About The Dumpster
The Dumpster started over two years ago on AOL Journals. My family was sick of me pissing and moaning about unimportant bullshit all the time, so they told me to shut the fuck up and get a website. So I did. It bounced around from AOL Journals, to Livejournal, to Deadjournal, to my old home at fbhosting and even my own real live dotcom. Most of the writing on my bloggish websites was garbage. Completely. Some of the better articles i wrote on them can still be found here near the earlier entries. I've been accused of ripping off Maddox N times and it doesn't even bother me anymore. I've got more important things to worry about than whether or not a few narrow-minded zealots can notice a difference in writing styles. I'll own up to using his layout because i was too lazy to design my own page, but my writings are original. Basically the site stands as a monument to griping now.
About The Dumpster Keeper
I'm 19, I live in Hollywood, CA and I'm a pessimistic asswipe who's ended more than one friendship because I'm a stubborn prick. I spent the first 18 years of my life in a piss puddle called Salt Lake City, Utah. Once I got out I played with my prick for a little while and started attending the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Being an actor kicks ass. Pompous windbag directors who think they're visionaries spend all day spewing out bullshit about "intention" and "not playing the negative" and you get to show off some real acting talent by pretending like you give a shit. And then you get money at the end. I've done the former a lot so far, and I'm kind of still waiting on the money part. The old picture I kept on my front page was during one of my prime-time fat-and-deprived-of-sleep moments when I decided it would be cool to post a picture I took of myself. Big mistake. My inbox exploded that week with generic "you're fat and look like a girl" e-mails. From my own ganrdmother. I was too lazy to take it down, so I decided to embrace the art of self-loathing instead. Here's a newer, better picture taken by someone who isn't me. Here's an equation most people don't learn at fancy-ass colleges. Chinatown + Me + Fake RayBans + Cool pose + Slightly out of focus camera = a way better picture of me.
QED. I'd show you some of my current headshots, but you're not an agent and I don't think that anyone reading this wants to see me looking moody in a leather jacket. Cliched headshots are cool.
I seriously doubt most people are reading this right now, so I think I'll just talk about how I can't speak any other language besides English worth a shit. Back at AADA, I had friends from a shitload of different countries. Only about half of the class was from the US, and only two of those people were California natives. I spent hours every day attempting to pick up some French from the totally hot french girl named Floriane, and all I can do now is say hello, say goodbye, ask what color a car is, and tell people what color a car is. There was a girl there from Ghana. She speaks five languages (Twi, English, Spanish, French, and Portugese) and I couldn't even pronounce her three-syllable name right after trying my ass off for about six hours every damned day. After a while I felt like a shitty diplomat. God knows I would have caused a war with Kazahkstan if I was the rep for us. I pissed that guy off so bad that he started yelling in Russian for five minutes one time. Relations with Haiti might have imrpoved though, because I totally helped Richardson spell check the mailer he was sending out to some agents. Are you still reading this? You must really like this stupid shit.