Congratulations Hollywood! All hail and crown thee “Just The Tip” of the iceberg for the Emotional Revolution. The avalanche following the tsunami of predators and the voice of the victims rising up and speaking out against your nasty little secrets that were anything but, has created a brand new awareness to every workplace in the country and quite possibly the universe. You did it Hollywood, you’re the king of the hill, top of the heap, and soon to be the first, second and third joke at every awards show you’ve created for yourself. What an honor, such celebration, pomp, circumstances and lawsuits. My, my. Kudos!
A few years back, my friends and I began a personal homage to the gutter and the glitter of the entertainment industry. After many rants and ramblings, we thought it was high time for a guidebook through the reel deal in Lala Land. Henceforth, we began a Girlfriend’s Guide to Navigating the Shark Infested Waters of the Big City. We never knew at that time it would end up as a TV pilot giving sage advice to the bright eyed and bushy tailed newbie in the headlights. We never knew at that time that the sharks would be diving from the surface into the cold waters of Arizona sex rehab. (FYI, sharks never stop swimming, even in their sleep.) Most of these hammerheads will wait for the storm to blow over, just so they can slowly and maniacally resurface for more chums. I never knew at that time that I would be penning an immigrant’s POV of the LA whirlwind. Growing up in this town I have grown accustomed to many cultures and possibly every breed of people. The one thing I know across the borders is that every woman, man and child, of every age, does not appreciate being preyed upon by power abusers, false promisers or anyone who looks like chewed up gum rolled in cat hair. (Thanks SNL, you nailed it!) In fact, we all hate it so much, some of us have even decided to write, cast and film the despicable stereotypes for our own fodder and entertainment. Think The Emperors New Clothes meets anything with a great revenge ending, like The New Yorker.
These horrible, odd and misshapen circumstances of the brave and the beautiful finding their voice against the repugnant and putrid during my plight of Hollywood’s reckoning, has quite a few folks scurrying. However, not everyone need pack up and run, as there are still some savory and real filmmakers in this god fearing forsaken town who are truly in it for the art and not the arse. They are few and far between. Pop culture has made sure that we have all been witness to the many varieties of slime on the current market.
I took a chance and threw a ball and a bat at the ball club. They call it “Insider Baseball” when you blow the whistle on the boss or the meat and potatoes or the rent check and you find yourself jobless, hungry and homeless. Do I commit possible career suicide by shouting from the rooftops what a douche my “biz boss” really is? Everybody’s heard of Hollywood and the debauchery they’ve been getting away with for a long time, so who am I to be the whistle blower? And I say to that, “If not me, then whom?” I say me now and #methree.
Imagine the productivity level for people who have been mercilessly harassed at the workplace who can now show up to their place of work and actually work. Harassment free cubicles and sound stages are the wave of the future and the beached whales and nationally lampooned and harpooned sharks will litter the internet.