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Actors really should be tramps.

quote by Martin Milner
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Sister Disco

As I walked through that hospital door
As I walked through that hospital door
I was sewn up like a coat
I was sewn up like a coat
I got a smile from the bite of the wind
I got a smile from the bite of the wind
Watched the fresh fall of snow
Watched the fresh fall of snow
I knew then that my life took a turn
I knew then that my life took a turn
I felt strong and secure
I felt strong and secure
And with adhesive tape over my nose
And with adhesive tape over my nose
I felt almost demure
I felt almost demure
Goodbye sister disco
Goodbye sister disco
With your flashing trash lamps
With your flashing trash lamps
Goodbye sister disco
Goodbye sister disco
And to your clubs and your tramps
And to your clubs and your tramps
Goodbye sister disco
Goodbye sister disco
My dancings left you behind
My dancings left you behind
Goodbye, now youre solo
Goodbye, now youre solo
Black plastic; deaf, dumb and blind
Black plastic; deaf, dumb and blind
Bye, goodbye sister disco, now I go
Bye, goodbye sister disco, now I go
I go where the music where the music fits my soul
I go where the music where the music fits my soul
And i, I will never let go, Ill never let go
And i, I will never let go, Ill never let go
til the echo of the street fight has dissolved
til the echo of the street fight has dissolved
I will choose nightmares and cold stormy seas
I will choose nightmares and cold stormy seas
I will take over your grief and disease
I will take over your grief and disease
Ill stay beside you and comfort your soul
Ill stay beside you and comfort your soul
When you are lonely and broken and old
When you are lonely and broken and old
Now I walk with a man in my face
Now I walk with a man in my face

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
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The Apology

ADDRESSED TO THE CRITICAL REVIEWERS.

Tristitiam et Metus.--HORACE.

Laughs not the heart when giants, big with pride,
Assume the pompous port, the martial stride;
O'er arm Herculean heave the enormous shield,
Vast as a weaver's beam the javelin wield;
With the loud voice of thundering Jove defy,
And dare to single combat--what?--A fly!
And laugh we less when giant names, which shine
Establish'd, as it were, by right divine;
Critics, whom every captive art adores,
To whom glad Science pours forth all her stores;
Who high in letter'd reputation sit,
And hold, Astraea-like, the scales of wit,
With partial rage rush forth--oh! shame to tell!--
To crush a bard just bursting from the shell?
Great are his perils in this stormy time
Who rashly ventures on a sea of rhyme:
Around vast surges roll, winds envious blow,
And jealous rocks and quicksands lurk below:
Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends;
He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
Look through the world--in every other trade
The same employment's cause of kindness made,
At least appearance of good will creates,
And every fool puffs off the fool he hates:
Cobblers with cobblers smoke away the night,
And in the common cause e'en players unite;
Authors alone, with more than savage rage,
Unnatural war with brother authors wage.
The pride of Nature would as soon admit
Competitors in empire as in wit;
Onward they rush, at Fame's imperious call,
And, less than greatest, would not be at all.
Smit with the love of honour,--or the pence,--
O'errun with wit, and destitute of sense,
Should any novice in the rhyming trade
With lawless pen the realms of verse invade,
Forth from the court, where sceptred sages sit,
Abused with praise, and flatter'd into wit,
Where in lethargic majesty they reign,
And what they won by dulness, still maintain,
Legions of factious authors throng at once,
Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
To 'Hamilton's the ready lies repair--
Ne'er was lie made which was not welcome there--
Thence, on maturer judgment's anvil wrought,
The polish'd falsehood's into public brought.

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Gypsies Tramps And Thieves

I was born in the wagon of a traveling show
My momma used to dance for the money they'd throw
Papa would do whatever he could
Preach a little Gospel
Sell a couple bottles of Dr. Good
Chorus:
Gypsies, tramps and thieves
We'd hear it from the people of the town
They'd call us
Gypsies, tramps and thieves
But every night all the men would come around
And lay their money down
Picked up a boy just south of Mobile
Gave him a ride, filled him with a hot meal
I was 16, he was 21
Rode with us to Memphis
And Papa woulda shot 'im if he knew what he'd done
Chorus
I never had schoolin' but he taught me well
With his smooth, Southern style
Three months later I'm a gal in trouble
And I haven't seen him for a while
I haven't seen him for a while
She was born in the wagon of a traveling show
Her momma used to dance for the money they'd throw
Grandpa would do whatever he could
Preach a little Gospel
Sell a couple bottles of Dr. Good
Repeat Chorus
Gypsies, tramps and thieves (repeat and fade

song performed by Cher
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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There is a strange pecking order among actors. Theater actors look down on film actors, who look down on TV actors. Thank God for reality shows, or we wouldn't have anybody to look down on.

quote by George Clooney
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If I ever opened a trampoline store, I don't think I'd call it Trampo-Land, because you might think it was a store for tramps, which is not the impression we are trying to convey with our store. On the other hand, we would not prohibit tramps from browsing, or testing the trampolines, unless a tramp's gyrations seemed to be getting out of control.

Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
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Born To Run

In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway american dream
At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway 9,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
Its a death trap, its a suicide rap
We gotta get out while were young
'cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run
Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs round these velvet rims
And strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this trap
Well run till we drop, baby well never go back
Will you walk with me out on the wire
'cause baby Im just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if love is wild, girl I want to know if love is real
Beyond the palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss
The highways jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybodys out on the run tonight but theres no place left to hide
Together wendy well live with the sadness
Ill love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I dont know when were gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go and well walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us baby we were born to run

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
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Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves

I was born in the wagon of a travelin' show
My mama used to dance for the money they'd throw
Papa would do whatever he could
Preach a little gospel
Sell a couple bottles of doctor good
Chorus:
Gypsies, tramps and thieves
We'd hear it from the people of the town
They'd call us gypsies, tramps and thieves
But every night all the men would come around
And lay their money down
Picked up a boy just south of mobile
Gave him a ride, filled him with a hot meal
I was sixteen, he was twenty-one
Rode with us to memphis
And papa woulda shot him if he knew what he'd done
Chorus
I never had schoolin' but he taught me well
With his smooth southern style
Three months later, i'm a gal in trouble
And i haven't seen him for a while
I haven't seen him for a while
She was born in the wagon of a travelin' show
Her mama had to dance for the money they'd throw
Grandpa'd do whatever he could
Preach a little gospel
Sell a couple bottles of doctor good
Chorus

song performed by Cher
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Gypsys, Tramps Thieves

I was born in the wagon of a travellin show
My mama used to dance for the money theyd throw
Papa would do whatever he could
Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of doctor good
Chorus
Gypsys, tramps, and thieves
Wed hear it from the people of the town
Theyd call us gypsys, tramps, and thieves
But every night all the men would come around
And lay their money down
Picked up a boy just south of mobile
Gave him a ride, filled him with a hot meal
I was sixteen, he was twenty-one
Rode with us to memphis
And papa woulda shot him if he knew what hed done
Chorus
I never had schoolin but he taught me well
With his smooth southern style
Three months later Im a gal in trouble
And I havent seen him for a while, uh-huh
I havent seen him for a while, uh-huh
She was born in the wagon of a travellin show
Her mama had to dance for the money theyd throw
Grandpad do whatever he could
Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of doctor good
Chorus chorus fades

song performed by Cher
Added by Lucian Velea
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Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves

I was born in the wagon of a travellin show
My mama used to dance for the money theyd throw
Papa would do whatever he could
Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of doctor good
Chorus
Gypsys, tramps, and thieves
Wed hear it from the people of the town
Theyd call us gypsys, tramps, and thieves
But every night all the men would come around
And lay their money down
Picked up a boy just south of mobile
Gave him a ride, filled him with a hot meal
I was sixteen, he was twenty-one
Rode with us to memphis
And papa woulda shot him if he knew what hed done
Chorus
I never had schoolin but he taught me well
With his smooth southern style
Three months later Im a gal in trouble
And I havent seen him for a while, uh-huh
I havent seen him for a while, uh-huh
She was born in the wagon of a travellin show
Her mama had to dance for the money theyd throw
Grandpad do whatever he could
Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of doctor good
Chorus chorus fades

song performed by Cher
Added by Lucian Velea
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Born To Run

(springsteen)
In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway american dream
At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway 9,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
Its a death trap, its a suicide rap
We gotta get out while were young
'cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run
Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs round these velvet rims
And strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this trap
Well run till we drop, baby well never go back
Will you walk with me out on the wire
'cause baby Im just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if love is wild, girl I want to know if love is real
Beyond the palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss
The highways jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybodys out on the run tonight but theres no place left to hide
Together wendy well live with the sadness
Ill love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I dont know when were gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go and well walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us baby we were born to run

song performed by Frankie Goes To Hollywood
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The Odyssey: Book 14

Ulysses now left the haven, and took the rough track up through
the wooded country and over the crest of the mountain till he
reached the place where Minerva had said that he would find the
swineherd, who was the most thrifty servant he had. He found him
sitting in front of his hut, which was by the yards that he had
built on a site which could be seen from far. He had made them
spacious and fair to see, with a free ran for the pigs all round them;
he had built them during his master's absence, of stones which he
had gathered out of the ground, without saying anything to Penelope or
Laertes, and he had fenced them on top with thorn bushes. Outside
the yard he had run a strong fence of oaken posts, split, and set
pretty close together, while inside lie had built twelve sties near
one another for the sows to lie in. There were fifty pigs wallowing in
each sty, all of them breeding sows; but the boars slept outside and
were much fewer in number, for the suitors kept on eating them, and
die swineherd had to send them the best he had continually. There were
three hundred and sixty boar pigs, and the herdsman's four hounds,
which were as fierce as wolves, slept always with them. The
swineherd was at that moment cutting out a pair of sandals from a good
stout ox hide. Three of his men were out herding the pigs in one place
or another, and he had sent the fourth to town with a boar that he had
been forced to send the suitors that they might sacrifice it and
have their fill of meat.
When the hounds saw Ulysses they set up a furious barking and flew
at him, but Ulysses was cunning enough to sit down and loose his
hold of the stick that he had in his hand: still, he would have been
torn by them in his own homestead had not the swineherd dropped his ox
hide, rushed full speed through the gate of the yard and driven the
dogs off by shouting and throwing stones at them. Then he said to
Ulysses, "Old man, the dogs were likely to have made short work of
you, and then you would have got me into trouble. The gods have
given me quite enough worries without that, for I have lost the best
of masters, and am in continual grief on his account. I have to attend
swine for other people to eat, while he, if he yet lives to see the
light of day, is starving in some distant land. But come inside, and
when you have had your fill of bread and wine, tell me where you
come from, and all about your misfortunes."
On this the swineherd led the way into the hut and bade him sit
down. He strewed a good thick bed of rushes upon the floor, and on the
top of this he threw the shaggy chamois skin- a great thick one- on
which he used to sleep by night. Ulysses was pleased at being made
thus welcome, and said "May Jove, sir, and the rest of the gods
grant you your heart's desire in return for the kind way in which
you have received me."
To this you answered, O swineherd Eumaeus, "Stranger, though a still
poorer man should come here, it would not be right for me to insult
him, for all strangers and beggars are from Jove. You must take what
you can get and be thankful, for servants live in fear when they
have young lords for their masters; and this is my misfortune now, for
heaven has hindered the return of him who would have been always

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The crossover wasn't happening. TV actors were TV actors, and film and stage actors were a whole different thing. And now there's just a lot of crossover.

quote by Christine Lahti
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In this country, you have movie actors and theatre actors and television actors.

quote by Max von Sydow
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I think all great actors - and I don't classify myself as one of them, incidentally - but I think all great actors listen well and I've learned that from a lot of the very good actors with whom I've worked - to really listen to what people say.

quote by John Frankenheimer
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You can think of Hollywood as high school. TV actors are freshmen, comedy actors are maybe juniors, and dramatic actors - they're the cool seniors.

quote by Owen Wilson
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With brutus in st. jo

Of all the opry-houses then obtaining in the West
The one which Milton Tootle owned was, by all odds, the best;
Milt, being rich, was much too proud to run the thing alone,
So he hired an "acting manager," a gruff old man named Krone--
A stern, commanding man with piercing eyes and flowing beard,
And his voice assumed a thunderous tone when Jack and I appeared;
He said that Julius Caesar had been billed a week or so,
And would have to have some armies by the time he reached St. Jo!

O happy days, when Tragedy still winged an upward flight,
When actors wore tin helmets and cambric robes at night!
O happy days, when sounded in the public's rapturous ears
The creak of pasteboard armor and the clash of wooden spears!
O happy times for Jack and me and that one other supe
That then and there did constitute the noblest Roman's troop!
With togas, battle axes, shields, we made a dazzling show,
When we were Roman soldiers with Brutus in St. Jo!

We wheeled and filed and double-quicked wherever Brutus led,
The folks applauding what we did as much as what he said;
'T was work, indeed; yet Jack and I were willing to allow
'T was easier following Brutus than following father's plough;
And at each burst of cheering, our valor would increase--
We tramped a thousand miles that night, at fifty cents apiece!
For love of Art--not lust for gold--consumed us years ago,
When we were Roman soldiers with Brutus in St. Jo!

To-day, while walking in the Square, Jack Langrish says to me:
"My friend, the drama nowadays ain't what it used to be!
These farces and these comedies--how feebly they compare
With that mantle of the tragic art which Forrest used to wear!
My soul is warped with bitterness to think that you and I--
Co-heirs to immortality in seasons long gone by--
Now draw a paltry stipend from a Boston comic show,
We, who were Roman soldiers with Brutus in St. Jo!"

And so we talked and so we mused upon the whims of Fate
That had degraded Tragedy from its old, supreme estate;
And duly, at the Morton bar, we stigmatized the age
As sinfully subversive of the interests of the Stage!
For Jack and I were actors in the halcyon, palmy days
Long, long before the Hoyt school of farce became the craze;
Yet, as I now recall it, it was twenty years ago
That we were Roman soldiers with Brutus in St. Jo!

We were by birth descended from a race of farmer kings
Who had done eternal battle with grasshoppers and things;
But the Kansas farms grew tedious--we pined for that delight
We read of in the Clipper in the barber's shop by night!
We would be actors--Jack and I--and so we stole away

[...] Read more

poem by Eugene Field
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Only In The Making Of Movies

Only in the making of movies,
Are actors found to be handed scripts.
To then learn lines some find to be tedious.
And time well spent is sacrificed to deliver,
What's right for the price...
For the cost being paid.

Camera angles are selected,
By a director who chooses the best scenes.
And the actors are blocked within them,
To emote with belief as an audince viewing this...
Sits,
With their emotions manipulated.

Only in the making of movies,
Are 'realities' depicted.
Although many in the audience become captivated,
With beliefs they also can deceive truth easily.
By saying and doing things they wish to sell.
With hopes their 'portrayals' have gone over well.

And only those who become offended,
They can not sell lies they told to tell...
Are those who become combative,
When confronted by others...
Who are specific and direct AND caring less,
How a charade is masqueraded to address.

Only in the making of movies,
Are actors found to be handed scripts.
To then learn lines some find to be tedious.
Until what is done has been finished.
But many unpaid to 'act' but embellish facts,
Find it difficult to strip away all their fantasies.

Only in the making of movies...
No one sits back to snack.
Only in the making of movies...
Every actor wants to get paid.
And,
Only in the making of movies...
No one sits back to snack.
No one has time for that,
Since a budget has to be paid back.
Oh.
Only in the making of movies...
No one sits back to snack.
Only in the making of movies...
Every actor wants to get paid.
And,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We Are Not Actors!

when millions of our ancestors died for the truth,
when millions of them never acted in their life,
when millions of us work hard with our only face,
who told that world is full actors and actresses?

memorized scripts are repeated,
repeated verses can be recorded and edited,
The director vision is visualized,
Rehearsal can make the scenes perfect.

we live a scene only once in real life,
no directors, editors and the script writer,
we live our life with emotions and blunders,
we feel every moment that is not felt by the actors,
who told that world is the stage and we are the actors?

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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As actors it is easy for us to play the hero. We get to fight the bad guys and stand up for justice. In real life, the choices are not always so clear. The Hollywood Blacklist … was a time I remember well. The choices were hard. The consequences were painful and very real. During the blacklist, I had friends who went into exile when no one would hire them; actors who committed suicide in despair. … I was threatened that using a Blacklisted writer for Spartacus –– my friend Dalton Trumbo — would mark me as a “Commie-lover” and end my career. There are times when one has to stand up for principle. I am so proud of my fellow actors who use their public influence to speak out against injustice. At 98 years old, I have learned one lesson from history: It very often repeats itself.

quote by Kirk Douglas
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