Finally getting around to reading Outrageous Fortune, the TDF report on the plight of the American playwright.
Lots of depressing statistics and anonymous kvetching, not much breaking news so far.
Here's the terrible truth, kids, from the mouth of old Scrappy hisself:
If you're going to stay in the American theater and make it your life's work, you are going to be poor. No vacation poor. No savings account poor. No dentist poor. No health care poor. Seriously poor.
That's the road. I know of no shortcut, no detour.
It's a wonderful road and you meet phenomenal people walking along it, but you need to know that at the end of each day you'll be making your bed out under the stars.
And being poor at 46 is a lot different than being poor at 28.
I can't imagine what it's going to be like at 66, but if I'm still around I imagine I'll still be walking that road.
Unless, of course Pablo and Ann come by in the El Dorado and give me a lift.