right.

But, realistically, I was not in the right. I should have slowed down to the speed of traffic once the light turned green. I should seen and recognized her turn signal. I should have known the on-ramp was coming up. I pride myself on making it so that I don't even give cars the opportunity to hit me (called: "Ride as if you're invisible"). But this time I totally failed.

Which meant that, as she was giving me her contact information, and taking mine...and as she offered to pay for the repairs (a very nice woman, like I said), all I wanted to do was apologize to her for being an idiot, and a terrible cyclist. It reminded me a lot of this:



But I just rode off instead, only issuing a lame, half-assed warning to her that she should be watching for bicycles. As I was about a half-mile down the road, she called me and apologized, asking if I needed a ride to where I was going (as I say, she was a very nice lady). I called her back and told her that I was fine, and thanks for calling.

We Are the Crap

Here's the 2010 version of We Are the World, officially titled "We Are the World 25 For Haiti":




Here's the original 1985 video:




And here's an SNL cold open, which was the first I'd heard of the 2010 version being released:




Finally, Huey Lewis gained "thirty points worth of awesome" (redeemable at my house) for his Jimmy Kimmel-produced parody video.




You still with me? No? Dammit. That'll teach me to lead off with 20 minutes of video for you guys to slog through to get to the meaty, sweet, tasty written-section of this blog.

Okay, well, since only the true die-hards are left...I'll tell you all what Mr. Jones could have done to fix the new, suck-tacular "We Are the World."

First off, here's what I liked:

• Wyclef Jean's crazy demon wail (let him do whatever the hell he wants, the man's Haitian, and as far as I know, he's the only Haitian singer in the entire world).
• Pink and Kelly Clarkson (one of the few singers who could sounded like they could sing without digital assistance).
• Jeff Bridges (one of my favorite actors...casting pearls before swine).

Here's what I didn't like:

• Pretty much everything else.

First off, and most obvious to me...the recycled Michael Jackson footage was just deplorably pandering. P-A-andering. And when Janet Jackson appeared like a reverse Ghost Dad, I literally vomited, which was gross...because it tasted like...Jesus juice...

But, since I have you all here...let me be honest. I've always liked the idea of a "singing super-group." I like watching famous singers get one or two lines of a song, then over-sing it as much as they possibly can -- it brings me joy. I even liked Voices that Care (featuring a strangely attractive, non-skeletal Celine Dion), and the MTV All-Star's remake of What's Going On? And, of course, I frigging loved the original "We Are the World." I pretty much have every inflection from every soloist in that song memorized. That's how much I listened to, and loved that song.

However, this We Are the 2010 World 25 Haiti Are The thing is just a heaping pile of fail...and I use that word sheepishly, because I'm starting to tire of people using "fail" as a noun.

So if I'm recording legend Quincy Jones...and I'm raking this dung heap into a manageable pile, here's what I tell the people:

1. If you require the use of Auto-Tune to sing, you can help lend your voice from the security of the Dan Ackroyd Memorial Bleachers. I'd rather have a room full of Bob Dylans and Cyndi Laupers than a single T-Pain.
   
2. Leave the drippy, self-important, blow-hard sincerity at the door. See how the 1985 singers were all smiling, and having a good time (except for Springsteen...who looked like he just got over food poisoning)? You don't have to look like you're in pain to show you care. In fact, all the serious faces make you look like a bit of a knob-job.
   
3. If you are barely notable enough for a Wikipedia article, you are not welcome. Yes, I'm looking at you, Nipsey Hussle.
4. Jamie Foxx -- go away.
5. Seriously. Just go away. Ray was a massively overrated movie, and it doesn't make you a musician. The Soloist sucked too. I don't care if you know how to play the piano. Go away.
   
6. No old people singing solos. Sorry. I respect your body of work, but your voices don't match the "pop" feel of the song. Feel free to join us from the bleachers.
   
7. "Change" has three syllables, Celine. It also has an "I." Trust me, it does.
8. Rapping in unison hasn't been cool since Run DMC did it. Break that section up. Each of you gets a line. Except for you, Swizz Beatz. I have no idea who you are. How did you get past security?
9. Why on earth would you drop the dynamics going into the first chorus? You've got Celine doing her wacky French-Canadian run-a-thon which leads to.......a quiet, down-played chorus. It gave me whiplash. Shouldn't the chorus come in over the top and soar like a soaring eagle soaring over the Azores? I mean, that's what the build-up is for, right?
10. Everyone take off your damn sunglasses. You're indoors. I know you need them to look cool, but you don't look cool. You look like you're high. Plus, your unnecessary sunglasses cost about as much as a Haitian makes in 3 months. You can only wear sunglasses if you're blind, and there are only three blind singers...one of which is six feet under.
    
11. Who are those two strange looking old guys in salmon-colored button-up shirts? Did they win this opportunity from a silent auction at their country club?
12. Everyone wears a pair of headphones. Everyone. No exceptions. Even if they're not plugged in to anything, you wear them. This is essential. Bonus points if only one ear is covered. Also, at some point you must press the headphones to your ear with one hand, because...how else are you going to be able to hear the music?
13. DO IT LIVE!!! Seriously, how cool was it to see Tina Turner throw it to Billy Joel? Or to see Willie Nelson miss the first couple of notes in his duet line with Dionne Warwick (who then held up the words for him to read)? Or how Bruce Springsteen leaned into the microphone like he was mad at it? Now we get snapshots of a bunch of static, lifeless, studio sessions? That's just lame, and uninteresting.
    
14. No, Jamie Foxx, your Ray Charles impression was not funny. It was stupid. Especially after the little cocky laugh and swagger you gave when it was done.
15. Please don't play to the cameras. In fact, please just ignore the cameras. When you look down the barrel it's creepy. Besides, this is about the music, not the video...you egotistical weirdos.
16. Everyone needs to be holding sheet music. I know you have it memorized. Good for you. It doesn't matter. Hold the music. It looks better. Trust me. I'm Quincy Jones.
17. Could we possibly inject a little "Haitian Folk Music" into this thing? I mean...Wyclef tried, but the rest of the piece was so bland and poppy that he just came off sounding like a wailing maniac in the final cut.
18. Less head-bobbing and false sincerity on the chorus, more swaying. Swaying is cool, and it creates the appearance that you all actually like each other.
19. Let the ladies from Heart sing, for God's sake. People need to be made more aware of this band, and the fact that Ann Wilson still has a ridiculously awesome voice.
20. Jamie Foxx, are you still here? Go away.

Now, for stuff that bothered other people, but didn't really bother me. I thought the rap section was well-written, but the performance was all wrong. That Bieber kid didn't bother me too much, but his voice was auto-tuned...which does bother me. I don't particularly like Josh Groban's voice, but his presence did not offend me. Same goes for Miley Cyr--I mean Hannah Montana. Whoops. That was a close one.

What do we take away from all this? Well, hopefully I've given you the malady that's been with me for the last couple of days. That is -- this goofy song is stuck tight in my head. I thought blogging about it would make the music go away...but I'm afraid that it just made it worse. Damn.

What's New, Pussycat?

I've been meaning to type out a "general update" for a while now. But I never got around to it. I even had a half-finished (half-started?) Word document saved, which summed up 2009, and told of my fiendish plans for 2010. But that went kaput with my old laptop. So now, I start from scratch. Literally.

I mean "figuratively." Sorry. I get confused.

So. First things first (because those are the things that usually come first): money. This is arguably the most interesting thing in my life right now. Scratch that -- it's not interesting at all. It's just the "biggest change."

Anyhow, I'm working as a paralegal at Disney, in the online film & television anti-piracy group. Which means, I am the jerk who "takes down" any copyright infringing Disney content that's been posted online. If you've ever been contacted by someone at Disney regarding a video you posted online, then yeah, that could very well have been me. Sorry. It's nothing personal...I'm just trying to make a living, bro. I'm not here because I'm passionate about copyright law or anything. I just click the buttons that make the videos go away, and Disney gives me the money.


Arrrgh! Shiver me YouTube.

But, this "new job" begs the question, "Um...so...Tyler? What about acting? Are you giving up? Quitter. You make me want to punch a chicken in the beak."

Whoa, there. Easy, friend. I'm not giving up, okay? I'm just taking an indefinite leave of absence, so I can spend more time with my family.

Just kidding. I'm not doing that. I just like how it sounds.

No. I'm still acting. That's why I moved down here, so why in the hell would I give up on it?

So, to understand my take on "Tyler's Acting Career," I should first explain what happened in the last year, and what I'm planning on doing in the coming year.

So, in several blog posts (far too many, if I recall), I whined, and railed, and cried like a little baby chicken that had just been punched in the beak about how difficult it was to get my SAG eligibility. Like, here, here, here, here, here, and here. In fact, I think I may have talked about how I'm not SAG eligible more than I apologized for "not writing more." A pretty remarkable feat, actually.

But you know what's far more helpful than "complaining about something?"

Doing something to fix the problem.

So, that's what I'm doing. "But Tyler," you wheeze (because you just got back from the gym), "How is 'going to work at a day job' going to get you into SAG? Don't you have to have your days free to pursue acting?"

First of all, shut up. This is my blog. You want to ask me questions, you can get your own damn blog. You can call it "Jibes and Japes" for all I damn care.

Secondly, here's the problem: acting costs a lot of money. Seems like a no-brainer, but it's easy to forget (because, a person can act for free, at any time, right?) But if you want to make money in this business, you need to spend a couple of years losing a lot of money. I guess that's like any business...the problem is, most actors don't approach this profession as if it were a business (unless the IRS asks). Myself included.

Now, unfortunately for me, I was barely treading water in those last couple of months (before I started working for Disney). It got so bad that I had to borrow money from my cash-strapped wife to pay rent for three months in a row. And, at my ultimate low-point, I got my first-ever NSF on a rent check during that time.

Which is a long-winded way of saying: I was unable to pay rent, much less cover the costs of acting classes, headshots, gasoline to drive to auditions, website subscriptions, printer toner (for resumes), etc.

But, even more damning is the fact that I wasn't even auditioning for stuff. Auditioning is free...but somehow I couldn't afford it -- I had to leave all of my days open for background work (which was terribly inconsistent as well...but that's another story for another time). Basically, I was floundering. Foundering? Hmm...let me Dictionary.com that. Huh. Interesting. I'm not sure which one to use here. Was I flapping about uselessly, or sinking? Maybe it was a little bit of both. I was floundering while I was foundering.

Back to the topic at hand: for 2010, I have a plan.

It might not be a good plan. It might be a miserable failure. It might be stupid. It might be really uninteresting, but I'm going to tell it to you anyway. Because I like you, and you smell nice.

First step (huh...lots of numbered lists this blog post): take classes. These include the dreaded "casting director workshops," which are, essentially, classes that involve you paying money to "be seen" by a casting director. It's lame. It's corrupt. It has a very low success rate. It seems like a waste of time and money. And it can be somewhat degrading. But for a schlub like myself, with no acting credits, and no union affiliation, it's one of the only ways to actually get my "foot in the door" at a casting office. I couldn't afford to go to these workshops in 2009, because I needed to pay rent and "eat food." Now, with my new job, I can go...and give myself a chance to, maybe, sneak my way onto a commercial, movie, or TV show.

Second step: write. I need to finish editing my script. I need to finish writing my second script. I need to blog more. I need to read other peoples' screenplays to see how it's done. I need to show my work to other people, so they can tell me if I suck or not. Finally, once I have a product I'm satisfied with, I need to show my writing to agents, producers, and executives. This is a long process, and I'm horribly inexperienced, naive, and (frankly) overwhelmed by the thought of it...but what have I got to lose, right? My life? Sure, I could be killed over this...but it's very unlikely. So, I think I'm going to risk it.

Third step: act. This can be done in a couple of ways -- the easiest being in "online videos that I write and produce." Either that, or I can act in projects that other people are producing. Or act in "theater," like I did last year. I also need to assemble an acting "reel," because it's pretty inexcusable that I don't have one after two years in Los Angeles pretending to be an "actor." But, any way I can, I need to do it. No more excuses...because excuses are like assholes: everyone has one (except for the people who don't), and they're also called "anal sphincters." Did I say that right?

Fourth step: audition. I don't submit for auditions any more. I haven't, maybe, for the last five months or so. I absolutely must start doing this again. I have no excuses, because excuses are like parrots: they're covered in feathers, and they killed my uncle.

Anyhow, that's the plan. Maybe this is just the expected "pump up" that every human being gives themselves on the arbitrary beginning of the Gregorian calendar (and, by the way, can anyone understand this history of the month of February? I've read it four times now...and I still have no idea why Februaray has 28 days, and why it's the month that gets a "leap year") (oh, I get it now. No one knows. Thanks, Slate!).

Where was I? Okay...sorry...I get distracted easily. The point is: I do dumb crap like this every year (see this blog post, for a ridiculously similar optimistic treacle...good God, I'm so predictable). At the end of the calendar year, or the beginning of the new year, I'm all like, "Man, I'm going to make some big ol' fat changes in my life. I'm going to get off of my butt and do something." Then I never end up following through. I guess that's the story of human existence, right? Except, my story is way, way, waaaay more interesting, because it involves me. And I'm totally different from everyone else.

I'm getting distracted again. Anyhow, that's the jist of my plan. It might pan out. It probably won't. But either way, it's a start. And I'm an imperfect being, just spitting out the same encouraging platitudes that better people have spit out since the dawn of man.

Except my platitudes are different. Because I'm saying them. Right, guys? Right?

A Follower!

First I was all like, "Holy crap! I have a follower on this blog that I've told no one about!"

Then I realized that it was just me...following myself. It was probably the saddest thing that has ever, ever happened to me.