Triggering away on a script for a role in which you're not yet cast & the Golden Globes come out. You wonder once again what is it about this shit.
Woody Allen never shows up. George C. Scott neither. A bunch of others maybe not as well known, but nonetheless, made their stand.
FB has a slurry of activity around a particular local award—always given out this time of year, before the Oscar nominations are even announced—but just the selfies of people with [fill in the
blank] awards clutched in their paws makes you almost violent. A wave of loathing courses through your blood. Not that the friends you count in your FB folder/group marked THEATER are awful people. Some of them are special folk.
The algorithm being what it is, anytime you give somebody a thumbs up, the forces will guide you toward more & more of what is qualitatively supposed to maintain that interest in [fill in the blank].
So, yes. You proliferate it not only by having that folder, but by thinking in your innocence that you could extract from it just the jots you did want to cuddle with. Kind of like life, if you will; no rose sans thorn.
On the other hand, if you were really honest, you would have to admit that this has happened before & will happen again; it opens that door to a place you don't want to be in. Perhaps if you were a
wee bit drunk…? Think back: there were a few times when it was easy & commodious. Think why that was the case: was it the people? The show? The room capacity? Or random luck. That's more likely.
To be quite clear: awards ceremonies make one ill. Award ceremonies to which one has never been invited make one even sicker. (Cast parties generally do not, although if the food is just... eh..so-so,
then the desire to hang out is not as keen. And if you cannot find the address in the dark, then you really will go home. Or go to a bar by yourself. Or with a buddy—that could be fine, too.)
But you're working on rage here, remember? Where is that coming from? You want to do the work; you wouldn't commit without purpose & loyalty, even if these are strangers (to begin
with); the piece is worthy; some of the unknowns potentially will bite you in the butt, yet, like sewing, you know when you pick up the needle, you will prick your finger at least once.
So, yes. It's what you want to do. It's the other you don't want; you don't like; you don't honor. That could make you a grim sort. The sort that cannot light-heartedly quote many lines from obscure musicals; that cannot mimic assorted famous personages doing characters from Star Trek; that does not forgive slights easily, but by the same token, tries not to indulge in petty rumormongering.
That hangs back when the hi-jinx are in full swing & won't take a swig of whatever concoction was brewed from a bit of every asshole's backwash.