What the Heroin of Flag & Cross Kills


Raised to believe I desperately needed an invisible man to save me from Hell and the communists, I grew up addicted to the heroin of flag and cross.  It has taken me a lifetime to cleanse myself of enough of that cruel mental haze to actually take some rudimentary ownership of my life. To embrace my blasphemous desire to … create. America is a difficult land to be a creative. Institutions are scientifically engineered to manufacture obedient citizens willing to submit to acceptable authority. Children are impaled with beliefs and education, so that they may one day be harvested as productive employees who buy enough stuff to distract from all the rape, theft, slavery and murder committed so generously for “freedom”. Literature, stand-up comedy, film, and music have been my 12 Step Program, the shards of beauty amid the horror that is so much of human civilization. The “truth”, if that idea even has any useful meaning, is nothing more than the experiences we create for ourselves.  While we can.  A rather intoxicating idea for some.  Bewildering and frightening for others. I’m gradually learning to embrace that reality, to feed my curiosity, to expand my experiences, pursue my joy.  To create my life.

I love writing.  I love that the act of publishing a student newspaper not controlled by a college president fucking his son’s wife put me on the FBI’s Subversives List before I could legally drink alcohol.  I love that my country considers me so dangerous they won’t let me kill on their behalf.  Because I dared to publish.  Without permission.  I love Hollywood. I love living and working here.  I love how I feel working out at the gym daily. I love feeling California sun on my skin, knowing the Pacific Ocean is just over that hill.  I love writing scripts and stories that one day might become TV or film.  I love performing, banter and improv.  Whether I wear a costume or not.  I love taking people on a surprise magical journey, if even for a moment.  I love singing The The songs like I’m about to start a cover band.  I love that the idea strikes me as less ridiculous with each passing day.  I love getting to work and associate with so many wonderful creatives in this town.

I love creating joy out of cruelty.  It is what us creatives do.

Which is exactly how I disappoint my parents.

And exactly how my son makes me proud.

Namaste.

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RE: Representation in Hollywood


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I just sent this email. Enjoy…

[TALENT COORDINATOR], it has been nearly two weeks since you first contacted me. I have not heard from [TALENT AGENCY PARTNER] since your last email 11 days ago. I just attempted to reach you by phone, where I left a voicemail. I also attempted to reach [TALENT AGENCY PARTNER] by phone and the line was disconnected. To be honest, I grow weary devising stratagems to actually talk to a live human being at your firm.

If it’s not too much trouble, would it be possible for you to shed some light as to what is going on here? I find it difficult to escape the impression that I’m not at all a priority. Which strikes me as a bit strange. You reached out to me. I did not solicit you.

At this point my limited experience with your firm raises serious questions in my mind as to whether my interests would be adequately represented were I to employ you. Can you change my mind?

Please understand that the representation of talent is of the gravest concern to me. Particularly when I’m the talent. Art and performance is my life. I may be one of the most grateful humans in this town. I get to live and work in Hollywood, creating smiles, laughter and joy in all sorts of people from around the globe. Daily.

But I’m in no hurry to obtain representation. What I’ve accomplished up to this moment required none. What have I done? Please replay your PowerPoint presentation on Mark Roman. You have done your homework, right? As you may recall, you reached out to me.

Frankly (with all due respect), what I’ve seen of the talent representation industry leaves much to be desired. What I continue to do as an artist would develop much quicker with the right team. But whoever wants to be on that team has to prove themselves. To me. If you are not WME or CAA or the like my expectation is that you are a small boutique firm. In which case my look and talents had better be a primary showpiece of your firm. Otherwise, why are we wasting each other’s time?

I didn’t get off the bus from Nebraska yesterday. This ain’t my first ice cream social. I don’t seek fame. I was made a celebrity by a federal judge well before The Big Short. I don’t seek fortune. A casual survey of my tax returns from the last decade makes that crystal clear.

I seek to heal from the horrors of this world through my art. If I’m lucky, it makes people laugh. If I’m luckier, think. I will continue to do that until my last dying breath. Regardless of whether I can hire the best AV listed entertainment attorney in LA. Or not. Fun Fact about me: I respond poorly to those who would exploit my fellow artists in the town where I work, live and find my joy: Hollywood.

I’m Missouri. Show me.

[TALENT COORDINATOR], I never met you. I prefer to imagine you are a kind but earnest professional with the right intentions. But this conversation you initiated is no trivial matter to me. Is it to you and your firm? At the moment, with what little evidence there is at hand, I find it difficult to build a case that it’s not.

If I do not hear back within 24 hours I will have clarity as to what to report to my fellow SAG-AFTRA artists, industry friends, media, advocacy groups and my union. Should questions ever be asked about your firm.

Best wishes! Have a wonderful day!

 

Mark Roman (Nehls)
323-942-9508
TheMarkRoman.com
SAG-AFTRA
Vegas90210.com Characters
Heroteer.org Creator, Ground Game LA Volunteer
Subscribe 2 Club myMark 4 the latest: eepurl.com/2AyZ1

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remember Monica, Meet Jessica: Hollywood Beyond Red Carpets


Today is International Women’s Day.  Here in my tiny hamlet of Hollywood there exists a strange old world of real life.  It begins where the red carpet ends.  A world hidden in plain sight.  A world recently rocked by two women.  Women you didn’t see on the red carpet.  They may not be a Gary from Chicago.  Or a Jimmy with a podcast (not drunk Jimmy with the ratings).  Or Brian and Martha of PwC.  But you should know their names.  And their stories.  And not just because it is International Women’s Day.  But because the fate of a certain Hollywood, the one Beyond the Red Carpets, depends on it.

Monica Acuna was a burlesque performer and busker.  (For those baffled by the word “busker”, update your brain app here.)  Some knew her as “Lucha”.  I knew her as “Clownalyn Monroe”.  Yes, a clown.  A female clown.  She even made balloon animals for children.  With her playful spirit, sly antics and generous heart she was a cherished part of the Hollywood Boulevard, Venice Beach and even Beverly Hills scenes.  This 2 minute video helping kids confront bullying captures a bit of her accessible sparkle.  I fear many of us who knew her took her presence in our lives for granted.  Last week she slipped in the shower and hit her head.  Many encouraged her to seek medical attention for her concussion.  She didn’t.  Chalk it up to the smoldering stubbornness that was a vital part of her spirit so many adored.  However, as a working artist and busker in Hollywood myself, I can too easily imagine the many obstacles that may have prevented her from seeking professional medical help.  (And I’m a white man.  Not a Latina single mom.)  Monica passed away over the weekend.  By the sounds of it, from a stroke.  Like Bill Paxton.

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Hollywood Boulevard is a small community.  The loss of Monica hit us all quite hard.  A GoFundMe for her funeral and family has raised $3,560.  I hear donations are being taken as well at the hotel in Hollywood where Monica was staying.  Artists who worked with Monica are raising funds for the family with their art.  I’m aware of at least one major bar and restaurant in the area that wishes to help facilitate donations for Monica’s 14 year old daughter, who is now with extended family.  Monica certainly had her demons.  I don’t know a clown, musician, comedian or many actors who don’t.  Or didn’t.  A Robert Downey, Jr. survives to become Iron Man.  But many have not, as listeners of Marc Maron’s WTF Podcast know all too well.  Losing Monica has awakened many to the fragile condition of the busker in Hollywood.  After all, buskers in Los Angeles relate well to immigrants in Trump’s “Great” America.  We are the disposable untouchables of Tinsel Town.  I’m a former mortgage broker (before The Big Short: Real Life Edition) who once sat on a Chamber of Commerce Civic Affairs Committee.  I can’t escape the overwhelming contrast in how the average person treated me as a white collar professional.  Versus a non “name” SAG-AFTRA actor.  Versus a busker in costume on Hollywood Boulevard.  Especially a dude in women’s short shorts and rainbow tactical leg warmers.

Monica didn’t fleece customers like Wells Fargo.  Or launder drug cartel money like HSBC.  She didn’t engineer bombers for Boeing.  She wasn’t Mayor of new luxury towers gated against new homeless tent cities.  Monica created joy and laughter.  Like many buskers, that was her job.  Perhaps the many tears for a Singular Clown Lost will motivate the City of Angels to reconsider how we perceive the street performers of Hollywood.

Jessica

Jessica Salans was a Bernie Sanders volunteer during the recent presidential campaign.  Fortunate for us, Jessica is still with us.  Let’s not take her for granted.  Bernie challenged his supporters to get involved in local politics.  Jessica listened.  And she took action.  She ran for city council in Los Angeles district 13.  She rose above single issues and the Stop Sign Mentality of Measure S (which oddly echoed National Review founder William F. Buckley, Jr.’s mantra of “standing athwart history yelling STOP!”).  Jessica actually has a comprehensive platform –  JUSTICE: social, racial, economic and environmental.  She sat down with me in my neighborhood, at the Coffee Bean on Hollywood and Orange.  She listened to my concerns.  As a busker on Hollywood Boulevard.  As a resident of Hollywood.  As a working artist in Los Angeles.  For over an hour.  Unlike ANY elected official in Los Angeles.  To date.

The incumbent she challenged has never even met me.  I’ve reached out, but Mitch O’Farrell’s office staff have hung up on me.  He eagerly attends all the red carpets on a Hollywood Boulevard where a Bernie Sanders flanked by Secret Service shook my Vegas 90210 character’s hand (ask the LA Times for the photos).  Yet Mitch manages to avoid me.  Unlike The Hollywood Reporter and Thomas Lennon and Nick Swardson and the LAPD and the Naked Cowboy and ABC Bakersfield and Thomas Lennon.  Mitch is not one of the 60+ Verifieds from Amnesty International to the LA Times to President Obama to Tom Cruise who choose to follow me on my tiny Twitter.  I get it.  I’m Waldo.  But then consider Jessica’s top campaign discovery in district 13 per the LA Times: the constituents of Mitch O’Farrell find he “can’t be reached“.  City hall has abandoned the Hollywood outside the red carpets to the criminals.  Civic “leaders” like Mitch survey the chaos from downtown, claim the ACLU prevents them from prosecuting those who steal and assault, and then inevitably make buskers the convenient scapegoat for all that is wrong on Hollywood Boulevard.

Contrast that negligence with the wonderful, proactive ideas of Jessica Salans.  She sees beyond the red carpets.  She finds unacceptable:  the patient dumping, the crime, the health crisis, the housing crisis, the inadequate police protection, the failure of the city to prosecute repeat offenders who prey on residents and tourists with impunity.  Jessica wants to bring residents, tourists, businesses, and buskers as well as police, emergency responders and social services together to make Hollywood Boulevard a safer and better world-class destination for everyone.  She asked me provocative questions.  Why are there only two LAPD officers assigned to the Hollywood Entertainment Zone beat?  (Off-duty LAPD officers highly visible at red carpets work to protect the red carpet event and personnel, not the tourists and residents on the outside looking in.)  Why is there not an LAPD Community Center and Busker Green Room in the Hollywood and Highland Mall?  If the City can’t afford to fund enough police officers on the ground, why not have an LAPD merch kiosk at Hollywood and Highland?  As buskers are a tourist attraction, why doesn’t the city pay buskers to perform instead of treating them like criminals?  (I don’t necessarily advocate the city pay performers, but it is a refreshing perspective from a political leader in Los Angeles.)

Without the name recognition of incumbent Mitch O’Farrell, Jessica last night lost a nevertheless impressive campaign in a somewhat crowded race.  Her 13.2% of the vote was 128 votes shy of the second place showing of Sylvie Shain, a more recognized name in the district who entered the race late on her issue of tenant’s rights.  Jessica may have lost the race, but she realizes the problems remain.  And the elected men clearly are not up to the task.  Of the 15 city council seats, only one is held by a woman: Nury Martinez of District 6.  The only woman to win more votes for City Council last night was Monica Rodriguez, but her 27.7% falls short of the 50%+1 required to avoid a run-off election, as I understand it.  The City of Angels resident majority is female (50.15%).  On this International Women’s Day 2017, landslide re-elected Mayor Eric Garcetti’s City Council is 86.6-93.3% male dominated.  Wow.  Jessica Salans has a lot of work to do with her post-election grassroots activism.  She is just getting started.  She needs our ongoing help.

There exists a barely investigated Hollywood beyond the red carpets.  On this International Women’s Day, please join me in remembering a clown named Monica.  And supporting a fresh new leader named Jessica.  The tourists, residents, buskers and businesses who enjoy a Hollywood abandoned by city hall depend on YOU.

Voter Guide: Election 2016


Why?  Because I’m a union member who walked his first picket line just this past week.  I’m a working artist, an agnostic progressive Democrat.  I did some election homework, so maybe this will help like minds.  (My Facebook post with campaign links HERE.)

I’m voting in Hollywood, geographically defined as Los Angeles.  You may be voting elsewhere.  Perhaps the path to my decisions helps you make yours.  These resources aided my research:

Voter’s Edge (KPCC)

Voters Guide (California Secretary of State)

Easy Voter Guide (League of Women Voters)

Voter Cheat Sheet (LA Weekly)

Neighborhood Issues (Curbed LA)

LA Times Endorsements

LA Democratic Party Endorsements

LA Progressive

If you’re not sure where you stand, know that I grew up born-again Christian conservative Republican.  Not only can I see things from a different perspective, I once held (and did boldly proclaim) such perspectives.  When I stopped merely listening and starting watching how Christians, Republicans, conservatives and “leaders” of the “business and civic community” behaved, I noticed the impact on other human beings.  Suddenly I became Socrates.  My questions broke through the dam of belief.  I recognized I was the Son of Elmer Gantry’s Bitch.  And my life changed.  For the better.

I marvel at all those who watch and make reality TV, patient dump, steal from customers, exploit employees, religiously avoid literacy or treat anyone different from them like a disease.  That troubles me.  I’d rather see people laugh than cry.  Perhaps that’s why I allowed myself to be a comic.  It certainly does not follow that I know everything.  I’m still learning, searching and exploring.  I make mistakes.  I endeavor to learn from them.

But I truly believe that some choices make the world a better place and others do not.  There are people who inspire me.  There are people who frighten me.  Sometimes they are the same person.  We make choices with available information among available options.  The following choices will be mine at the ballot box Tuesday.  Here’s what and why…

DISTRICT MEASURES

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YES on GG Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority – An Eagle Scout, I grew up hiking and camping in the Sierra Nevadas.  Even when I was a Republican I valued our environment.  I join fellow SAG-AFTRA member Ed Begley, Jr. and Alex Trebek (no, really) in voting YES on GG.

LA CITY MEASURES

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YES on HHH Homelessness Reduction & Prevention – I’ve been homeless.  Our society continues to treat those without a home like addicts and criminals.  LA Mayor Eric Garcetti and other leaders clearly act to reward wealthy developers above any other consideration.  Luxury properties appear overnight, fortified like embassies in troubled lands.  Except the troubled land is LA.  Fortified from what?  Perhaps the growing tent cities of the displaced, discarded and despised.  The homeless.  Measure HHH is one small step towards changing the Charles Dickens realities that linger in our “modern” civilization.

jjj-logoYES on JJJ Build Better LA – Unions for the construction workers support it.  We need the affordable housing, local hires and better working conditions.  The Mayor and my Councilman claim to have better alternatives.  I don’t trust them.  I’m voting for the union-built bird in hand.

vfxod4sdNO on RRR Dept Water & Power – Mayor Eric Garcetti, the City Council and the DWP want this.  I don’t trust any of them.  DWP has dropped the ball in a number of garish ways.  Remember when UCLA flooded?  Remember the full service Vegas trips at taxpayer expense?  I’m voting with consumer watchdog groups NO on RRR.

NO on SSS Airport Police to Join LA Fire & Police Pension – At first blush, this sounds like righting a wrong, making things equal.  But according to the LA Times the union representing the airport police don’t want this.  They would know best, so I’m joining them in voting NO on SSS.

SCHOOL MEASURES

YES on CC Community Colleges Bonds for Repairs

COUNTY MEASURES

YES on A Property Taxes for Parks – Doesn’t cost much and replaces expiring taxes.  Sorry, but I like parks.  As a former homeowner I paid property taxes.  As a tenant I pay rent a landlord charges to cover expenses … such as property taxes.  Any homeowner or tenant should be happy to pay pennies for parks.

measurem-logo-1YES on M LA County Traffic Improvement Plan – Many Angelinos think of driving as a necessity.  In fact, driving is a privilege.  A privilege the 50 states routinely remove from fathers who don’t earn enough.  I’ve depended on public transit.  LA desperately needs to catch up to the rest of the world.  This is long overdue.  Developers and the wealthy should pay for it.  But this is the only way it will get done.

STATE MEASURES

NO on 51 School Bonds – Funding for schools sounds good, but I’m joining the LA Times and Governor Jerry Brown in voting NO on 51.

?? on 52 Medi-Cal Hospital Fee ProgramHealth care worker unions oppose, but haven’t articulated their arguments.  I’ll have to sit this one out.  Not enough information.

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NO on 53 Revenue Bonds: Statewide Voter ApprovalI join Governor Jerry Brown, the California Chamber of Commerce and firefighters and voting NO on 53.

 

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YES on 54 Legislation TransparencyIf we had more of this, there’d be less need for WikiLeaks.

 

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YES on 55 Tax Extension to Fund Education & Health Care 

 

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YES on 56 Cigarette Tax to Fund Health Care – I don’t care if you smoke them.  Just don’t force me to breathe it.  And don’t whine about the taxes you should pay for the inevitable health consequences.  To yourself AND others.  Don’t like the tax?  Quit the filthy habit.  Only you and Phillip Morris complaining.

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YES on 57 Criminal Sentences, Parole – Opportunity for parole is not the same as releasing rapists into the street.  Stop the scare tactics.  Stop aiding and abetting Prison, Inc. Start introducing sanity to the criminal justice system.

 

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YES on 58 English Proficiency, Multilingual Education

 

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YES on 59 Overturn Citizens United – Corporations are not people.  Elections bought by the wealthy are not free speech.  We the real people deserve better.  I join Bernie’s call to vote NO on 59.

 

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NO on 60 Adult Films: Condoms & Health Requirements

 

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YES on 61 State Prescription Drug Purchases

 

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YES on 62 Death Penalty Repeal – Review the work of the Innocence Project.  False imprisonment is inexcusable.  Yet it happens.  Clearly we cannot trust our justice system with the death penalty.  Justice requires we dispose of this costly and inhumane false deterrent.

 

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YES on 63 Firearms Ammunition Sales – Mere common sense.  If we were talking about automobiles or other heavy machinery whose sole purpose wasn’t to kill someone, there’d be no debate.  I’m a former handgun owner.  And I’m voting YES on 63.

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YES on 64 Legalize Marijuana – Stop the War on Drugs already!  It doesn’t work!  Legalize, tax and regulate.  I don’t partake.  But I sure am not going to tell a cancer patient they shouldn’t relieve their pain.  That would be immoral.  Not something I can imagine anyone’s idea of Jesus would do.

 

NO on 65 Carryout Bags Charges

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NO on 66 Death Penalty Procedures

 

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YES on 67 Ban on Single-Use Plastic Bags – We’ve turned our oceans into garbage dumps.  Stop it!

 

JUDICIAL – JUDGE OF THE SUPERIOR COURT

#11 Debra R. Archuleta

#42 Efrain Matthew Aceves

#84 Susan Jung Townsend

#158 Kim L. Nguyen

STATE ASSEMBLY 

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Richard Bloom – He’s the Democrat incumbent.

 

US REPRESENTATIVE

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Adam B. Schiff – He’s the Democrat incumbent.

 

US SENATOR 

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Kamala D. Harris – Both Democrats running appear to have similar positions.  But a casual comparison of the Twitter accounts of both candidates was hard for me to ignore.  Harris quickly strikes me as having much more going for her.  She’ll need that support, professionalism and social media competency to be my Senator.

PRESIDENT AND VEEP

im_with_her_blueHillary Clinton & Tim Kaine –  She’s a leader.  She’s experienced.  She’s an adult.  It’s time.    Golda Meir led Israel two years before I was born.  Theresa May is Britain’s second female leader, and I’m not talking about the Queen.  Pakistan has an airport named after their first female leader.  I grew up a Reagan conservative.  What a carnival ride watching Reagan conservatives squirm into marvelous contortions as they attempt to justify and quantify their support of the reality TV star rich kid who calls bankruptcies and routinely failing to pay his sub-contractors “success in business”.  His very candidacy indicts America, not to mention the Republican party to which I once belonged.  I preferred Bernie in the primaries, but Hillary clearly hits enough of the issues right for me to feel very comfortable calling her Madame President.

Hear a Nation Roar

(Most of this on Facebook)

POEM: Son of Elmer Gantry’s Bitch


Son of Elmer Gantry’s Bitch – by Mark Roman
This is an essay that became the current poem, but feels like it wants to be lyrics to a song.
I have more work to do…

I.
Why do I struggle in this culture so coarse?  
Why don’t I pursue profit without remorse?
Why do I want to heal, write and sing?  
And feel guilty every time I permit that fling?

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

II.
Is it because I grew up Kimmy Schmidt, not boy but man?
Inside the body of that Eagle Scout son of Willy Loman?
The not yet dead salesman of creeds and policies.
Always at the Goddamn fucking knee of Elmer Gantries.

III.
Is it because I’m still technically Catholic, brother?  
Chained to a Pope enrages a father. But satisfies a mother.
A mother after whom my nurtured fears did once lust.  
A second awkward marriage averted. Back to dust.

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

IV.
The student paper I wrote & published, why could I not let it go?  
That right wing Ken Doll pub crawl college boss sure hoped so!  
See he had a lot of agape to give.  If the smoking gun found sun.
Understand they wouldn’t. Especially his lady’s groom. His son.

V.
Everyone wonders why that abundant happy salesman not in my bones.  
Something completely different than Dad’s insurance.  Like mortgage loans?
Harness my wit and charms to sell whatever’s not yet criminal in this port!
Grab my “fair share” and do it before the next Great Depression or Big Short!  

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

VI.
To love what you’re supposed to do is just a decision away.  
For those not burdened with too many questions to parlay.
Produce for the consumers. Why not Abide? Like The Dude?
Why so fucking depressed and homeless you silly white dude?

VII.
When the vultures steal and enslave, why don’t I in kind retaliate?
Their tactics are worldly and wise, why should I not embrace?
And so to my ground zero arrive the charity of career counselors
What the Goddamn fuck happened to all the emergency responders?

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

VIII.
Doctors without board certified want to medicate my personality away.  
Soma.  For the masses.  If the theatre of Mass is not enough to assuage.  
The good citizens annoyed at the disease of my eyes that see.  
Why so stubborn?  Why not “get over it” and assimilate like we?

IX.
Why is merely being me an act of open revolution against the established fable?  
Why does imminent homelessness bring suicidal thoughts to the food stamp table?  
Mommy gave me religion.  And taught me to read.  Dark & Light, The Force indeed.

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

© 2016 Mark Roman aka Mark Nehls – TheMarkRoman.com

(Rise above mere Dead Poets Societies!  Support poets when they need it most.  While still alive!  BUY autographed copies HERE.)

I Took Prince & My Life for Granted


No. A night’s sleep didn’t help.
I feel like a locomotive ran over me.
I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m disgusted with how much of my life I’ve wasted on formal education, jobs, religion, and pleasing people. I took for granted that someday perhaps I’d see Prince in concert, maybe even meet him. I took for granted that Prince was available, alive in the culture, occasionally in Hollywood. Maybe I’d stroll down to the W jazz night or some music venue or someone’s living room or patio. Then suddenly I might experience him. There would be that moment.
The truth is I have experienced Prince my entire life. Through his music. Through his performance. Through his delightfully signature subversion. A subversion he elevated to an art form. Perhaps that is enough. But instead of thoroughly enjoying “Cream” when he released it, I was busy insisting an Animal House “college” deserved my newspaper. Instead of enjoying “1999” I was returning to California to waste 7 more years seeing “The Big Short” to its conclusion.
Maybe it’s that I resent wasting so much of my life trying to chase money and please moronic clowns clutching employee manuals or diplomas or Bibles they can’t even read. I’m too nice. I listen to vaguely plausible people too much. I’m too generous with my life. Had I woken up a bit sooner, gotten a bit more impatient and angry, perhaps right now I could recall “I remember when I saw Prince and he …”

Fear and Loathing. Near American Idol.


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Lt. Frank FFIREHS of Vegas90210.com.  A different kind of law enforcement cheetah.
A vaguely familiar motorcycle cop interrupted my stride with a question. He wore the LAPD film division patch.  I am a card-carrying member of the Screen Actors Guild.  Previously on my IMDb, I may have seen him securing one of the many shows and films I’ve worked on location throughout LA.  He would not have witnessed me sporting a mustache, short shorts and rainbow tactical leg warmers.  As a TV and film actor who frequently delivers gripping performances (Without. Saying. A Word.), I’m typically cast as a clean cut businessman, detective, cop … or even LAPD.  But walking home yesterday I was my character Lt. Frank FFIREHS of Vegas90210.com.  Who many consider to be the impression of that guy from Reno 911!  Who Tom Lennon calls “my doppelganger“.  And “bigger“.  
Who is Tom Lennon?  (Sorry Tom, people ask. Clearly a crime against humanity.)  Tom is that guy.  The original Lt. Dangle of Reno 911! and Reno 911!: Miami.  He’s also that guy,  Felix #5 on The Odd Couple on CBS.  No, not that guy from Friends.  Or Rob Schneider.  Tom (together with frequent collaborator Robert Ben Garant) wrote the Night at the Museum films.  (he put words in Robin Williams’ mouth.)  For comedy nerds and Marc Maron, he’s that guy from The State.  Oh, and remember that time you dropped acid and spent the day at The Getty?  You were actually watching the Terrence Malick film Knight of Cups.  Tom Lennon and the Dark Knight were involved.  Anyway, I digress.  (But only with painstakingly narcissistic purpose.  As an ex girlfriend rocket scientist employed by a Fortune 500 warfare dealer once noted, I’m merely an “AMW”: Actor, Model, Whatever.)
MightyMighty
Tom Lennon yells “Mark!”  This time he’s manfully striding towards me on foot, not doing yet another “Wassup” drive-by on Hollywood Boulevard.  Then the original Lt. Dangle and Felix #5 says:  “This is Dicky Barrett of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones.”
Back to our thrilling story.  Intensely curious, the stalwart officer inquired what I was doing in my costume. “What is this all about?” he demanded, while guarding where William Hung just sang “She Bangs”. Yeah.  The officer was working security for American Idol‘s last stand at the Dolby Theater.  Yet somehow I was obligated to break character.  To explain myself. As a busker, a performing artist. As seen at Beacher’s Madhouse at the Roosevelt Hotel (and the MGM Las Vegas).  As seen on TMZ.  As seen in The Hollywood Reporter.  As seen on ABC.  Bakersfield.  Explain my costumed self.  In Hollywood. Steps from where Oscars are awarded.
This is my life.  This is why I’m the Eagle Scout honor student life has instructed to openly mock authority.  But wait.  It gets weirder.  Weirder than Presidential candidate Ted Cruz auditioning for the remake of The Princess Bride.
Remaining in character, I respond to our earnest officer “I protect the Boulevard from democracy and Jimmy Kimmel“.  (Who is Jimmy Kimmel?  Fair question.  You know.  Jimmy.  Not drunk Jimmy.  The other Jimmy.  The one with the podcast.  Broadcast from an abandoned Illuminati bed and breakfast.  On Hollywood Boulevard.)  This usually earns a laugh.  Or a smile.  Or at least a look of recognition that I’m acting, spouting cartoon crazy and not about to break character. Law enforcement increasingly gets the joke lately.  Earlier that day a female LAPD officer shared with me the speculation among her colleagues of what I might be off the boulevard.  “You’re not like the others”. Their guess?  I’m a grade school teacher.  (Why do I say female?  We need more of them in uniform.  I watch them frequently and effortlessly reach for their … brains.  What do they know that too many male LAPD officers apparently don’t?)
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Beacher’s Madhouse often feels less insane than what Fortune 500’s and upright citizens wage on humanity daily.
But this LAPD officer dude guarding American Idol from their just deserts remained serious.  Serious as a legacy network executive ordering ten new reality TV shows. “What’s wrong with democracy?” I reply: “Democracy gave us American Idol, the Kardashians and Donald Trump.” I had gone a busker move too far. But my crime wasn’t trashing American Idol, loved by too many.  (Despite the fact that as reality TV, it and its competition show ilk exploits non-union talent.  If one is unfortunate enough to win, the contracts heavily favor the producers.  Not the winning contestants.) I even had to dampen my “American Idol is Evil” rants earlier in the day (some to people queuing for Idol – on my Periscope, naturally) because a friend who just performed on the final Idol show informed me Ryan Seacrest had helped his music career. He shared this, breathlessly returning to work. At a restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard. I don’t know if that is commentary on Seacrest or how America treats upcoming artists.  Or both.
No, my crime to this LAPD film division officer was to suggest ANYTHING derogatory.  About Donald Trump. “Who are you going to vote for, Bernie or Hilary? They’re communists! We need someone better than Barack Hussein Obama. He’s the worst president ever.” I’m biting my lip, staying in happy go-lucky character, increasingly aware that I’m a fake cop packing a Central American banana and this is a real cop packing at least one very real gun, probably crafted with pride in ‘merica. And he’s not having any of what his old school grumpy clearly considers subversive nonsense. He patronizingly asks me whether I’m even registered to vote.  Do I appreciate how precious that right is, that people of certain sexual orientations would be quickly killed in Saudi Arabia?  Apparently he thinks I’m gay.  Hard to tell his thoughts on the Rob Schneider question.
Nick Swardson
Nick Swardson (“Terry” on Reno 911!) may be wearing sweat pants.  But at least he’s not wearing shower slippers and sporting cargo shorts pride.
“Who else is there, Ted Cruz?”  I triple down in character: “Oh, is that the guy who auditioned for the remake of The Princess Bride?”  Apparently that reference was too subtle for LAPD: Falling Down Edition.  Perhaps he missed the reaction from Mandy Patinkin in TIME magazine to the Aspiring Actor Street Preacher from the Great Nation of Texas relating to the folks on the campaign trail.  LAPD impatiently schools me: “No, he’s running for President of the United States”.  The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention, much as I used to during military drill in Boy Scouts.  Or at mock boot camp in the Delayed Entry Program for the United State Marine Corps.  That one time.  Before I found out someone put me on the FBI’s Subversives List.
I flashback to college, standing in front of Hillsdale President George Roche, who condescendingly invites me to “just let it go”. The “Harvard of the Midwest” had dismissed me for accepting free college folders without proper authorization.  The man who was currently banging his son’s wife while raising millions for a college proudly defending “family, church and local community” was offering me a quid pro quo: shutter my independent student newspaper and we’ll welcome you back to the “Hillsdale family”.
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I’m like Greg Proops.  I’m not gay.  And I make absolutely no case for it.  I require Greg’s Smartest Man in the World Podcast.  For the wild boars.  For Jeremy Irons.  For the kittens.  And for any neglected vodka flavored vodka drinks.
In a nano second I’m back, facing this veteran LAPD cop devoid of humor or propriety. I summon all my acting ability to remain as childlike and apparently clueless as Donnie in The Big Lebowski as possible. I clearly cannot engage this peace officer with any logic remotely reminiscent of Twain, Mencken or Hunter S. Thompson. I’m guessing they were Goddamn Communists, too. Or worse, too subtle for this reptilian brain sporting a badge before me, packing a gun to “protect and serve”.  American Idol.
I somehow gently extricate myself enough that a “best wishes brother officer” appears to satisfy our friendly neighborhood LAPD Trump voter.
Hours later I’m in a bar on Hollywood Blvd for a writers meeting for The Hollywood and Highland Players.  Sans costumes, I’ve got my laptop out, because we are writing our sketches for next week.  The humanity!  Some dude and his LADY! plop down at the bar near me.  His vibe:  he’s cooler than the thieves who took a joy ride down Hollywood Boulevard doing donuts on their way to selfies with the homies in South LA before their inevitable if disappointingly less than dramatic arrest by LA Sheriffs.
Myles Cohen Edit
Instantly this guy is in my face. “What’s with the laptop? You doing your homework? Why don’t you do that on your own time?!” I ignore him until he starts leaning into my personal space with his phone and puts his arm on my bag. I look him eye to eye and ask him what the problem is. He backs off for a minute, then returns to his alleged roasting, which includes such witty barbs as “Captain America”.  (I was wearing a black sweater.  My ball cap was blue not red.  It said “SF”, not “Make America Great Again”.)  My fellow writers and I ultimately move to the other side of the restaurant. We were there to write sketches, not re-enact West Side Story over hot wings. Apparently people writing scripts in Hollywood is suspect. But then again, American Idol had just sung its alleged swan song. And my plea earlier on Periscope for #DropRealityDonut to become a thing?  Not yet a thing.
That was my yesterday.  A Thursday.  In Hollywood.  A town rampant with bullies.  Some wear badges and vote for Trump.  Some go on a joy ride to score a reality show contract and Ford Mustang endorsement deal.  Some impress the girl they’ll later domestically abuse by trying to pick a fight in a bar.  Some follow in the footsteps of Dick Clark by exploiting artists and bringing us the Kardashians.  Some feel they need to redeem their sins as popularized in The Big Short, even if only as a former lackluster and unenthusiastic loan officer.  This is why I’m a working artist father who wears short shorts and rainbow tactical leg-warmers.  While asking passing tourists “Is it because Jesus wore shower slippers too?”