Monthly Archives: February 2009

Where Does A Gay Horse Live?

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When I decided to move to LA, I wanted to live right in the heart of everything, be at the core of LA, right in the hub, the epicenter, walk out my door and everything is just there…you get the idea. What I had no idea about was the fact that there is no centre to LA. Everything is a complete sprawl. Its the strangest city ever in so far that there are millions and millions living here and yet nowhere is ever, ever busy. The bare minimum of people are on the streets, I have yet to see one footpath crowded. When you ask people where downtown is they just point south and say down there somewhere, mumbling into the distance. Its weird, the public transportation is horrific beyond belief, you’d be better off getting a bus to a cottage in the furthest corner of West Kerry than you would have a hope of getting to somewhere specific in LA.

I started to look up apartments and rooms to rent on Craigslist. I texted a few people I knew living in LA asking where was good to live. The majority of replies (majority being 4, ha) gave me about 7 different areas which was no help whatsoever. Its like me telling them live in Munster, Ulster or Leinster if they wanted to move to Ireland. I texted the fifth person after I had found two places which looked promising. One was an apartment in West Hollywood, close to everything, bars, clubs, shops, gym, cinema etc. The other was an apartment in North Hollywood, looked nicer and had a pool included but wasn’t within walking distance or as close to all of the above. I thought, living in a big city, I want to be within walking distance of everything. No use living in the suburbs. The girl texted me back with a reply along the lines of “Oh, definitely West Hollywood for you, you’d love it there”. So, took the advice, moved into West Hollywood.

The place where I am living is class. Spanish style townhouse, two story, enclosed gated place, courtyard outside, right between Santa Monica Blvd and Sunset Blvd, the best area if you say it to people like this. The rent is steep as steep can be but I thought it’d be worth it to live in the best area etc. Plus I would be living with a model, always tough, ha.

What I did not get, and hardly ever do, was the supposedly very evident use of sarcasm that the minority text had sent me. The reason that this area is so safe, so friendly, so nice and so that, is because it is so, so, SO gay. I kind of wondered why there were so many rainbow flags when I used to walk about. I kind of wondered why guys who were out walking their little dogs were always looking at me dead in the eye with a pleasant smile. I kind of wondered why it was that so many guys were holding hands when I went to the shop. I kind of  know why now. 

On the plus side, there are ridiculously hot women living in the area too. Unfortunately they do not seem to be out walking around as much. Unfortunately they are not the ones always talking to me. Unfortunately.

Back to this being a great area close to everything. Close to everything means there are plenty of gyms nearby. Plenty of shops around too to buy food. Cinema is close. Bars and clubs are close. Everything is close. If you have a car. If you don’t, then you’re fucked. I have been walking along a few times, listening to my iPod when all of a sudden I’ve noticed that I stopped for some reason. My feet have given up on me a few times after literally walking for hours. Oh, there’s an Irish bar down the street, try there for a job. One hour walk there, about an hour and a half walk back, and no job later, plus in the roasting heat, I started to think I shouldn’t have sold the car I bought up in San Francisco. There has been days when my roommates were busy so I said I’d go food shopping on my own and walk back. Worst call ever. A 45 minute walk with four full bags of shopping, my pants falling down thanks to dodgy belt, and the sun blaring down on my milk, is not fun. Although after the 3rd or 4th time you get used to it.

I can hear you say, why not get cabs you funking ape? I spent over $100 one night getting a cab to a bar, then a cab to a club, then a cab home. That really does make the night even better. I have also gotten stung sharing a $70 cab with someone to be told “Oh I only have my credit card, Ill get you back. Ill get the $9 slab of beer shur, Ill pay you back next time.” Nice one, you prick, ha! I decided after those two incidents I would only get a taxi when absolutely necessary from there on in.

All in all though, I can’t complain about where I live. Housemates are cool, savage area, its a good place so far as well to name drip drop. While buying a George Foreman one day early in my trip in a shop relatively close to my house, I had the last George Foreman taken out of my hands and given to Isla Fisher by the dope of a shop assistant. Cheers boss. Outside my front door this week I was on the phone when I noticed a lady walking her dog across the road with the nicest, best looking set of fake…teeth I have ever seen. The actor David Spade was coming out of my building and sat next to me on the step admiring her teeth as well. I played it cool, told him I hadn’t noticed them, too busy looking at the dog, ha. I was in a restaurant at the top of my street and Rihanna was chilling at the table next to me. She poured her heart about Chris Brown to me, the bastard. Paying all this money for rent I cant afford is made worthwhile for these encounters. Well worth it. Surely they think we’re friends now too? Although, thinking about it, the two girls probably think I’m gay if I’m in this area and the actor dude was probably cracking onto me. The job!

Listen to all this album, it is funking rocking, a bucket load of songs mixed together…Feed The Animals by Girl Talk. In Step is class but so are all of them!

Surely Just Like Entourage?

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The whole point of this blog was to document what it is like to head to LA and try to start acting from scratch more or less. And to eventually win an Oscar at the end of the day. So far the blog have been side tracked with stories of the lunacy of LA, and I am sure there will be many more to follow.

My thoughts on what would happen to LA when I arrived were this…show up, do a few acting classes, get spotted, audition, land a few roles and be on the merry road to the Oscars. Surely that easy. In fact, almost too easy.

So far my road has been anything but merry and is instead like a country lane leading into a field. It is way way way different than I naively thought.

Firstly, there’s the issues of head shots. Photos of your head. Normal photos wont work. It has to be head shots. Which are brutal. Posing for a camera a foot away from your head and smiling like an ape. Sounds like a good laugh. Costs a couple hundred dollars to get get done. Good duck.

Then there’s getting a SAG card if you ever do want to get work. Which are either gotten through sheer luck of someone taking a punt on you(usually because they want to sleep with you) or through earning credits through doing lots of crap work on set. And the worse thing is that its vicious to even get this kind of crap work. And to make things even worse, if you ever do get enough credits to be eligible for a SAG card, you must pay a couple of grand to get it!!! No one once mentioned any of this to me!

I have decided to ignore the head shots and the issue of gaining credits for the SAG card(this is related to the fact I have no car yet which is the biggest mistake ever in LA). I have instead decided to go along the sure fire road of hoping someone will want to sleep with me and take a punt to get me a role somewhere, somehow – and not in porn.

If you were to Google acting classes LA, the worst and most expensive classes seem to be top of the list and thus very confusing. Its only when you get to LA and ask around to people who have half a clue do you get an idea of which classes would suit you best. Luckily I live with a girl who is a model/actress so she’s far more in the know than me and has been going to audit classes with me that her agent recommended. The majority of classes are expensive as funk to take. One that I was close to committing to before I arrived in LA was the Acting Corps, which is 990 dollar bills a month. Thank funk I pulled out. Of the class.

Its easy to get to try a few different classes, or audit them, for free with a bit of spoof. They must be getting stung by the big R as well so seem to be lowering prices and trying harder to get people to enroll. Add in a spoof Irish line here and there, visa issues, must make sure this is the right class, could I try one or two more for free and you’re laughing. 

The first class we went to was highly recommended. This guy Aaron Speiser seems to have worked with a lot of top actors – Will Smith and Gerard Butler – on recent films they did. However, the worst thing about his class was that he would tell you this at every opportunity he could. Which was every time he spoke. So if a student did a scene then waited to be critiqued, or ask a question, the teacher would start by saying…”You know, Will Smith asked me the exact same thing on the last movie he did, and I told him…”. This is cool to hear the first or second time as a newcomer, but every single sentence starts like that it just loses its appeal and gets to be pointless. It was the master class apparently as well, some of the actors were very good, some were brutal. There was one guy in particular who was horrendous, and every time he was told stop for being so bad, he would reply “I have been classically trained in the Observatory in Florida, I know what I’m doing”. Every time. Eventually, in fairness, the teacher said back “So you’ve been taught to be shit?” Ha, shut the dope up fairly quickly. 

The next couple of classes I went to audit were good enough, some savage actors in some of them, one guy and a girl did a scene that made a few people cry, it was weird enough, I thought they were doing a comedy scene myself, ha. The class I went to yesterday then was beyond a joke. The worst kind of people were in the class. The really annoying, hyper, doing accents all the time, half talking, half singing when chatting amongst themselves, disillusioned kind of people. The sort that will probably end up on cruise ships doing pantomime, like the majority of people in Ireland I knew growing up who wanted to act.

So anyways, its a roasting day in LA. I made the mistake of wearing a blue t shirt and walking to the studio, which is a good 30 minute walk away. I walk in to this small enough studio with no windows, absolutely roasting in there. Im feeling dizzy from the heat, sweat pouring off me, this annoying apes bouncing up to me, the girl in charge asks if Ill do a scene with them. Its my first time ever doing a scene, usually I have just observed. No real way of saying no, so I’m in. Not prepared for it, sweating like a whure and the thought of doing a scene with the two people I’m paired with is making it even worse. We’re given 5 minutes to prepare for a scene from god only knows what movie, I presume it was some crap movie anyways. The 3 characters are a coke head, and two prostitutes. I try to play one of the prostitutes but get the coke head role instead. I have very few lines, mostly actions in the background, suits me fine. My role was this more or less…come into the apartment, find my bag of coke, act jittery, get irritated that I cant find a dollar bill to roll up, get pissed off with the girls over the argument they are having, and then say my big line. Not too bad.

So I enter the room, at this stage the sweat is bucketing, between the room being like a sauna, my first go at up in front of everyone and remembering my few lines. After a few seconds its brilliant, only the heat is killing me, some buzz though. I have the coke head role down – cold sweats, jittery from it being my initial role, not remembering where they said the bag of coke would be(I keep looking under the wrong part of the couch) – it actually seems to look like Im acting well, ha. Anyways, scene progresses, they say the majority of the lines and  I finish with my “Shut up and find me a fucking dollar”. The teacher gives me great credit, asks half jokingly if I am a coke head, ha, then thinks the weird voice I used to say my lines was great. I don’t think she really gathered that was my accent. It was actually savage doing it, once you get over the first hump. The rest of the class is crap though, boring scenes, way too hot, almost falling asleep.

Thankfully this morning I went to the best class yet that I have audited. No bullshit like a lot of the others, all geared towards them not only training you for film and tv work but also trying to get you an agent and a manager, in order to land a few auditions to see if you can actually do it. Plus its close to my house. They seem to be impressed with my classical training in the Laboratory back in Ireland too!!!

Two great songs I stumbled upon in my iPod today are Dance, Dance, Dance by Lykke Li, funky chilled, and Yours to Keep (Annie Remix) by Teddybear is funking savage, more pumparuu.

A Hippy, A Blood and A Leprechaun Walk Into A Bar…

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I’ve been suffering from a hangover since a day of boozing on Saturday so have been unable to function, never mind type a coherent sentence. It was a highly bizarre and unfulfilled day which threatened to be good but never fully blossomed.

As with 99% of my “friends” here, I know them from meeting them once or twice or through someone else. It was a day and night filled with different scenarios with a few different friends here. Like any normal day, I went to meet a hippy chick about an interesting offer she proposed…I could have use of her BMW in return for doing handy jobs around her house. My roommates warned me in advance about what the handy jobs might be but being a trustful guy, I went along to see what was on offer. After listening to her stories of trips to India to meet her spiritual leader and how he visits her in LA through visions, I was convinced this was a sure fire legit deal. When I told her my stories of growing up on a leprechaun farm back home and how my own pet leprechaun, Timmy O’ Toole, also visited me through visions, she felt we had connected enough to go ahead with the deal. The handy jobs turned out to be change one light bulb and then help her drink two bottles of wine. It was win-win all round.

I had made prior arrangements with two other friends, in this case, one person I had never met before and another I could not remember meeting the week before. One was a girl who invited me to her birthday party after apparently meeting her in some club. The guy who was to go with me was a friend of a friend at home and used to work in the Classic. I had strong ties to both. When the hippy chick started to ask me if I dressed up as a leprechaun, and when the drink ran out, I decided it was best if I departed for a while, it was still 5 in the afternoon.

Anyways, the dude comes to my house about 6 – Hows it going, you know X, yeah, I know X too, he’s some wanker, yeah, prick, come on we go boozing. So we head out to the address the girl gave me for her party. Eventually find the area, pull in to some liquor store to get a bottle of booze for the party. Even though I’m after a fair bit of wine I notice a few dodgy looks being thrown our way but think nothing of it. Find the street where the party is on. The guy tells me there is no way in hell he is getting out of the car here or letting me out, we’re in the heart of Bloods territory, was I winding him up. I’m completely clueless, ring the chick to see if it was spoof or not. No one can understand my accent on the phone over here so its a pointless conversation of me shouting questions at her in an Irish accent, then trying an American one, ending up joyless and with no answer every time. It happens with every American person I talk to on the phone her, great laugh. Some car drives up slowly next to us, revs up and does a little hop on its wheels. Whatever it was, we were gone, no party, no chilling with the Bloods. Good start to the night.

So we drive back to my house, drink some of the vodka, head to a dive bar about a twenty minute walk from my house. Night is spiraling downhill fast. I’m sobering up and getting tired. Im getting texts from the hippy saying she’s at a party where they are meditating and listening to the sitar if I wanted to come, bring Timmy too! Didn’t sound too great so ploughed onto the bar. We get there, full of dudes, happy days. Scatterings of chicks, some big Italian guy keeps coming up to me asking me for speed, he’ll pay top dollar, wont believe me when I tell him Im not into drugs. Time to hit the vodka red bulls to save the night if possible and give me a needed kick.

Eventually a girl comes up to me and my buddy, sound looking to say the least, especially for LA. I tell her she looks great for 37. She gets highly offended, tells me she’s only 25. I ask politely how she cant take that as a compliment, I was saying she looked young for an older woman, surely that is a plus. Still not going down well with her and her friends. So I tell her other friend she looks great for a Mum, tells me she has no kids, I ask why wont she take the positive that if she was a Mum she look good after it. They are not getting the humor, we have to make a hasty exit.

So we go back to the house, finish the bottle of vodka, the guy is plastered, I tell him he can sleep in my room, Im staying up boozing with my roommates. It all gets a bit hazy then. I decide I should ring my sister and wish her a happy birthday, about 4 in the morning here but a good time back home to call. So I get a cab to the shop to buy a phone card. I then tell the cab man to just drive around while I make the call, a $20 phone card lasts for a long, long, long cab ride. Especially when you’re a tad drunk that you cant dial the international code never mind the rest of the digits. So after racking up $50 on the meter the cab man says he’s bringing me home, he’s had enough of me fumbling with the phone.

So back to the house, everyone is passed out, early morning stuff. I go upstairs, the dude is panned out on the side of the bed. Its then I see he has pissed himself. The job. At least it was all over him and some rug from downstairs but still. A great way to end an unfulfilled day. I’ve great friends over here really.

My Buddy…

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A buddy of mine asked me today if this has ever happened to me…

Ever bring a girl home after a club for a cup of tea shall we say. Ye both decide its best that she doesnt stay the whole night as you must get up early to go job hunting. On a Sunday morning. So after ye both finish your tea, she’s getting ready to leave. You start to get a paranoid, only just met her, better make sure nothing is going missing. Check for the phone, I-pod, passport, wallet…no sign of the wallet. Not to worry, its definitely here, you took it out after getting out of the cab. Checking everywhere, no sign. Only one conclusion, she must have it.
You subtly broach the question could she dump her bag out to make sure your wallet isn’t in there. Still no sign, and you never knew a girl’s handbag could hold so much pointless stuff. The wallet has to be somewhere, you definitely had it. Maybe she has it on her, hidden somewhere in her clothing perhaps. By mistake of course. Again, you broach the question would she mind being frisked for it. Padded down, no sign, although she’s getting flustered now saying she could understand why she’s would look suspicious if it had gone missing, just met and all. You tell her she better leave, the cab is there anyways. I’ll call you, kind of thing. Missing wallet does not lead to a second cup of tea. Thankfully she wasn’t asked to stay for a morning cup.
Cab pulls off, you go back to your room, decide to fold away your t-shirt before you go to bed. You put it back on the t-shirt pile  to notice a lump underneath one of your t-shirts. Wonder what that could be… the missing wallet. That’s right, you had stashed it earlier to make sure it wouldn’t be taken and no embarrassing accusations could be made.
I told my friend no, that had never happened to me. Cant remember which friend it was who asked me though.

Find Me A Job!!!

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Job hunting in LA for something cheap and cheerful is turning out to be nigh on impossible. After trying the old reliable Irish bars that seem to be run by Mexicans who couldn’t understand my Irish accent, I branched out to other bars in Hollywood. However, still to no avail. I was told to try everything on Craigslist. So after a while I started finding jobs for nightclub promotions, I thought, wuu duu, something I can do. Applied for a job, got a reply setting up an interview. 

Threw on my best shirt and went to their Beverly Hills office, group interviews. Myself and a 19 year old punk rocker with a Mohawk went in. I knew something was dodge straight away when the girl interviewing us, said she was interviewing us together because we had the same look and would work well together. Sure. Next she told us how impressed she was with both of us, even though neither brought our CV, or knew anything about the company. Felt something was dodge but I was distracted by her tales of being VIP in the clubs, the people we’d meet, etc… I bit the bait.
Great day, I got the job, on the spot. We were asked to go to an event that night, mingle and get to know people. I was tired, so told her I would hold off until the Saturday, she said no problem. Then an hour later I get a text saying she’s sorry, family emergency in Texas, she had to leave the company, here’s the owner’s number, he’d sort me out, apologies we couldnt work together. Very odd, text was sent at close to 1 in the morning too.
Next day, I rang the owner’s number, then sent a text, no reply to either. The girl who hired me was still sending me strange texts like “I cant tell you now but Ive more info for you in the morning, Ill reveal all”. Eventually, after a head wrecking few days, she left a voicemail confessing all. She had only been hired two weeks previously. The owner hadn’t paid her or the 180 other promoters that worked for the company and had just disappeared. She was sorry she had gotten me involved, they were suing him and the company, did I want to be part of the lawsuit. Bunch of spoofing nutters. 
At least I found out the proper story. Although, I wished they had scammed me (or at least tried!) out of money, my head wouldnt have been as wrecked then for the few days. I suppose she did tell the truth in the end. The only good thing is that they logged me onto their system when I was supposedly hired. So now I can log on, put my name on the VIP list, plus whoever I want, for savage clubs in LA. Duu duu.     

Song of the day Ce Jeu (Cool Kids Cant Die Remix) by Yelle. Cool as funk!

The Morning After

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I forgot a funny addition to the party on Saturday night. In my drunk haze I ended up going back to the Valley(think Sweet Valley High) to some other party. The next day Im stranded, phone is dead, no clue where I am. One of my tour guides said her roommate would drop me home. So she pulls up outside the house. Get in, roommate is good looking, Im still hungover, some friendly flirting never hurt anyone. So all the way back to Hollywood having a good laugh, she’s into funky music, likes off the wall stuff, big fan of punk and bootlegs, highly impressive. So we pull up by my house, she says we should meet up sometime and go to the club she was telling me about. Im not against it, at all, she asks for my number, takes off her sunglasses for the first time and turns fully towards me for the first time. Remember they drive on the left in America, Im sitting on the right hand side so wouldnt have seen the left side. Turns to face me…her left eye is the laziest eye I have ever seen. I just wasn’t expecting it, in a bit of shock so just kind of staring at it, I didn’t see it coming. I think, and presume she notices me seeing it, gets a bit self conscious about it. So I feel bad but cant get my eyes off her eye. In my confusion and haste I think i ended up giving her the wrong number too. Re de de.