More is Less When You're Homeless In the West

Being an actor is sort've like being being homeless: neither really make any money, and you can't be afraid of rejection if you want to make a dime. Also, your parents will give you roughly the same amount of respect and pride if you pursue either occupation. Some, however, are a bit more sympathetic towards homeless. At least then you're not some "fruity theatre queer prancin' around," as my pop would say.

I have to admit, there came a point where I was at a cattle call audition in Los Angeles, waiting outside in 100-plus degree weather, two months behind on rent, unable to afford a haircut, coming down with a case of scurvy, and nothing but old Ramen in my refridgerator when I thought, "Ya know...being homeless sounds pretty sweet right about now." The cattle call audition was American Idol by the way. Simon's ears literally started bleeding halfway through my audition, so I guess I didn't do so hot. Also, Paula announced that it was the single worst thing she had ever heard, slightly edging out the time she heard a 2nd grader being sodomized by a grizzly bear. I didn't see any need to stick around to ask questions.

Acting was supposed to be a glamorous career, full of exciting people and lots of fame and fortune. I had yet to see that aspect. I had managed to score a production assistant job on a commercial for denture adhesive, and that was about as high up the totem pole as I had been able to climb thus far. Hollywood...the land of crushed dreams. My "agent," who hadn't managed to get me any real work in two years, called me up and asked me the question that would change my life forever.

"What would you think about being homeless?"

Some would be offended by this, but to tell the truth, I truly had considered it. I'd see the various homeless of Hollywood every day, sitting at street corners, begging for spare change, wearing flannel button-ups in mid-July. They had it pretty sweet. Hobo Joe was never worrying about his next audition, unless you considered the next sap he would ask for a quarter from an "audition." He just stood around, got some good sun, and enjoyed life to the fullest.

"Yeah, David, I think you may be onto something. Thanks for the advice."

I hung up on David. I didn't need to hear any more from him or any other Hollywood-types any more. I was done with the whole system. Done with "networking" and working out 'til I vomitted six days a week. Done with trying to offer sexual favors to every casting agent in town. Done with sending out headshots of myself to every agency, production company, and coffee house in the tri-county area. I was gonna live out my dream...

I was gonna be homeless.

I vacated my apartment and took whatever few possessions that would fit in my burlap sack that I had found. I promptly stopped shaving, in hopes of growing an unwieldy hobo beard, and threw away all of my underwear. I wasn't going to need them where I was going. I was going home...and that, my friends, was whereever I wanted it to be.

I started out small, corner of Lilac and Washington. My first attempt at asking for change didn't go too well. I spotted a man who could have potentially had change walking down the sidewalk, and my eyes immediately locked onto him. His eyes caught mine, and he decided to bust out the old "just got a call on my cellphone" ignoring-technique. Oldest trick in the book, but I didn't know how to react at the time. Hey, I was young and foolish. The exchange went like this:

Me: Um, suh- sir? Uh, excuse me? Could I possibly -

Man Who May Have Had Change: Whatever it is, the answer is no.

I failed just as badly as a homeless person as I had as an actor. But then it struck me - the beauty of being a homeless person is that you cannot fail. If you're an actor and you can't get a gig in which to act, are you really an actor? But if you're homeless and you can't get change, you're still homeless. It was unconditional. And that's when I fell in love with being homeless.

From then on, I worked every day on my change-exchanging techniques. I toyed around with a few different styles I had picked up here and there, when I finally settled on what I would be renowned for: the "my daughter is hungry and waiting for me to bring back food, could you spare some change?" It worked like a charm! No one could handle the thought of leaving a little girl hungry. "Daughter" works ten times better than "son" by the way.

I thought I was pretty hot shit at the time. I was clearing ten bucks a day, easy. But I had no idea what I was talking about. One day, as I wandered down the Sunset Boulevard, I ran into the man who would teach me more about homelessness than Tony Orlando and Wesley Willis combined: Tom "Mumbles" Malone.

Mumbles was renowned for using two different styles and meshing them into one unstoppable change-getting technique: Crazy, Deranged Homeless Man With Crazy Eyes. It was hard to tell where the man ended and the hobo began. He would mutter to himself, throw in the occasional scream, go for an incomprehensible rant or two, and shuffle his feet the entire time. He had the whole "been doin' this since the early 80's" ensemble on as well, with a tattered jacket and a scraggly beard that would make most pirates green with envy. Then, when anyone (but particularly businessmen) came within twenty feet of him, he would zone into them like a missile locking onto its target and run towards that person like a speeding train. He would get in their faces and scream at them, try to touch them, spit on them, and threaten them. But here was the key of his technique - he NEVER mentioned change!

Nope. But the businessmen knew. You didn't have to tell them. They'd throw change, whole dollar bills, and sometimes even their entire wallets at Mumbles to get him to stop. Watching Mumbles operate was like watching Mozart play "Mary Had a Little Lamb." It was like watching Genghis Khan battle a five year old. It was like watching Nolan Ryan beg for change. It was child's play.

After a few encounters with the legend himself, I tried out his style a few times. My beard had grown to exceptional length and had gained a respective level of filth. My dad and I were on speaking terms again. I was clearing upwards of 12 bucks a day! Everything was looking up. Then, one day, I ran into my agent David on the street.

"Hey David, my daughter is sick and-"

"How do you know my name?"

"It's me, Martin Freeburg."

"Martin Freeburg? What the hell happened to you? I haven't heard from you in seven years!"

"Yeah, I took that advice you gave me."

"What advice?"

"I went homeless."

"What? Homeless?" David paused and thought deeply about something. Then he looked at me in bafflement, as if he had just had a revelation about how insane I was. "I was calling you about a goddamn job offer! That Pacino flick, Intrepid Dangerousness, needed a homeless guy as the third male lead. You jackass, I greased some elbows to get you that role and you disappeared off the face of the earth!"

Huh. I shrugged it off and asked David for change anyways. He gave me two dollars and told me to never speak to him again. It was a fair deal, I said, and graciously accepted. I think David knew I didn't have a daughter, but he didn't say anything. He was a good man.

I never looked back, even after finding out that the entirety of my new life had begun due to an communication error. It's true what they say - once homeless, always homeless. It's a pretty sweet life. Did you know that the continents are constantly shifting? That the earth is in constant motion? That the solar system is always moving? So, let me ask you this: if nothing else stays at one designated location...why should I?