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16 march 2002

cutting me to the quick

This week, I have had to prune my address book of a friend. Or rather, chose to. It has weighed heavily with me for awhile now.

My friends will freely tell you that I am a lot of things. A few traits, I'm sure they could do without. But for the most part, they kindly take me as I am. In return, I don't take my friendships too lightly. I am loyal--way loyal. Once you've got me on your side, it takes a lot of doing to get me out of your corner. I love my friends, and often tell them in so many words. They are, after all, the family that you choose.

Unfortunately, one of them has been a lout one too many times.

I met him for drinks on Thursday night. We hadn't met up socially since my show wrapped, which is when the series of problems began. He happens to be a local actor and voice talent, and admirably makes his living doing just that: local work, with the occasional bit part in nationally-distributed productions. To which I say, kudos. It's great when you can make a living doing what you love.

It is not okay, however, to represent yourself as more than you are. Then you just look like an egomaniacal jerk.

This whole mess started at one of my after-parties. A big bunch of us met up at the Bistro, and "Fred" sat at the other end of the table with a group that included one film professor at the NC School of The Arts. Thankfully, I was not at that end of the table. By all reports, he proceeded to alienate absolutely every one of my friends and their guests within about twenty minutes.

How, you ask? When Fred the local actor learned that he was sitting next to a film school professor, he tried (unsuccessfully) to impress everyone by pretty much lying. Like, several years ago, he had a walk-on part in a Robin Williams movie. Somehow, this walk-on part became a "good friendship" with Robin Williams, whom I suspect wouldn't recognize Fred if his next meal depended on it. He then had the audacity to offer the film school professor "advice" on how to get ahead (?!?) in the acting biz.

Thankfully, these people all had enough class to see Fred for who he was: an insecure egomaniac who doesn't know when to quit dominating the conversation. Amused, they let him prattle on, and then told me about all of this a few days later. Oh, and the film professor at whom Fred's "advice" was directed?

Thanks but no thanks--he already has one Oscar for having done the sound on an acclaimed movie in the 90's. He never mentioned it that night, finding no immediate need to put Fred in his place.

When the show closed, Fred then e-mailed me twice. Both times, it was to offer more "advice" as to what I can do for my next shows. "Great stuff, and I can help you with a couple of those glitches you had there."

Huh? What the hell are you talking about? When I told my director and the writers with whom I'd entrusted this production, they laughed out loud at Fred's audacity. It turned out that my director had worked with Fred on a local production a few years back, and Fred kept holding up scenes because he forgot his lines. He also kept trying to direct the director. Nice.

When I kindly but firmly told Fred that the show has a wonderful, objective staff of consulting writers and directors--he e-mailed me AGAIN to insist that he get his two cents in. Once again, I said thanks but no thanks. It didn't matter that Fred can't write his way out of a paper bag, he was darn tootin' going to have a say in how this stuff was written. Because he is "well-heeled", whatever that means.

A good pumice can grind down those heels in a jiffy, dude.

So fast-forward to Thursday night, and Fred tries again to horn in on my show. He got a couple of "ideas" out there, both of which were patently ridiculous. I came **this** close to telling him if he was so inspired, to do his own play. Instead, I very firmly told him that the play is now over, and I don't plan on discussing it. He was terribly put off.

But not for long! Fred then decided to tell me a joke! It happened that the Duke-Wingate game was on, so Fred began quoting an old comedy routine from the 1950's. You know, the one about how stupid the black basketball player is?

Right. And it's not the first time he's done this in my presence. I didn't speak to him for six months at one time, because he used the word "nigger" around me. Compound this with the fact that Fred cannot seem to call me by my name, but always, "girl", and I've had about enough of his dishonest, racist, sexist, homophobic, nincompoop garbage.

And that was it. I paid my check, and bid him adieu.

You guys are probably wondering why I ever befriended such an idiot in the first place. I don't know, except that this stuff wasn't quite as evident when I first met him. I also believe that people like him in my life, though rare, are slowly getting edged out by the other exceptional people I meet day by day. I am delightfully astounded at some of the individuals I've met in the last six months alone.

From all indications, they're optimists, too. They give a general thumbs-up to humanity. I can't live any other way. I have to leave this life better than I found it, and knowing that I loved it. My true friends seem to agree.