“Get a Real Job”


This week more than the usual number of classy folk on The Las Vegas Strip made comments to me along the lines of “get a real job”. They said this to someone they had no idea was an Eagle Scout who attended college on academic scholarship, was in the mortgage industry for over a decade, founded a professional networking group, and is a SAG-AFTRA actor with 30+ IMDb credits. They just saw a street performer in a certain costume and they made some judgments. Fine. Permit me to make some judgments of the Fortune 500 companies where you think morally superior citizens might work. Of course, my judgments are based on multiple news sources laden with very specific verifiable facts. HSBC is a bank that laundered drug cartel money. The Catholic Church, one of the oldest corporations, employed and protected active pederasts. And PG&E is an energy company that killed people with cancers more painful than lethal injection. But at least the stellar employees in this 2 min. film clip professionally defending PG&E are not low life deadbeat street performer bums, right? Maybe you should do a little research before you go bragging about your “good job” … to ANYONE. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGX4nMrnxg0

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Floods, Elmer Gantry and The Office Space Nation


So my latest residence flooded.  I awoke last Sunday at 5am, not to some nubile honey begging for more (which would have been unusual if not refreshingly delightful, given my Spock-like adherence of late to my Twelve Step Program to Remain a Single Guy), but to the gentle sound of the thunderstorm in the kitchen, fed by a growing pool of water in the master bath (and bedroom) above.  The water pressure out of that broken toilet would make your average firefighter jealous.

Now half the house is under construction, which ain’t that bad . . . if you don’t need a kitchen.  Besides, eating is over-rated, or so the brain trust “beauties” who populate runways these days tell me.  And the occasional crunches are not tightening my abs quick enough, damnit!

Longer story less long,  I’m looking for a new place to live . . . again.

Ever since I started down the path of a recovering mortgage broker in the late summer of 2007, my housing has been a plot to create material for my stand-up act.  I have slept in an office boasting just enough square footage to accommodate a desk, a chair, and a double size sleeping bag.  Apparently that “double” bag was from the Target for little people.  I have slept on floors and couches and in vehicles.  I have been the human additive to an apartment of cats.  I have rented a room in a house that was foreclosed . . . and PG&E shut off the gas and electric . . . so I relived my Boy Scout days cooking bath and oatmeal water on a camping stove for two weeks.  As I suspected, my definition of “camping” remains lodging half a star above Motel 6 (thanks Boy Scouts and my parents idea of “vacation”).

My residential odyssey of the last few years has required me to recruit ex-US Marshall buddies to serve restraining orders to major metro ex-cops and to pay multiple deposits to a real estate broker landlord who ended up filing for bankruptcy (guess how much of my deposit I got back).

Nothing money couldn’t solve, but when you switch to the entertainment business mid-life, I’ve noticed it takes more than two years to start earning decent coin from the endeavor.  I could pull the family strings, given my parent’s involvement with that 80’s marvel Up With People.  However, given their “born-again” loyalties, the best they can do for my entertainment career is help me research a role for a remake of Elmer Gantry.  But I already did my childhood.  And my parents spent the college, film school, and “help our kids” money on a few decades of membership in the Spokesperson for Jesus of the Month Club.

So here I am, with $30 and lint burning a hole in my pocket.  What am I going to do?

I am going to start Office Space Nation.  My passion is to make love to the nearest movie camera or bored audience.  And apparently one or two people out there have lost their job, fear they’ll lose their job, or hate their job.  They need my help.  I understand.  I have the street cred.  And I am the eternal optimist entertainer who refuses to see the dark side of life.  I have no idea how the business side will work.  One of you does, and needs the work.  I’m just the ideas guy behind the microphone and camera.  I’ve got my plate full.  (Seriously.  You don’t want me anywhere near a spreadsheet.  A wormhole might develop and William Shatner will end up living in your kitchen for the next five years.)

Hi.  My name is Mark Roman.  I am your Socratic Entertainer.  So what’s your passion?