he hate me

Settled in to do my tour the other day and saw a family of black folks in the front seat of the Hollywood Death Cab.

I shamelessly pander to black folks, changing my tour around to talk about dead black celebrities. Our tour is very lilly-white, so I try to make it more mocca for my guests. This works, as people realize I'm trying to be inclusive.

Not this day! I could not take off the hate faces. They had their hate faces strapped on, maybe I looked like the hangman of some long-ago relative, but I was glared at for forty-five minutes. Nothing I could do to change it.

At one point I asked a question of the entire tour group, and when one of the Hatah Family raised their hand, I thought maybe it was a truce. I could cross the chasm.

"So, you know where Flip Wilson came from?"

Hate stare back at me.

"Umm, did you raise your hand?"

More hate stare.

"I'm sorry to call on you, but I thought you raised your hand. Yes? No? Hello?"

Hate stare turned up to eleven. Holy hell.

After the tour, I was feeling really down, even though other guests came up and told me they enjoyed it. I sat down in the break room next to Elisa, an african-american tour guide. One of my pals (many of my best tour guide friends are black!). She said maybe they had a bad day, and I stopped her with:

"Comon' you know when someome is broadcasting hate. You can feel it."

She demurred. She said my sunglasses looked very po-po, that could be it. Maybe po-po and the ghetto bird took out some of their kin. We mused for a bit. I told Elisa that I wanted to tell these folks that I had been invited to all-black gatherings where I recieved the ultimate compliment "Oh Josh is okay, he's not really white!"

"Settle down Ghandi" said Elisa.

The next day I got another family of black folks who laffed&responded, thanking me after the tour. Helped make the silt of the other day settle. One of the things I tell myself when I feel overt racism is, think how much shit Martlin Luther King got in his life, yet he never gave-in to thinking bad thoughts about the entirety of white folks.

Each and every american school kid should have to visit MLK's birthpalce on Sweet Auburn in Atlanta. I cried my freaking eyes out. "It was as though my life had been gift-wrapped and given to me like a christmas present," wrote King about his childhood being mostly sheltered from the cruelties of racism and poverty by his parents, and how he felt a desire to give bounty to those of his ilk who had been denied this rosy upbringing. Okay, I promise I won't bust into "We shall overcome" right now ...

Triple Digits

Hit 100 today at Hollywood Death Cab. I was doing the Barker position, doing my best to rope in the tourists. Made some decent bread. I thought I would just be a puddle of base elements at one point, the heat was relentless. The very last thing I said before my supervisor yanked the mic outta my hand was:

"We're open 365 days a year. Well, except for Arbor Day. On that day -- we just go out and plant tree! Tra-la-la-la!"

I was doing a strange dance as I was singing.

Hollywood Deach Cab has had a mouse problem of late. Someone found a crippled mouse in the breakroom, and tried to nurse it back to health. Made a little bed for it, we were all taking turns feeding it.

Another guide said "You'll imprint on it!" and set the mouse free.

Then the two had a screaming match about the chances of survival this mouse had in the "wild."

The one guide is a muslim, and she tends to take any problem back to her muslim identity, i.e., the mouse was set free to punish muslims. She wears some Muslim garb when doing her tour, and management has asked her to cut back (especially after the bus bombings in London).

Management had to write a four page memo decrying keeping animals on public property, the London Plague and the way rabies victims are afraid of water.

A lot of production is back, and I should prolly try and line up gigs again, but I'm smack dab in the middle of a bizzy summer at Hollywood Death Cab. One of my gay lover's pals who promised work earlier, has been lecturing me as of late on why I don't need to get her help. She is a producer at the E channel. The lady's always claiming moral highground with me, and loves to play Mommy Hollywood. Zzzzzzzzzzz. She's not nearly as morally perfect as she thinks, I've actually heard some very juicey industry stories about this chick and why her various workplaces don't want her back. Every time I end up in her orbit, it's unpleasant.

I'm doing a cabret show for a friend tonight. It's his birthday and he's having a Cabaret-themed night out, I'm playing the Liza Manelli role that I used to do back in the day. Looking like a madman through all my old tattered costumes. Might have to thrift it to get my Liza on.

The tribunal is back in session. My gal lover's pal Blankie and friend Mooch were the ones who pointed me towards Hollywood Death Cab. They have these dinners were the muse on my next move. It's nice to defer your career path to a tribunal. I'm sure-as-shit outta ideas anymore.

Now, they've decided I need to WORK at Boozerelli's as a waiter. HUH? I have no desire to join the food service community, but they say it would be great because I'd get to play accordian! There's a lot of accordian playing that goes on at Boozerelli's, their gimmick is waiter's who can all squeeze the box. Supposedely industry types go to hear the accordian playing for kitsch factor. As much as the Hollywood Death Cab crew loves Boozrelli's, I've never seen the real industry types in here. Seems like more yucks for tourists and drunks, and H-wood is none the wiser that I exsist.

hot in the city, hot in the city tonight ...

... tiz boiling in Lost Anglo tonight ... back from nine glorious days in Nebraska. I took my little nephews for 24 dollars. They need to learn the value of a dollar. 14 in Poker, and 10 bucks for a sprint race. I love beating youths out of money that is obviously near and dear. had a very close Great-Santini basketball game with my teenaged nephew. Beat him by a "cunt hair." I actually said that to him. Ugh. I've gotta watch it! It just felt like the perfect, base thing to say in the moment ... to let him know he was a man, and I would be vile in front of him if warranted ...

... spent an idyllic day on a lake with the family (one amongst many idyllic nebraska daze) where my dad was shamlessly angling to get in a boat of teenagers in bikinis ...

... did the Hollywood Death Cab today, and enjoyed being banging out the 'tainment. had some mouthy teens I simmered down, and made up a new film called "Bim Boodle" about a burglar with poor eyesight.. Told everyone to watch for it, coming out soon. After the tour peeps asked me about this film. (is "peeps" on the out-list? I like it's brevity, I'm going to keep wearing it until it comes back in style). I told folks that the film should be out in summer 2006.

... had fantasies all day about being on the Death Cab and having a big-wig take my tour and install me as the new ruler solely on my genuis. I just got my review from a nit-picky nerd who noticed none of the beauty of my tour and all of the crap that no one gives a shit about. The nerd's tour sux. Boring, dull, and horrible. These people would go in the purge, once I've installed myself as the malevolent despot. I imagine firing Dirk and telling a cheering work force he's gone for good! Pay raises for everyone! I am cheered! I am LOVED!!!! The Hollywood Death Cab tour gets written up in the LA Weekly as the only thing relevant in Hollywood.

During my Boozerelli's coronation party, I eleborate to my loving prols that every joke is sacred. No longer will ONE customer's complaint cut a joke that's entertained thousands. The tour is not a corporate christmas party where every line is scrutinized so as not to offend the corporation. No, the tour is bonafide entertainment product, and treated as such: like a movie, like a TV show. Current and competitive. I will help you my Death Cab mates! I will take your tour not to notice that you didn't say which room John Belushi died in, but to notice that you have the potential for some very funny bits, or a character you could play that would get you laffs. Finally, I am carried from the room on the arms of the surging blob of tour guide humanity, and installed as the most loved ruler to ever brandish an amplified voice.