I Dun Been Kilted: Why I Don’t Act

For one reason, no one asked me to. And that’s fine.

I’m only going to comment briefly on last night’s episode of Outlander. There isn’t any humor to be found, and I write the blog posts with the hope of making you laugh.

I know some actors, and they’re really good– experts, in fact. I like to watch people do things well. It can be almost anything– a pastry chef, or a leather worker, or a dancer, or a nurse. Whatever their calling is, if they’re an expert, it’s interesting to watch.

With that in mind, actors are among the only people who understand the difference between pretending and acting.

Pretending is what you do on a first date to seem less nuts and unlikely to belch at the table or call your friend a douchebag out of habit. Acting is inhabiting a different, wholly unknown person, adopting their traits, and then filling the role they serve in that moment. For the case of all the actors in Outlander last night, they were essentially re-living a vile rape and torture scene again and again until they got it “right” on camera.

I feel a bit like a voyeur, and a bit unwashed after even seeing them go about their jobs in such a convincing manner. Who didn’t flinch at both the hammer blows and the closeness of Black Jack as he cooed to Jamie? Fuck me, that was brutal.

So yeah, no one ever asked me to act. And I’m cool with that. I’ll write instead.

One other thing: Is it just me, or are you wondering, like I am, why the Scots haven’t just crossed the border and burned England to the ground? After the shit that the Red Coats visited upon Scotland for centuries? If I had a neighbor like that, I’d have razed their house, plowed salt in the fields, and buried every last one of them in an open field. Good God.

What do you all think? Drop a comment if you’re feeling up to it.

Cheers (Sorta)

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