Yesterday I posted a link to this essay by James Croft on my Facebook.It was discussing the violent threats and hate-filled rants that have showed up on Fox News. In a nutshell, American Atheists, Inc. opposes the inclusion of the “9/11 cross” in the official, government-funded memorial. Fox news reported on this and the response was vicious.
The essay I linked to just said hey, you know, not so cool. I didn’t think that would be particularly offensive to any Christians on my f-list, but Holy Jumpin’ Jesus, Batman! Max, who I haven’t seen since I left Hollywood in 2007 (oh, except for this) completely flipped his rubber lid in my direction.
I really don’t know what to say about the whole thing that hasn’t already been said on my facebook. I’m not particularly hurt that he unfriended me; I really only sent the friend request because of the Tosh.0 video. We weren’t really close to begin with. He was always a little to volatile for comfort. I don’t remember him being particularly religious. Evidently that has changed.
I don’t really feel like replying (again) to his poorly spelled and oddly capitalized rants. They don’t make enough sense to be worthwhile, so fuck it. Instead and by request, the reason I was painted green and hanging out with giant bats.
It isn’t a “job” at all. It’s just people, anyone really, who show up in costume and just…hang around. Some people do whole performances , others (like me) just walked around like the characters at Disneyland. Some ran right up and attacked people. The legal guidelines for the performers (or, during fits of reformation, “Hollywood Ambassadors”) was that you had to stay on public property, could not set a price per photo, and could not ask for money outright. You could say any variation of “we accept/work for tips” and that was about it. Of course most people ignored that shit right out. Used to drive me fucking crazy, but then I followed the rules as rigorously as I honored my OSSOM contract in high school.
With it being such an unusual hybrid of acting, costuming and panhandling, it attracted distinct groups. Such as:
Costume designers who wanted to show off their work, or drum up business.
Struggling actors who wanted to take time off for auditions and gigs.
Bums, lowlifes, drifters, and various other human flotsam and jetsam.
And then there were the crazy people. The people who just were not right somehow. Sometimes they were obsessed with their character, like Superman (here I’d like to plug Confessions of a Superhero again. Its streaming on Netflix AND Hulu!). There was the Marilyn Monroe who seemed to actually believe she was nineteen (she was at least forty and the resemblance was not exactly striking). There’s the pathological liar in the Jack Sparrow costume, and me, with the creepy tranny cat.
So, even though he unfriended me, I’ll plug the documentary he starred in. Watch Confessions of a Superhero. And then go to iTunes and get The Reinactors. If you go to Hollywood, please tip. Because seriously, if you knew this guy, wouldn’t you?