LonDumb – Part II

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Charles II

Continuing on from LonDumb – Part I …

It’s A Long Way To Tipperary – Little Green Cars


What do you call a ponder pipe that just lays around all day? Mopey Dick. Badum. My first day in London, I was moping like no other. Woke up early. Phoned the prison. Spoke to Kailand. Told me her news – “They keep giving us bananas and milk for meals, I’m hooked on the milk.” Slurp. Filled her in on my news – US Embassy said there’s nothing they can do, magistrates decision so just have to sort it out when you get home. Some dose. Slurp. Kailand is upset. But still. Her spirits are high. Night’s sleep always helps in fairness. Or else they were spiking the milk.

It was then realised that it must be hard to keep conversations flowing with people in prison. Both had filled the other in in detail what had happened since we saw each other last (about 24 hours ago). After that, our news seemed insignificant or non-existence. I’d phone back and Kailand would tell me she had a nice non-English speaking conversation with an Indian woman about milk. I’d inform Kailand that the hotel room was nice but all the TV stations seemed to be showing was the Big Bang Theory. Then Kailand had to go to get more milk. I’d phone back. Find out if the milk was really cold or room temperature. Called off again to go brush her teeth if she wanted to. Phone back again and then… I was told Kailand had been taken away. Being brought back to the airport. Put on a flight. Which flight? Wouldn’t tell me? What time? Hung up on me. Dose. Wouldn’t speak to Kailand about milk again until she was back in L.A, eating some Thanksgiving turkey and egg nog. So that was a balls. Continue Reading »

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Prison Break

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Unless I am mistaken, Cork, as in the city itself, is not actually a prison. Except, obviously, for the actual prison that is here. Besides that though, there are no physical barriers to prevent one from leaving. Mental barriers seem to be the only problems that might stop somebody for leaving. I wasn’t out on probation and now being legally forced back to Cork to stay here forever.

So, when people keep asking if I am freaked to be back, I can honestly say no, I’m not. Why would I be freaked? The only thing, I thought, that was beginning to freak me out a bit was that people would ask me over and over, prodding me for the answer they wanted to hear, only satisfied if I might eventually say – Freaked alright, freaked! “I knew it, I’d be freaked too if I was you.” I’d obviously prefer to be L.A right now, but what should I do, wallow around in despair and just sigh all the time? I also wouldn’t mind being on a beach in the Caribbean perhaps, there are plenty of other places I’d like to be.

Last night was my first night back out in Cork. It was almost forced going out though, feeling like I should really be out. Just back home, first time in about 6 months, plus my birthday the day before, I surely should be out having a few boozes. However, and I suppose this is a good thing, I realized that the majority of buddies who I’d go out with usually, have now departed from Cork, flown the rooster or however that saying goes. Not even the reliable Dr. Lump was around! Quite bizarre.

Anyways, went out, met a good few people that I hadn’t seen in, strangely, about 6 months, ha, good enough initially. Although when I did ask – What are you up to since last time I saw you – and got told “Ah, the usual, you know yourself shur” I did think to myself, that I have no clue what the usual for you is, at all. Gay gyms, C – Z list celebrity hanger on, and selling Super Shammys to Nazis, off the top of my head? I know it only too well! 

One funny thing I noticed, especially if someone offers to buy a drink, is that people still seem to be almost offended if you ask for a light beer, instead of a pint. “Light? Are you gone gay?” Agreeing with them -Yeah, very, how did you know? – throws them off a bit. “Are you still eating like a hawk too? Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” as they put their pints on their bellies and fold their arms, looking me up and down with a slight look of disgust. Not sure really, something has gone wrong I agree but could you ask them for a tiny little umbrella sticking out of the bottle too if you don’t mind, cheers boss.

Good to see as well that so many people, who I might have thought didn’t really like me before, were so happy to see me back. “You’re back? I knew it, I knew you would be. I thought you were off wri-thing mooo-vies? Just gave up I suppose? I knew it” Thumbs up. Some randomer let me know “I heard you on the radio, you were s**t”. Cheers bud, two thumbs up. One guy in particular decided to come up to me early in the night, drunk, and tell me “Oh look who it is, the blog is it, huh, what a load of crap. You do know that nobody reads that crap. You’re back I see anyways, about time”. Good to see your eyes work well. Then, later in the club, presume even more drunk, same guy “C’mere, do you know in the blog, I read it once, who was the hot neighbour you were on about? Was she savage or what? Was your man really a Nazi too?” then stumbles off muttering “Load of crap really, I could do way better”.

They were only minor few really though, funny to laugh at all the same. Being honest, the night was grand, nothing to write home in a blog about (oh Jesus). I started thinking, maybe I was actually freaked to be back? However, it was when genuine buddies might ask why I was actually back, and I told them I was back for a few weeks now, instead of, in all probability, in 2 weeks time, was that my Gran had passed away, that I began to realize in my own head why I might not be in the most exuberant of moods. Not that I was freaked to be back, but obviously just down or sad for the reason I had to come home, who wouldn’t be though? (On a side note, I’m not sure why I type the word Gran, yet say the word Nana? Strange to me, but anyways).

Still though, being unknowingly reminded of this over and over again, throughout the night (not that it was anyone’s fault, obviously) puts a bit of a damper on the night. Which might explain why I was home for about half 1, ha, a great sign for any night really, especially one when you are not doing a sober Joe. Although the fact that the club I was in felt like the afters of a bad wedding didn’t really help too much either.

A few people were asking me as well last night what made me decide to funk off over to L.A in the first place. One guy asked me to put it in the blog as he didn’t think he’d be sober enough to remember, ha, and could read it today. Not really sure, but I know the following helped. Reading The Alchemist was one. Listening to Sigur Ros. Movies like Into The Wild. Another great book is The Road Less Traveled. None of them might inspire others, good few people would probably highly dislike all of them, but they worked for me. I must go listen, read or watch something like that now, to help me plot my prison break attempts tomorrow.

For anyone in America reading too, here are a few photos my brother took, showing off what the main streets in the main cities in Ireland look like.

I could say that this was the first song that played, that was on the first unknown burnt CD I found in my car yesterday, when I drove again back here for the first time. But, it wasn’t. It was the about 5th song I flicked onto. Either way, a good jail breaking song if anyone needs one.

Away From Here by The Enemy

Ha, You’re An Idiot. Seriously.

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Strangely, the following two incidents occurred within minutes of each other earlier today. Firstly, I made a cup of coffee, but boiled the kettle without checking. Lo and behold, there was exactly half a cup’s worth of water for coffee. An exact half cup. I looked at the cup for a few minutes. Wondering about the irony. The meaning. A good few minutes. Just staring at the cup. Trying to decide if it was half full. Or half empty. Until I put in some milk, and it was well over half full.

Minutes later I was on Spacebook, chatting with a buddy, who reminded me that it was the June weekend. Which, in turn, reminded me how long I have left on my current visa. When I remarked this to my buddy, thinking to myself how time is ticking, crunch time, my head getting a bit dizzy at the thought of it, his immediate response was “Plenty of time, head down, write on”. Even though my coffee was almost finished, the cup was still half full!!!

Was it fate that these two incidents happened within a few minutes of each other, as to highlight the importance? Perhaps. Do these two incidents have any correlation or meaning, whatsoever? Highly doubtful. Am I just connecting two stupid events and making one longer story of them? Definitely. However, it did kick me into gear a bit. I am heading back to L.A on Sunday, must make a few moves before the visa runs it course. Initially I had planned on being back well before now, but the sitcom is taking longer than I anticipated (I think my self diagnosis of OCD is making me re-write every line so that it is absolutely perfect). Almost there though, good to have a deadline as well.

Another reason why I chose Sunday, is that I am DJ’ing in San Fran on Saturday night. One might say, I am being flown all over the West coast these days to play gigs. But one would be lying. Still though, any bobs are highly appreciated in this day and age. Gig on! My reputation must be growing, I was head hunted for the gig. Word must travel quite quickly up from L.A. Absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my cousin’s fiance works at the venue. Definitely was asked from word of mouth and reputation alone. Anyone up in Frisco reading this, come along. Its down on Castro, dress code is chaps only.

A word for any writer without a clue like myself, or anyone who might be interested. I mentioned before that I have a great guru in L.A, who supplies me with invaluable information about the business, as they call it, the ins & outs, of which I am ridiculously clueless about. Anyways, usually if I call him, or he rings me to see how I am progressing, he laughs a bit at the start of the conversation (I do like to laden my conversations with jokes towards the start, make a good impression and all). However, he’s not laughing with me, purely and directly at me. At how clueless I am. Which, in turn, freaks me out. Oh good God, what have I done now, can the situation be rectified.

There were a few reasons why the laughter was forthcoming this time. I mentioned a few posts back, that I had a marketing company lined up in L.A, who offered to help with my viral campaign for the scenes which I intend on making. I have typed that sentence before, so it should really have clicked with me, that a few glaring potholes were in place. But it didn’t. Not even close. I was just giddy that the offer was given to me, it had made me feel productive in some way. When I declared this, proud as punch of my achievement, I was simply told “You have well and truly put the cart in front of the horse. In your typical Irish way. If nothing else, you were entertaining me with your irregular (i.e clueless) approach to getting the sitcom made”. Go on, I’m listening.

Question 1: “What was it exactly that you are going to do a viral marketing campaign for?”

The sitcom. “What sitcom?” My one. The one I am writing. “Oh right, your script?” But I’ll get a scene or two made as well. That is what the viral campaign will be about – show people a scene or two. Get people interested. “And then, show them two scenes, and thats it? The buzz just dies off?” Eh, haven’t really thought that far ahead. “You need about 40 scenes (exaggerating). You need to make the best scene from the episode you write. Then make the second best, and so on. Until, if needs be, you have made your own episode. Then you have something to show people. To keep them interested. And wanting more” Oh right. Didn’t really get that part. I just liked the word viral and the thought of having a campaign for something I was doing.

Question 2: “How much info about the sitcom, name, episode, premise etc have you told people about? Particularly in L.A?”

In L.A, just one, my buddy who runs the marketing company. I just emailed him a few lines about the premise though. And the name. I can email it to you as well now, sound good?!!! Wuu. Actually, I told two people in Ireland too, I think, and… At this stage, I started to think I was going to be laughed at. The green naive trusting fool. No. Worse… I was calmly spoken to, in a serious tone… “Don’t trust anyone, particularly in L.A, especially in L.A. Including me. Friendship is friendship, but business is business. Put everything in writing. Everyday in L.A, ideas are being taken, stolen, overheard in restaurants and used. People who had a bit of luck with one project, but are now struggling to find their next big thing, are always on the prowl to take your idea and cut you out. It has happened to me” Oh Jesus. “Hang up the phone. Do not email or tell me anything. Go to the Writer’s Guild website, and register absolutely everything. The name, the pitch, your material, the episode you are writing, everything. Then, call me back and tell me if you like”

Oh Jesus. Beads of sweat were pouring at this stage. Straight onto their website, copy and pasted everything into one Word document, and registered it all. Mastercard, you pulled it out of somewhere, good work. Might not be much, but at least it is now legal tender. Rang my informer back. He told me to get writing, get working, get it done and start getting it to the right people. It was a brief call back. A mighty phone call in general though. I felt I should pass on the advice!!!

As a side note, I now know the word count for all the blog so far. So I decided to check the average length of a novel. And… I have well over a book written. Amazing. I can write in quantity at least. This, along with the fact that I can now read minds. How do I know? Well, when I say I think we might have a Christmas best seller on our hands – a book based on the blog – I know already what you’re thinking. Simply re-read today’s title.

I am in a chilled enough mood, and tired, so one apt song, and another in a different vein…

This might bring you close to tears, you have been warned! Vaka by Sigur Ros

And… Because feat Radiohead by Chiddy Bang

Who Are You? And What Do You Do???!!!

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Friday and Saturday have been pretty chilled compared to the last few weekends. Strangely enough, on Friday I was surprised to find out I was better off ditching the Mongolians in the end the night before. And here is why.

I finally made the wise decision to look for someone to take over my rent for the end of March, and I’ll look for somewhere cheaper. The pennies are being pinched big time. So, I put an ad up on Craigslist to sublet my room. That is how I met the Swedish girl. We go back years. She had arrived in LA last week, we’d chatted on Facebook, she was coming over on Friday to check the place out. I spent the morning dusting my room with a pair of boxers(couldn’t find a cloth) and hoovering my bedroom with my foot(couldn’t work the hoover). 

So about 2 o’clock she calls over with her two friends. She is sound out, hot enough too, and seems cool. Her friends, on the other hand, are complete apes. Sweet lord, they were apes. The first one swans in the door snapping her fingers, fake lips, fake boobs, fake hair, tiny dress and massive heels. Sounds lovely I know but the receding hairline she was trying to hide wasn’t really my thing. Her first question, her first words out of her mouth to me were “What do you do? Why are you not at work now? Are you rich?”. I’m waiting for the hi, how’s it going, nice hairline, small talk but she skips all that. Ape. She doesn’t seem impressed when I tell her I work online (all I could think of). I ask her what she does…”I make men fall in love with me and buy me what I want”, snapping her fingers at me and waiting for me to laugh along with her. Oh right, you’re a whure, no need for the long explanation next time. The other friend asks then if I have a green card, am I a U.S citizen. I disappoint her with a no, why so? “Oh I’m looking for a husband, but he has to be American, you wont do”. I tell her I’m looking for a wife too but she has to be half Swedish, half Mongolian. She doesn’t get it. It’s hilarious in my head though, so I start to explain but just stop myself in time. Not another explanation joke.

So my roommate and I sit through a good hour of hearing how her friend’s place is much nicer, more expensive, another man fell in love with her last night, she might move to a nicer place, … please stop talking. Thank god I didn’t head to their party the night before. They would have maxed out the last €24 on my student credit card in no time. I dodged a bullet. Finally they leave, we’ll call you, last resort my roommate says. It was nice of the girl to leave a few strands of her fake hair behind as well though as a kind remainder. Ill use them to dust the next time around.

Unfortunately at this stage I think I’ll have to give up mocking myself about my solo clubbing episodes. Friday night the texts were flying in, five offers, from five separate people, I was a popular man. In the end, I opted for a place called Teddys with my roommate. I had texted the Bucket asking her to go see a movie but I think she’s changed her number. I’ll ring from a private number tomorrow to check for definite. Anyways, Teddys was a great call. Cool as funk. Its in the Roosevelt hotel on the Hollywood strip, so right in the middle of everything. Supposedly a great spot if you want to mingle with the celebs. Or mingle with me now. Whichever you prefer.

So we get in, my roommate and her friends go say their hellos, I head off on a little wander of my own. Order a drink, doesn’t max out the student card, not too expensive so (about $10). Its a small enough place, decorated vintage style, seems to be a VIP section of the hotel bar. So, I’m strolling around, trying to look cool and fit in, keeping an eye out for Ricky Bobby or Shwayze, no sign, when these two girls come up to me. I’m surprised they didn’t pass out from the posing and the cheek sucking they were doing while trying to talk. Their shoulders keep popping into me as well while they pose and ask me “Who are you?”. Again, I was waiting for the hi, how are you, you just posed your shoulder into my eye, small talk, but they skip that too. So I tell them, very slowly and loudly, MARK, M A A A R R R K, MARK. They look at me like I’m a bit slow, they understood the first one fine. “Mark what?” At this stage they seem to have gathered I have an accent of some sort, which makes them think I might be rich and maybe famous. Little do they know.

So, they ask again, “Mark, what?”. I give them my surname, and see one of them type something into their iPhone. I think nothing of it while I have small talk with the other girl…I’m from Ireland – Oh my god I’m Irish too – Sure you are – I am, I’m half Irish – Oh yeah, which half, top or bottom – Emmm, my Mum is Russian and I’m told I look like her so, bottom half? – Yeah, thats what I thought too.  The other girl turns back to me, “I cant find you on Google, what did you say your name was again? What do you do? Are you an artist?” I look at her iPhone and she has typed in “Markus” into Google search. Ape. I tell them I am an artist, I do love to paint, I’ll paint them if they like.  I don’t want to disappoint her by telling her my surname again so she can see there’ll be no Imdb.com result for it. I wouldn’t want to ruin her night this early or anything. So, I whip out the back in two minutes dodge line. Be right back, wait here for me. They see they’re losing me and finally ask what they really wanted..Do you have drink for us? I point to a bottle of vodka on the table next to me (obviously not mine), tell them work away. Do you have some…sniffs at me. I hand her a tissue.

As it turns out, it was lucky I brought my Kleenex handy pack as I was asked for tissues a lot in that club for some reason. As in everyone I spoke to more or less finished by asking me or offering me. If you are ever in LA though, I would highly recommend going there. Its a cool place, so cool in fact, that they don’t care about the no smoking rule in there and everyone puffs away. Now that’s cool. Plus the Irish accent is golden, best place yet. Just bring tissues.

Today has been chilled enough but good trickles of progress have occurred. I checked the blog stats after the big interview on the radio show, the daily individual blog hits have quadrupled, almost up to 500, wuu duu!!! I also have a meeting lined up with my roommate’s commercial agent for this Monday. Meant to be easy money if you can get it, and they need all sorts, so worth a punt(if it goes through this time). Plus, there is some interest in my writing from other sources now (not just people I’ve plagued to read it) after the blog got more exposure. It’s going nude next week.

This made me realize something today, which now I see is fairly obvious but a bit oblivious to me up until now. And that is that I must start small. Any little break at all. Better than nothing. I can’t just land my own sitcom, or get a role in a movie (starring role that is) that I’d love to star in and like to watch myself kind of crap. Small things lead to the bigger things. Aaron Speiser was actually saying this a lot the last time I went but must not have sunk in properly until now. I was too busy wondering what the Wayans had said to him next when he worked with them. Later down the road you can pick and choose more to an extent. The more I write it down the more blatantly obvious it is. I was only joking, I had figured that out all along. Sure. Until then though I  have to take what I can get, to an extent. I’m still not going to say yes to the porn offers that have come in.

I must do some research now instead of rambling on. Must check out Google and see if that girl who gave me her number last night was on that t.v show I think she was on. As if I’d be interested in her if she wasn’t. As if. Tut. Song of the day is a song always on when I blogaruu…Inní mér syngur vitleysingur by Sigur Ros, funreal.