Walk Out!

Dear Actor Man:

Yep. I walked out of your show yesterday. You see, I've got three kids and two dogs at home who are more entertaining than you even at your most self-indulgent (which happened right around the beginning of Act 2, but I'll come back to that later).

Life is just too short. And given the choice between watching you and going to the strip mall to get what I consider the best cup of coffee outside of Seattle, I chose to get some coffee. See, while you may think your status as weatherman and TV face for a local grocery entitles you - no - obligates you to make the "choice" of upstaging everyone- as an audience member, I have to disagree. I mean, I can forgive a lot of transgressions, but what I can't forgive is not even trying. For $18, I expect to see an attempt at something.

Shuffling around the stage and hamming it up doesn't constitute character development. Perhaps the director was so blinded by your celebrity status that he didn't feel it within his bounds to point that out. Gee whiz! It's fun to be me. No point committing to the action of the play, who cares! No one in the audience knows shit about what they're seeing! Let me amble over here and smile and say my cheeky lines. Oh, the first act's over! Buh-bye! Or maybe, we were seeing all you're capable of doing - in which case, what a risky performance! Calling everyone's attention to one's utter lack of ability, or charm, or any other quality that would make you remotely watchable or entertaining. And speaking of entertaining. Let's get one thing straight. I didn't spend 18 bucks to watch you entertain yourself. Although, apparently you were the only one who enjoyed your performance so bully for you.

Yet. I was willing to stick it out for the second act. That was until you threw the food at the audience and then laughed about how clever that was. Boy! Now that really was self-indulgent. And that was when I left and my only regret is that I ignored my instinct and went quietly instead of calling you out. I suspect you wouldn't have had the balls to deal with a live human-being.

See you on the T.V.

Best,
Elizabeth

N.B. - Yeah. I'm going to write the producers of the show.

- If I want food thrown at me, I can just go home. One of the kids or the dogs are bound to spit, hurl, projectile vomit, or heave something up or at me sooner or later.