... the Galindo family, with an immense and immeasurable amount of help and financial support from Natasha's parents, now has a sweet white minivan. It took three plus hours at the dealership, three plus hours of high level negotiations at which I am horrible at, and three plus hours of going over my credit, which, just to let you know, is shit. But, unharmed, the Galindo family exited that dealership with a brand spanking new "used" minivan. That I hope we can afford.
Afterwards, we went to a nice, quiet, secluded Lyon's for a family dinner, me, my two daughters, my wife, and her parents. We settled in, ordered drinks, then our food, and engaged in quiet conversation.
Then, a Sacramento high school theater troupe that had just finished performing the play "Bye, Bye Birdie" decided to come in.
Theater fags, people! I'm talking theater FAGS! And back in my day, spoken like an aging young man who fully realizes that he is married with two kids and a minivan, theater fag was just a negative expression that jocks used to make fun of the theater people. Not too many people in upper middle class suburban white america was "out of the closet" back then. But nowadays the theater fags are ACTUALLY fags.
Theater fags, a whole fucking busload of them. And I used to be one way back in the early nineties, back when Kurt Cobain was alive, but after years and years of therapy I can now safely say that I am a recovering theater fag. I was a pretty well known actor back in Arizona. People knew me, knew my face, knew my humor and knew my work. If there was one thing that held me down, though, from reaching my full acting potential back then was the cold hard fact that I hated fucking ostentatious, loud mouthed, bitchy, high headed, attitude-carrying theater fags. Assholes, 85% of them, and they all think they're Tom fucking Cruise, too. I love acting but hate actors.
But those feelings came after 1995, after high school, when I was in college and when I was growing up and maturing. When I was in high school, when I was doing plays like 42nd Street and fucking GREASE (?!?!?!), I was, sadly, a loud ostentatious theater fag. I was one of those loud talking teenage assholes at the sit down resturaunt (for me it was a Perkin's) being all jumpy and annoying. I was one of them.
And last night, there I was, finally coming full circle sitting there in the Lyon's listening to a bunch of upper class pretty boys and little girls who THINK they have tits act like ADD monsters and say stupid jokes (literal one we heard: "Hey, guys ... how about Bye Bye BROKEBACK?") trying to be the center of the conversation by just trying to talk louder than everybody else.
So I leaned up to Natasha and I let her know, gave her the info on what was going on behind the scenes, the stuff you could only know if you were one of them ...
I told her about the loudest table. That was the table of "faces," the stars, the people with major parts in the play. The popular people, the ones who think they're the funniest and most talented. They're highly competitive and are chock full of attitude but they're friendly with each other only because some faggy ass washed up high school theater teacher decided to throw them together. Once the play is done, most of them will go back to fighting one another for the lead in whatever their next overrated play is going to be.
Across the resturaunt is the table of unattractive people with glasses and white afros and cartoon t-shirts and boots and all back clothes on. The techies, the unpopulars, the trolls, the people who work the lights and make the stage and secretly wish that they could make it on the stage one day. But they probably won't. They sit there, a million times quieter, and they actually have conversations that don't end up in massively loud giggle fests. Sadly, though, most of their conversations are about the faces.
Then there's the other table, the one with the least amount of people. That's the table of the background people, the dreared "chorus" rejects. They sit there, the majority of them being hefty women who were at one point really into ponies, and they sip their sodas and they talk about television and celebrities and they wish that they could one day be a face. And maybe they will one day. But probably not.
Right now, though, it's all about the table of faces, the blonde haired, blue eyed men and women who at this exact second, underneath the haze of a good performance, have that rock and roll attitude rush that makes them think that they own the world. And I guess they do, no matter how fleeting that may be.
Because most of these people will continue to act throughout high school, maybe in college, but most of them, a majority of these people, they will never act again outside of high school. This is it. They've peaked. They peaked in high school, the saddest time for a person to peak. After this it's office job and waiter job and relationships and briefcases and marriages and breakups and deaths and partying and during the parties there comes vague rememberances that one day a long time ago they were on a stage and they felt the warm blanket of applause and they were alive.
Natasha was impressed. And she was slighty let down that she married a theater fag. But she said she'll forgive me in time.
Fucking theater fags, man. Back in the day.