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2005-02-09 - 8:36 p.m.

Fucking clownshoes. This is my second attempt at an entry. If I ever get my hands on the guy who decided that a keyboard should contain hotkeys that take you back to the previous page on the browser, there will be murders.

Yeah, I know, those keys are way the hell at the top of the keyboard, but guess what? I have big hands. I type 70 WPM. Sometimes I miss. And sometimes when I miss, I lose the entry I had been working on for half an hour. Go to hell.
This entry is definitely gonna have that bittersweet quality where I'm gonna realize that the second try is actually better, but I still miss the crap I wrote the first time.

"Do you like acting? Like, areyou gonn go pro one day and be in movies?"
-Girl at yesterdays show

And who says arts education in America is lacking? That's only in New Mexico! Middle schoolers these days. No, little lady, I like to keep my amateur status for the Olympics. You know, carting this big ass van and these relative strangers around on the road six days a week is just a hobby. Sort of a release from my dayjob as a professional asshole.

One of these days, preferably one when I no longer care about my future employment status, I'm gonna do "Ken Dillon, Bridgework Uncensored"

"Do you guys use real stuff?"

Hmmm...education in general in this country. Not only was that question stupid (And yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question. They're the kind asked by stupid people) it was poorly worded, vague, and inarticulate (both the question and the spoken delivery). *sigh* I am so writing a book about this tour one day.

Okay, maybe that was a tad harsh, but you have to understand. I'm back in fucking Indianapolis again. Why, God, why? I did my time in this half-assed retarded city! I even spent it during the playoffs, before the Colts were eliminated! Three of the most hellish weeks in this obnoxious blue and white nightmare! My reward was supposed to be going on a little Flying Saucer Tour, appearing for dazed schoolchildren in small hick towns across the midwest! But I'm back here. For a show in Carmel. Damn it all.

"Since I kept my options open, I have the freedom to finally do what I've always wanted."
"What's that?"
"Die alone."

The annual Madison auditons that I always fret about are this weekend. Once again, I'm not ready, but this year, I'm not worried. Why? A) I'm already working, with jobs lined up for the summer and all of next school year if I want 'em. So I'm really just trying for something better.
B) This is gonna be the last year I go to those. I've gotten more callbacks every year I've gone, and I've gotten three jobs out of the last two years (Bridgework found me from the ones last year on Valentine's Day)
But the number of theatres that send agents has steadily dwindled, and this year it's down to just six. Six theatres that could hire me, and one of them IS Bridgework (who'll take me back next year if I want, provided we part on good terms at the end of this season) It's just not worth it anymore. This year, I'm going as much for a good weekend vacation as anything else. For a minimal cost, I get to hang out with some good friends I don't see nearly often enough anymore, and, most important, I get to get the fuck out of Indiana for reasons not associated with children for a weekend. Can't beat that.

Lemme take this time to assure everyone that I'm gonna for sure be at Formal, too. And, bonus! We have shows in Milwaukee for three consecutive days on May 3-5, plus a show in Portage on the 2nd, so that means three nights spent in Milwaukee. At my apartment. Not in some fucking hotel. Now I just gotta survive march.

Oh the stories I'll have to tell...But for now, I'm gonna leave you with one thought-

For the record, Great Gatsby sucks ass. F. Scott Fitzgerald should have eaten a shotgun. Anyone who goes by their first initial and their middle name is scum and automatically undeserving of any recognition for anything, even if their work was any good, which F.'s is not. Nothing good can come from the same nomenclatural category that also includes L. Ron Hubbard.
I love you anyway, though.

Ken

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