The Art Chose Me!


The heat in L.A for the past few days has been fun-funking-real, it has been ridiculously warm, record temperatures. I had an acting class on Tuesday night, so I chose that that would be my most productive part of the day. However, I also chose not to use my brain much more that day as I seemed to forget about previous errors. Even though I knew it was roasting outside, and knew from the week before that it would be roasting in the acting studio, plus the fact that I should really have learnt from my previous mistake, I still somehow wore a light blue t-shirt to the class. Coincidence, maybe. Stupidity, definitely.

Luckily for me and my dodgy knee, the class is close by, walking distance from my house. Half way there, it started to kick in how hot it still was, even though it was almost 7. This kicked off the whole why did I wear this t-shirt, I am feeling the heat this soon, great colour to show it off. I contemplated going home to change quickly, opted not to, late as it was with my dodgy knee holding me back, I better hurry. And hurry I did, as fast as I could. Trying so fast, and being so focused, to get to the class on time, I almost ran/hobbled right into a dog and the owner outside the acting studio entrance, straight up the stairs, into class, hadn’t started yet, on time, wuu huu.

Sat down at the back, most of the other seats were taking, squeezed in between two girls. Got ready in my seat, and started to feel the flushes of heat coming on from the dead air in the studio, it was like a sauna. Then noticed I was already roasting from rushing there. I then noticed that there was some smell of s**t, who the funk was that off, the heat in the room was making it even worse too. The two girls either side of me seemed to notice as well. The teacher coughs to indicate time to start the class and first scene. We’re all looking at each other, shrugging shoulders, do you smell that? Yeah, me too, what the funk, who or what is making that smell… why are they both looking at me? Sniff sniff, it does seem strong from where I’m sitting, that’s weird. Good God this heat is too much, the smell is over bearing, why did I wear a light blue t-shirt again, and where is the smell coming from?!! Why have both girls tried to move their seats away a bit, let me check, oh that’s it, good work, there’s a big pile of dog s**t on the sole of my right runner. 

The class has started, everyone has hushed to watch the first scene to be critiqued, I can’t leave now and wash it off, I can only sit there in the heat, sweating buckets, stinking the place out with my runner, and watch. It is a 4 hour class, and I know from the last class that the only break is half way, sorry girls, I apologize in advance.

Thankfully, the first dude up in front of the camera takes everybody’s mind off everything else one could possibly think of, and just think “What the funk is going on?” Its the annoying guy from last week, the Antonio Banderas/Jesus from the big Lebowski dude. He is on stage so to speak, warming up for the scene apparently, doing weird yoga movements and flailing arm movements, wearing his boxers and a shower cap. The teacher gives him an action, and he just stares at the crowd (us). We look back to see him in the action. But he just keeps on staring, intensely, as if its a will of nerves. The teacher gives him another “Go, action!”. Still nothing. Eventually the camera man stands up, waves at him, go buddy, you’re up, come on to funk! He snaps out of it, takes the shower cap off, puts back on his clothes, and says he is good to go now. I am fairly sure everyone is thinking… Why were you stripped down wearing just your boxers and a shower cap if it was not part of the scene?!!!!

Lights, camera, action, go… and then I see the weirdest performance I think I will ever see. Jesus starts doing a scene that involves him putting on make-up, lipstick, tights, and speaking Spanish. I presume everyone else is also thinking now.. he must be playing a Spanish transvestite. Apparently not. When the scene is over, the teacher more or less asks him, what the funk was that? A Spanish transvestite? No, don’t insult me, Jesus replies. Ok, explain so. This is where it gets a bit Tropic Thunder… he was actually speaking English, and is playing a role of a woman who is pretending to be another woman. So, he is a guy pretending to be a woman, who is in fact pretending to be another woman. No-one can still understand what is going on, so the teacher asks a simple question… Why did you choose this role?!

“Hummmmmm, I did not choose this role, the role chose me. I do not choose to be an actor, I am merely an instrument for this art. The art chose me” To be honest, I was impressed with his waffling, bulls**t answer, how could you not admire such crap. In fairness, he could talk a good game. However, all he did the week before was critique other people and be ridiculously annoying. This week, later in the class he is the exact same, humming at people, interrupting the teacher whenever good points are being made… I did not pay good money to listen to your hummms!!! Oh yeah, I didn’t actually pay for this class, wuu huu! When Jesus did the scene again, one more go to do it better this time, he was just as bad as the first go, if not worse. Which led me to believe my theory is still right, bad actors are apes. They must think I am some muppet, ha.

Next scene was highly boring. A German guy and an Australian girl did some random scene, which bored me senseless. And also seemed to bore the girl next to me. Who was quite hot. So, when the scene finished up, and to make sure she didn’t doze off, I sparked off some small talk. That was fairly brutal, I was almost asleep listening to his monotone voice, you know… “That is my bruder, what are you trying to say?” Balls, I knew she had a German look off her. Oh, I mean, your bruder wasn’t bad, it was just this heat, and the monotone, and… that smell of s**t is not actually me by the way, there was this dog outside, and… She doesn’t care, she thinks I am an ape, ha. What do I really think of your bruder’s work? I stepped in it outside!

Luckily, it was time for a break. When I came back from outside and sat at my seat, I noticed that the two girls either side of me had moved places, I wonder why, girls, I cleaned my runner during the break!!! In their place, Jesus, still wearing make-up from the scene he did, but thankfully, fully clothed. I thought the fresh air at the break might have helped the heat problem I was having, but nay, the buckets of sweat were still streaming out of me, it was like a sauna!!!

The teacher re-started the class asking questions, telling stories of relevance to the previous etc. He needed a scene example, to compare an example he gave, could anyone think of one? I had the perfect one in my head, from an episode of the Office I watched earlier that day. So when I piped up, the teacher hushed people down to let me speak. And the camera man/light man swung a light he was working on in my direction, for the laugh, he is a funny fellow. And I felt the eyes of the class descend. And the heat kick in. And remaining whiffs of the smell off my runner seemed to get worse at that moment. And while I told my example, I realized while speaking it out loud, that no, it was not really the example he was looking for, at all. 

I might as well have had a fountain spurting water out of the top of my head at this moment. All of the above combined, had me dripping in sweat, lovely I know (I wasn’t the only one affected or anything, but it was bad). I’ll just finish up this scene example that actually isn’t what he was looking for at all, and we can all get back to the scenes. Until the teacher interrupts me, and asks if I am okay, am I sick? I’m great, not sick, it’s very hot though, woah, any air conditioning? “The Irish guy from last week, right?” Yes indeed, very hot isn’t it? “You re hungover man, that’s whats wrong with you, you Irish! Was it whiskey or Guinness, which one man? You are covered in the cold sweats, you need a drink, someone get him a Jameson!” Oh Jesus, I haven’t had a drink in days, this is not a hangover, I just can’t handle this heat, but seeing as you gave me an excuse, I will use it… Yeah, I am sooooo hungover, woah, too much whiskey with me leprechaun last night, holy begorra, us Irish huh, top o the morning, I’ll be fine, back to the scenes, toor a loor, everyone stop looking at me.

Got away with it, I think. After class I could see people no longer looked at me dripping in sweat like I was a weirdo. They now gave me a smile, and a knowing look, he’s okay, he’s Irish, that’s just drink sweating out of him. I was a bit dizzy by the end of the class, lost a lot of fluids after 4 hours in the sauna. Some sound, normal Swiss guy came up to me asking about the scene from The Office and started going on about stand-up. I had just signed up for my stand-up debut next week, so I was interested in the talk. He was going to see Sarah Silverman over the weekend, I should come along and get some pointers from her! Sounds good man, what day are you going? Not sure yet, ok text me shur, here’s my number, cool I’ll take yours too!! Can’t wait, text me so and let me know what day and the time. Where’s it on? Oh, I’m not sure where that is, I can meet you somewhere beforehand. Cool man, sounds good! Its a dat… balls. Its a man date. Oh Jesus. No, not that Jesus, he didn’t get the invite.

Here are two songs that I will hopefully cleverly mix tomorrow for my DJ set, re de de, it shall be good if it comes off, horrendous if I fail…

Lollipop by The Chordettes

Lolli Lolli (Morsy Mix) by Three 6 Mafia (I actually like this chorus for some reason)

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Seeing as this is the 58th post, I feel it should be marked with a celebration. As all things 58 should be. So I will celebrate by giving you some useless random information. Mucho gracias to all those who are reading the blog regularly, the numbers are climbing steadily, almost up to 5 people a week now, ha. The cool thing about the blog is that the stats page shows you amount of readers per day, what they clicked to get to the website, what google searches were used etc. However, yesterday, two irregular, peculiar ones popped up. First one was funny in fairness… “Is Mark Heyes gay?” Good spelling by whoever it was, I hope Google gave them the answer.

The second one is highly odd and a bit disturbing. This is it, word for word…”guys changing room” rape “gay porn”. Seriously. So I Googled this to see what came up, as it was way weirder than other random searches people might stumble onto the blog from (e.g guy picks up mexicans in truck). And what came up number one in the Google search when I typed this in…? My blog!!! For funk’s sake, great stuff to be associated with really. Something like free gay porn and rape fantasy were second and third on the list. That’s great. (Apparently my post about 24 Hour Fitness tipped the search in my favour, lucky me).

Another bit of random information I got last night was in the acting class with the savage teacher, he is miles ahead of everyone else I have been to so far. Plus his stories are good. One of the nutters in the class wanted to do a scene where he got fully stripped, for no apparent reason. So, the teacher used this story as an example.

Apparently, in the movie “Romeo & Juliet”, Baz Luhrmann wanted Marlon Brando to play the priest (eventually played by the Irish actor, who now that I check is actually English, Pete Postlethwaite). Brando agreed to do it, Luhrmann was delighted, until it came time to shoot. Brando decided the priest would only work if he was naked for every scene doing it, more effect. Luhrmann said no, he didn’t want a big fat Brando on the screen for no reason. Brando said he would only do it if he was naked, Luhrmann said good duck to you then sir. So, the moral of the story… only get naked for a reason!

In case you have not yet realized, I am writing this short post for a reason. It’s a filler, a quick fix to the 5 readers until I get time to write the longer one about the acting class I went to last night. I just don’t have the time now. I think it may be good too, seeing as it involves sweating, s**t, Tropic Thunder style characters, losing German friends, and a man date. So I didn’t want to rush it now.

If anyone is on Twitter as well, follow on!!! I am slowly getting addicted to it, plus it gives me something to text when I’m in a club with Andy and Colin and need to look busy. Here’s a song that pops into my head every time I think of Twitter… Rockin Robbin by The Jackson 5

DJ Bluffing

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Second day of DJ’ing did not start so well. In fact, yesterday I had one of those mare of a days everyone has now and again, for no apparent reason. Looking back now, and after being told by my buddy today, I was being a little b**ch. There was a heat wave so it was ridiculously hot, as in about 100 degrees. I had could barely sleep with the heat, so woke up in a little b**ch mood which continued for the day. What am I doing with my life, I worked all weekend and made about $25, homeless bums are higher up on the salary ladder than me, I stayed up trying to find good remixes and ended up downloading about 200 crap songs (paid for them, obviously) and for what… a DJ gig I don’t even get paid for, what an ape I was, am, will ever be. This was the mood I was in when I headed to the gym to DJ. My little b**ch mood.

So I started off with a rock intro, purely because of the assistant manager and me being an ape trying to please her. This did not go down well with everyone else in there it seemed. There was no bopping around, not even fake bopping from the dude behind the counter. I kept trying to save it with more rock, but even as good as they were, I got the vibe that they were not going down well. The DJ booth is located half way up the stairs, so I can’t see as much as I would like. The main entrance, people on the stairs, and the front desk more or less. I was then informed that the assistant manager wasn’t even on that day, the funking job. My little b**ch mood got even worse.

All I could think about was what kind of ape I was – stuck under a stairs, playing songs the people didn’t even like, sweating to death, tired from being up all night downloading these crap songs, and not getting money for any of this ape-ness. And I was wearing headphones that no sound came out of. What a tool I am. Funk that, this music needs to change, and fast. I cut the song that was on short, but changed the entire musical angle too soon. I put on a song that I think, played at the right time, could go down well. Not though, when things are going horrendous to start with. I went from a (savage) remix of a Clash song, to not this song, but a remix of this…

The remix, obviously, is not too bad being honest, its pretty cool. But when you’re trying to save making yourself look like an ape, it is probably not the best song to give you street cred, I actually saw one girl look up at me and laugh. Oh Jesus. I blame it on a rush of blood to the head, what with the headphones being stuck on too tight and all. I half thought of stopping the set short and just leaving, what were they going to do, not not pay me? I gave it one last roll of the dice with a few guaranteed remixes. These got me in a better mood at least. Until I saw the General Manager making a bee line for me. Balls.

“Hey man, we haven’t been properly introduced yet”… Yeah, look I’ll pack my stuff and go… “I just wanted to say, great job, you are really getting the place going” Eh, say what now? “You are definitely better than the last guy we had” Ok, I’ll take that as a compliment that you think I’m better than at least one other person, cheers. “Any more 80’s remixes, we loved the other one you just played?” Rick Astley? A girl laughed at me, are you sure??!!! Here you go so… I put on a gem (At the time, I had put it in the bob hope pile after the reception I thought poor Rick had gotten)

Now I could see people bopping and dancing around, my tunnel vision and little b**ch mood had been lifted! People were even singing along at the top of their voices, it is Hollywood too I suppose so they might have been hoping to get signed up for a record deal at the same time. This even brought one of my fans out of the woodwork from upstairs. I saw his head pop over the banister, squeal, and rush down with a friend in tow to tell me he loves to dance to this song. Good stuff, no I will not dance with you. So the two of them stood halfway up the stairs, where I was situated, and danced along to the song in front of me. Very flamboyantly with each other. Throwing me looks. The whole song.

More and more people were swinging by now to say good job, great work, wuu! One guy rushed out to his car to give me his friend’s CD to see if I would play it next time (I wont, it’s horrendous, for the gym at least). They also seemed to linger around, to watch me do my magic. It was then when I realized that these people thought I was actually remixing these songs on the spot, making it up as I went along. I only mix the end and start of songs. My headphones are plugged into a slot in my laptop where no sound comes out of. When I realized they were watching my hands to see how I was remixing these songs so well, I did what any person would do. I informed them that they were remixes I had found. I wish.

Instead, I did what any ape would do, and pretended to mix, scratch and mash songs together. On my laptop. With no external mixer or sound card. My headphones filling my ears with silence. Making sure to press parts of the keyboard where there were no buttons, pretending to wiggle my fingers around on the scroll part as if I was rewinding the song down or speeding it up. Tapping the side of the laptop as if I was making part of the song repeat and then finally kick in. I can mix two songs I have together well, but these people were convinced I was remixing entire songs, who was I to disappoint! I kept this up until they seemed impressed and convinced  I was doing it and left. It was tiring enough, pretending to be a master remixer.

My fan came back a good few times to tell me “Good job” and give me two thumbs up. Where did he put his thumbs, I hear you say, hardy har. I was going to see if I could get a photo with him for the blog, seeing as he was dressed in a ridiculous get-up once again, but I didn’t, for two reasons. Firstly, my camera has been bust since Mexico, and secondly, aren’t fans the ones who ask you for a photo, not the other way around? Although I presume Larry David is calling over to my house any day now for a quick polaroid. 

I finished the set on a high note, even getting calls for “One more song!” which I duly obliged, with a song I’ll play below. My little b**ch mood had been lifted. It was in the back of my mind that hopefully no other DJ will ever watch me work my magic on the remixing side, notice my headphones are plugged into nothing, or that the remixes are the exact same every time. Plus I remembered that I still was not getting paid for any of this, but I pushed all of that irrelevant stuff way back to the very back of my mind. 

I headed home, chilled out a while, tried to be productive, sweltered in the heat, then decided it was a boring Monday night, I might as well go work out. Which is when one of my roommates asked me where I was off to… the gym. “The gym? Weren’t you there earlier?” Yeah. “You have a fun life, the gym twice in one day! I’m only joking, have fun!” Have fun you say. Twice in one day. I have a fun life indeed. Indeed I do. Indeed. I have no life. Twice in one day! What kind of chump am I? Twice in one day?!!! What are you doing with your life?!! You are a bum, sort yourself out! And what the funk is with this heat?!! Why can’t it be cold and miserable?!!!… And I was back to being a little b**ch again. Wuu.

Here was the encore song that had people doing the zombie dance that goes along to it…

Thriller Remix by Michael Jackson

Being honest, I used this post as a way to vent out the last of my bad mood. Today, in contrast, has been mighty!!! You must be so excited to hear about it next time!!! Re de de!!!

Eh, Define “War Crime”

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I will not lie, it is ridiculously hot in L.A at the moment. Record temperatures I do believe, so finding the energy to stand, never mind write, is tough enough. I will plough on though, can’t let down my two fans! (Wrong fans I know but its too hot to think straight. You might say I’m thinking gay. Oh Jesus.)

The other day I was watching part of Sister Act 2. Whoopi was telling Lauren Hill something like… “If you wake up thinking about singing, then you are a singer”. This led me to ponder what I think about when I wake up. Lately, it has been writing and DJ’ing. Plus, as most guys do I would presume, women. Well most guys outside of West Hollywood at least. So, using this logic, I must want to be a writer and a D.J. And a woman. Logically. One thing, however, that I have yet to wake up thinking about, are Shamwows. We have not gotten off on the best terms as of yet.

Sunday I was meant to be working all day, from 10 in the morning until 11 that night. Seeing as it was the worst carnival ever though, this was cut down to starting at 5 until whenever the last person left. Sunday afternoon I went to the gym, met my two fans, and headed home. On the way home, while waiting to cross the street near my house, this homeless guy asked me for a dollar. He entertained me with a few horrific jokes but as he made the f so I forked over a dollar. Still no sign of the green man, so I asked him how much he had made today, seeing as his bucket was fairly full when he stuffed in my dollar bill… $35 in about 3 hours he told me! What the funk?!!! The previous 2 days I had made $15 in 12 hours! A homeless bum was doing better than me, it was soul crushing to say the least.

Apparently, the bums do really well here, its unreal. They are all connected, on the phone to each other, where’s good today, where’s slow, rotate spots etc. They have an organizational structure it seems, ha, weird enough. I gave the bum my C.V in case any positions became available, fingers crossed!

With that in mind, I went off to resume life as a carnie and a Shammy salesman, with the intent of at least making $35, I could not be beaten by a homeless dude! And, surprise surprise, I made $150 in 3 hours!!! I was delighted… spoooooof. I was well and truly beaten by the bum. In about 4 hours I made a grand total of… 2 sales, let me add that up quickly, I made $12. $3 an hour. The bum made 35 in 3, he’s on almost $12 an hour, ha, what am I doing with my life?!

One sale was to a couple, after we had packed up everything and were almost gone. The other sale was to a very pleasant chap. Seemed like a nice guy. If you ignored the Nazi aspect. And he hadn’t shown me the tattoo of Hitler on his back. But he did, so he ruined the first impression I got of him. After I made the sale to him, he came back for some small talk, the carnival was horrendous as I said. He asked where the Shammys were made… In Germany, and you know the Germans make the best stuff right?! (I had the spiel learnt off to a tee). “They definitely do, are you from Germany yourself?” No, I lived there for a year though, I go back as often as I can (I did live there, but I don’t go back as often as I can, most depressing year of my life). “So you like the Germans? You like their style and beliefs?” Ah, yeah? I suppose, what? The Germans make the best stuff right?!

I get the feeling he must like Germany, or German women or German products, perhaps I could get him to buy another set of Shamwows. So I praise Germany and all its products to the max – great cars, great women, great rap, ha, and great Shamwows, you might as well buy another set buddy! I see that he is warming to me liking all things German. He wants to know if I can speak German, I sure can Junge, wie gehts?!

This pleases him immensely, I think I can seal the deal on another sale, and jokingly give him a “Ja, voll!!!” About this time, he nods me a knowing nod, as if we’re both in on a secret, tells me that he certainly does know the Germans are the best, and lifts up his top. He is covered in tattoos, but the one he wants to show me, is the Hitler one covering his back. Oh sweet Jesus. He is a Nazi, or neo-Nazi, whatever it is, I didn’t stop to ask which he was. This is no longer banter and small talk. This is now me making sure I don’t get curbed by him. I quickly realize that we are actually close to where the movie American History X is set, no lies, it is nuts! He pulls his t-shirt back down, and turns back around, waiting for me to say something. Eh, cool, that was a nice tattoo you had of an angel on your shoulder, oh you weren’t showing me that one. Did I mention the Shammy holds 21 times its own weight in water, ja? Oh mein Gott in Himmel!

Thankfully his girlfriend had seen enough of the carnival and came back to drag him off. He gives me the rock fist to say goodbye, I accidently give him the Hail Hitler salute in anticipation. No curbing for me. I should really have taken the Shammys back off him and given him a refund when he revealed his true nature. I took the money over the moral stance though. You would too if you knew a homeless bum was making more than you!

Here’s another tremendous mix I located recently… In The Air Ce Soir by Phil Collins vs Yelle


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Great news, it seems my dreams are finally falling into place, like a perfect jigsaw. This weekend I became a carnie, wuu, and now today I found out I have two fans. I am not just being presumptuous either, they kindly told me. However, it is not as glamorous as you might think. You might presume they are two hot female fans who love my writing and acting potential. You would presume wrong. Obviously. 

This morning I was up early to watch Everton waltz into the F.A Cup final, a great morning. So, I decided afterwards I would go to the gym earlier than usual. This is where I was fortunate enough to meet my two new fans. They are a proud set of fans if ever I was to choose them.

Since my rocking DJ set, I have been to the gym twice, but both times late at night when it has been dead. Today I went roughly around the time I DJ’ed the last time. Firstly, I’m not really a great fan of striking up random conversation with randomers in the gym. Have you ever tried to talk random crap to a girl while she’s pumping away on a machine or on the treadmill? Her head all red and flustered, looking like she’s just after stressful, sweaty sex or has been sitting on the toilet for too long. It’s not really an ideal place for random chat, to me at least. Other people have a different view it seems.

While I was figuring out one machine, I noticed a guy two over, giving me the eye. At least that is what I thought. I presumed he was gay, but maybe not, I could be wrong. He was an Asian guy, maybe in his 40’s, balding, pencil moustache, pink vest and rainbow knee high socks, and funnily enough, a pair of black shoes. Maybe he wasn’t gay, who knows. Who hasn’t worn that kind of outfit at least once to the gym?! While I am resting between trying to use the machine I am at, he is staring me down while working out on some calf machine. It was then when I realized, stupid me, he was just probably looking at the mirror behind me, not at me, checking out the calves as they like to do here, how cocky was I to have thought otherwise, what an ape. When I noticed that he had started to pant like a pregnant woman, and was definitely not looking at the mirror but staring me down, I decided it might be best if I changed machines, to the far side of the room.

Conveniently enough, he followed me over, sitting on the bench next to me. I dodged eye contact for as long as possible. When he was almost in my face looking at me, I gave him a “How’s it going” and tried to move swiftly on. However, the minute I took an earphone out of my ear to acknowledge his look, he swooped in. “Did you DJ here the other day? You did, you did, oh my gosh, I loved it, I am such a big fan of your music. I love what you did!”  I gave him the “its not actually my music” spiel but he wasn’t listening/didn’t care/couldn’t understand. “So, where do you play?” Eh, I play here, and sometimes, in my room, I play with… I mean by myself. “You’re definitely my favourite DJ in here now, definitely, keep it up!” Pardon me, there are other DJs?! What do they play?! Do you swear I am your number one? Swear?!!

Yet another take on such a simple name managed to end the conversation nicely… So what is your name or do you have a DJ name? After quickly mulling over would I say DJ Tsector after the last girl, I opted not to and stuck with Mark… “Merk? What a great name, is that short for… Merkel?” The “Ha” and what-an-ape-you-are shake of the head I gave in response kind of threw him off, seeing as he gave me a “Hmmmm, ooook, no need to laugh, I was just wondering” and left in a huff. I hope I am still his number one! At least there were no more stares or grunting in my direction after that.

Not from him anyways. Why are there no insane women in the gym, only weird guys?!! While doing one of four sit ups, another random guy next to me started dancing like a mad man to his iPod, pumping it in the air. Again, he too might not have been gay. Who doesn’t flail around to their favourite Britney song, miming the lyrics, at the gym?! I got the familiar feeling of the side of my head being peered at, but this time I had my blinkers on and stared straight ahead, at the wall a foot in front of me. However, this did not deter the dancer. He got more flailing and wild with his arm movements, so that the iPod in his hand was being thrust into my face, as if he was trying to sell it to me. When I asked him if he was ok, was this his space or something- noticing the stuck on the toilet look on his face, lovely – he squealed that he was, he just loves music. “Did you not DJ here the other day? You did! I love music too, I was a big fan of what you played, so great to hear something different, although you never played the Britney I asked for.” I actually didn’t play here at all, the music is not mine, I don’t own it, and its crap anyways, please leave me be. “Don’t be so silly, I saw you, would you do me a super big favour?” No. “Will you make me a CD of music like that?” No. “Aw, really?” Actually, I will, $25, fair price. This got a laugh out of him. He didn’t get that I was being serious though, so he laughed some more. Again he did not get that I would do it for the money (make the CD, obviously), so his laughing tailed off until it dawned on him. We were just left with an uncomfortable silence. I won the battle and the silence at least made him move on.

On my way out of the gym I bumped into big gay Jim. I decided to ask him what the feedback the other day about the music was like, preferably from sane people. He started saying it was super until I cut him off, give me the criticism Jim, I can praise myself all I need. “Well, there was one person who said a bad thing.” Go on… “Our assistant General Manager didn’t like one of the songs you played, you’ll have to impress her next time”. One song? I played for 2 hours and she picks out one song! What does she know, I way prefer gay men over women anyways, when it comes to taste in music, obviously. I took the criticism with a pinch of salt, I swear. Wait until I show that b***h tomorrow.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad having two weird dudes as fans after all. Better than no-one at all. I’ll have to play them a bit of Britney next time to make sure they stay on board, a nice little treat. I might make knee high rainbow socks my signature look too for DJ’ing. While I’m at it, I might as well go all out and try their approaches on Holly Valance the next time I see her in the gym. Surely she’ll fall for my sweaty, grunting, red head look.

Here’s my song to get the assistant manager bopping around her tomorrow, I got some insider knowledge that she likes this band… Knights Of Cydonia (Ocelot Remix) by Muse

$15 For 12 Hours Work? Wuu!


After being delighted with myself and pumped after job number one (rocking out my gym as the new, unpaid DJ), it was time to rush home and get ready to start my second new job of the day, I was putting in the double shift already! Job number two involved me being a Shamwow salesman, although the version I am selling is the Super Shammy if I am to be technical (same product, different name). For those you don’t know what the Shammy is, watch this video again to refresh the cockles.

On the way to the fair, where we would be selling the Shammys (although I was told I would need to do very little, they will sell themselves!) I was given my sales spiel to learn off and filled in on what the job would involve. Basically, there are festivals, fairs, carnivals every week where people set up stalls and stands selling different products. There are usually fun fair rides there as well. Wear what I want, outdoors, get a bit of a tan, free ride on the big wheel, it was sounding like the greatest job ever already! All I would have to do is stand there, let the Shammys sell themselves by giving people a demo run through and the commission would be filling my pockets to the brim. I was pumped.

However, and there is always a however it seems, once we got to the festival, I saw it was not as glamourous as I had imagined. For anyone in Cork, I would describe it as being a hybrid of Funderland (but smaller) and the Coal Quay (but worse, if possible). For everyone else not familiar with either, it was like a really crap carnival. And it was then when I remembered who worked at carnivals… carnies! Wuu huu, my dream of becoming a carny had finally come through! (Although technically I was one before when I made wax hands for people in an amusement park in Ocean City but thats another story).

Coincidentally enough, I have recently (well, recently-ish, I wasted 2 hours over Christmas and I would not recommend you do the same) watched a documentary on carnies and their daily lives. Highlights include incest, lack of teeth, and a version of English even more hubbula hubbula than mine.


Carny WorkmatesThese people were not to disappoint. Characters like those above were floating about in the shadows, more behind the scenes folks. A few dodgy stares, and hubbulas were given until they realized you were one of their own for the next few days and they welcomed you into the family. The other sellers were a bit more upscale. As we set up our stall, I noticed the people to our right were selling shoes. Shoes that looked like they were all well worn in, but not in a vintage way, they looked dirty and second hand, but still expensive somehow. When have you ever gone to a fun fair with the intention of buying shoes, that are more expensive than ones in regular shops, and look like the seller just walked through a field in them, took them off and put them in front of you?!! The stall behind us were selling water bottles that sprayed you in the face as you took a drink, which was not a joke bottle but meant for practical use. The competition did not look great. Super Shammys were kings of the carnival it seemed. I could see the envy and respect in the eyes of the other carnies.

At least the banter was good with the other carnies. One older lady, who liked to rub my stomach as she spoke to me, freaked me out that she wouldn’t stop, asked me “Where did you get that accent from?” Eh, my Mum. This confused her no end, so she decided to pinpoint different countries, spot the odd one out… “Are you from Australia?” No. “England?” Nope. “Liverpool?” Ha, how did you guess that was the country I am from?!!!

Another carnie folk gave me an authentic Irish ornament she had made and was selling for an extremely high price, it is too weird to describe. Well, it is literally two small hazelnuts on top of each other with a leprechaun hat on top. Not too weird to describe actually at all, just plain weird and I had no idea how it was remotely “authentic Irish”. I’m sure she made a fortune from them.

Our stand was set-up, my sales pitch was down, the sun was shining, the carnival had just opened, 30, 000 people were expected over 4 days, if I sold 20 a day I would be making over 100 bones and at times you might sell 20-30 in an hour, I was pumped. Next step was just to wait for the people. So we waited. And waited. And waited some more. And no-one showed up. I did two demos for people, who turned out to be carnies from other stalls, and at the end of each pitch they asked if they could have them for free, in return for a slice of pizza and my palm being read. No thanks, and bob hope!

Apparently, now and again, between the really good shows, there are these off kilter, bad ones where not many people show up. But you still might sell 20 in a few hours at least. And at other times, there are really slow shows where you might only sell 20 in a day. And then there was this time, described as “The worst and biggest joke of a show I have ever done or seen”. Which was great seeing as it was my first day, but at least not really too unsurprising for how my luck has been. I made no sales in 5 hours, it was horrendous. The season pro in charge, that I was working for, also made no sales in 5 hours, so at least it wasn’t just me. Still though, this did not console me in the slightest. It was a great feeling going home that night, knowing that after working a total of 7 hours that day, I had made no money, whatsoever. In fact, I had a net deficit of money for that, after splurging out on lunch, ha.

The next day, the outlook was that at least it could not get any worse. How could you do worse than no sales. I actually thought of plenty of ways of doing this, ha, but thankfully none of them happened (e.g, while giving my demo, I would spill coke all over someone watching it, and have to give them free shammys to make up for it). About an hour in to the shift, I made my first sale. Strangely enough, to two guys about 15, God only knows why they bought them but I didn’t care. In the next 4 hours, I sold one and a half more (buy one, get one free, would you take half the price for just one, sold). The place was still like a ghost town, so nobody was around, it was horrific!

Seeing as 30, 000 had been promised, I had been upgraded to using a microphone headset as well to broadcast my booming sales pitch. This back fired slightly, when after one guy walked away, who had presumed and insisted that Scotland and Ireland were the same difference, I forgot about the microphone being on and called him an ape. Luckily he was all talk and I had the carnies to back me up, ha. We stick together.

At the end of the two days, I had to count my money and tot up my total. It took me all of 5 seconds… 2 and a half sales, I made a grand total of $15 for a total of 12 hours work, including both jobs. Actually, now that I think of it, seeing as I spent $15 each day on lunch, I came away with a net total of -$15. I wonder how much I will have to pay out when we get our bonuses.

Here’s a cool remix for the gym which I stumbled across while getting ready for my DJ set. Black Hole Sun (Chew Fu Remix) by Soundgarden