Monthly Archives: April 2009

Oops, I Did It Again!

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Today was a tale of two jobs. With the outcome more or less the exact same – all work and no pay. I have a feeling it will be a looong post, so I will break it up into two, one for each fun job!

First on the agenda, was my DJ’ing debut in the gym. Mucho gracias to everyone on Spacebook that suggested songs for me to play, they were highly appreciated. Even though I actually did not use any of them this time. However, they did lead me down the long tail to finding ridiculously good remixes and bootlegs of class songs. So, once again, thanks for the indirect help. And to everyone on Twitter who might read this and did not bother to suggest anything at all, ye pr**ks, let me down.

With my music sorted, and my new brilliant DJ software in tow, I was highly pumped to get the gym rocking. And, this time, I wouldn’t just be pleasing big gay Jim on his own, I would get to please the whole gym of gay dudes, with the splattering of hot women, orgy on! In I went, confidently striding up to the front desk, unlike the last time. I am here to DJ. The guy at the front desk gives me the nod, I am good to go.

Up to the equipment and set up my gear. Which consists of my laptop, a lead to connect it to the sound system (they have it already, good waste of $18, a lot on my budget) and my headphones. I soon find out only my laptop is needed, headphones are props too it seems. I realize that the slot needed to connect to the sound system is where my headphones go. Headphones are needed for effect at least, so I plug them into the next and only other available slot, no sound comes through them, but at least it looks more legit than being caught with them not hooked up to anything but stuck in my pocket! I would now be mixing using headphones that will actually block out the music, ha, should be even easier now.

However, the minute the first song goes on, I know I am in a different type of trouble. I pick a remix of a well known song, not too left-field and well suited for a gym vibe. The people I can see in my vicinity perk up their ears. I can see the puzzled look of them recognizing the song kind of, they know those lyrics, but not the beat or the music. But their feet are tapping, hips are popping, asses shaking and heads are bopping. Oh no, this has started too well. There is only one way this is going and I am not ready for it after the big gay Jim incident. 

The song kicks in and the magic happens. Big gay Jim comes flaming out of nowhere “I love this song, pump it up!!!!” No problem Jim, where’s the volume though? Ha, amidst a sea of buttons and knobs, on the sound board obviously, I find the volume and we’re off! Here’s the opener… Smells Like Neon Spirit by Nirvana vs Disco Trash Music

Not one to blow my own trumpet, but I have done well and picked my music wisely. The place is soon rocking. The only mistake I feel is choosing Boyz by M.I.A (“where my boys at”) but going well besides that. I am getting away on the mixing side of things (end a song and start the next one with similar beats, blend, hope for the best, DJ on!) and big gay Jim wont stop giving me the thumbs up. Before I go any further, a Seinfeld joke springs to mind. One of his stand-up jokes is of how people take compliments about their clothes so personally. As in, if someone says “Nice jacket” the person wearing it might take the compliment too much to heart, as if they had personally stitched and hand made the jacket. When, all they did was pick it out and wear it. 

So, when people start coming up to me to compliment me on ‘my’ music, I give a thanks, they’re not actually my songs, I am a great picker though, cheers. The hardest part I found was making myself look busy up there and as if I was doing something. Headphone to one ear held up with one hand, fool around on my keyboard with the other, blend the two songs, look busy. It is all going swimmingly well, until my laptop crashes ruining my mixing, ha. At least two guys starting doing a fake chant “We want more, we want more” and then a big gay “Yaaaaaaay” when it was back up and running. 

The requests for Britney and Madonna are non-stop too, cliche on! A few people are even asking me for my DJ card, eh, what’s that? One guy, however, who is blatantly not a fan, is the guy behind the counter. I notice that when my head is up from pretending to be busy, he pretends to like it and bop a bit. But, when he thinks I am not looking, there is no foot tapping or bopping, until he sees me again, then spoof dances. The song I just put on is a long one, so having nothing to do, I decide to stare him down, to see if he cracks and just admits he doesn’t like it. Stubborn little guy though, he fake dances his heart out for me, I appreciated it.

Surprisingly, even a girl came up to compliment the music as well. Enthusiastic and popping off walls, she comes bouncing up to me, blah blah blah, what’s your name? She asked me this just when a song was changing, so I had to pretend to be busy and mixing. I tell her “Two secs there” as in, hang on two minutes, while I do this, and I will tell you then. She obviously understands me word for word, responds with “Tsector, what an awesome name, good job!” and off she bounces again before I could speak anymore hubbula hubbula to her. Unfortunately too, there was no sign of Bros, so his song will have to remain on ice until the next day.

My two hour set finishes up, I am pumped to the max, head is inflating from the new found respect I have from the gym staff and I manage to get Jim to realize it will never happen. As I am hobbling downstairs from the DJ area  (knee is still dodge), Jim is squealing in joy, balls, I made it too good again. Merrick, awesome, woah, I am sweating after that, and he then starts to tell me how much better it was than he thought it would be (the music and my DJ’ing, obviously). I am concentrating on my hobbling and the stairs and when he notices my gimp limp, asks why am I hobbling. Soccer, crocked, rar diddy rar. “Ooooo, you play soccer? What don’t you do?!!” Eh, men, for one Jim, sorry to disappoint. Ha, even if the guy behind the counter didn’t like my music, he laughed at my joke. In fairness to big gay Jim, he took it well too. The joke, obviously!!!

Song of the day, there could’ve been so many, but here’s a good one to make people think you can mix… Roxanne (DiscoTech Remix) by The Police

Ricky Bobby, We Meet Again…

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Having had such a productive day yesterday, I knew it would be hard to top it today. Started well though, got an email from the girl in the acting school I was at yesterday. She is offering me more classes to audit next week if I like, happy days, I feel bad for the others in there who paid thousands for the classes, I think she has a soft spot for a gibberish Irish accent and a big ball of hair, ha.

Back to being productive, time to start belting into my 19 bullets points of things to do. After the Champions League, obviously. It is tough enough watching matches here at times. I have two options for commentary, English with the American commentators and an imitation Irish guy, Tommy Smyth, or plug for the Mexican channel and not understand the Spanish commentary. There is only so much “Put it in the onion bag” and “The teams are the exact same team, just with different players” that I can bear. It was way better listening to the Goooooooooool when Ronaldo scored anyways. Here’s the only video I could find of Tommy, just to give you inkling to how bad he might be if he wasn’t reading from a script.

Next port of call was the gym, time to sort out when I was to DJ there. Up I hobble, the dodgy knee not taking kindly to the steps up to the gym, or the slight hill on my street, it was a struggle to say the least today for some reason. Rock, paper, scissors, how’s it going with big gay Jim, what was the story with the other day, rar diddy rar, oh I was meant to plough on and just play, cool cool, I know now at least, will I do it tomorrow for a couple of hours? Era shur, I’m a changed man, plough on! So, I broached getting refunded for the amount I had paid for the month in exchange for my immense DJ’ing skills, and a deal was struck. I am getting half of it back, and can pick what ever days I want to play a week (eh, just the one so I’d say Jim), and the gym would be back to being free for me. Nay too shabby. And the elusive, secret, Open Sesame way I now have if anyone questions my membership, is to just say “I DJ here”. Thats it. What a waste of paying for half the month. If anyone is in the neighborhood, I would highly recommend using my secret code to get themselves free gym. Ali Baba on!

With that sorted, I decided to hobble home and get back to my hefty list of things to do. My luck was out with the escalators (broken for about a week now, with the membership us members pay, it is about time they were fixed, ha), so had to hobble back down the steep flight of steps coming out of the gym. Steep steps are proving the biggest killer, if anyone can diagnose what is wrong with my knee from that information alone, please let me know. I eventually get down outside the gym and Sunset complex, at a big junction between my house and the gym, the green man is flashing to cross and the countdown is on. I have faith, I can make it across the road in 10 seconds, here I go.

And go I went, as fast as my knee would let me. It was killing me though so I was dragging my leg across the road. A car on the other side of the road got impatient and tried to cut across me and drive on but as they turned their option was to either hit me and drive on, or wait patiently and block the oncoming traffic. I was pottering along as fast as I could, but the car starts honking its horn at me. So, I slow down and look at the ape in the car. A blonde girl is driving the car and giving me a come-on-to-funk look, cross the road you hobbling ape. But she is not the one beeping. The dude in the passenger seat is beeping and also giving me a come-on-to-funk look, but more, if I was driving I would have drove over you at this stage. 

Obviously, I make sure to slow down, the horn is being beeped continuously by the guy, loud enough as well, so I put my hand to my ear and shrug my shoulders as if I can’t understand what the horn means or what he wants me to do. Cross what? Who? The road? Pardon me, I’m Irish, we don’t have these big roads at home. The other cars are now freaking at them now for blocking the road, the guy starts to give me the finger as I begin to hobble on again. I oblige and return the favour, thumbs up buddy, bending down slightly and leaning in towards the windscreen to make sure he sees. It is then when I notice it is my old buddy, old pal from the Hills, Ricky Bobby!!!

The fact that he had a hood on over his head meant I didn’t really see who it was until I peered in. I had a hood on too, so when I do peer in, I get the feeling he vaguely recognized my ape face and head from the drunken night in My House before, obviously he does not remember my name is Merrick, Eric or Omar. Or else he thought I might have actually been retarded by responding with a thumbs up, ha. Either way, next time he comes up to me in My House, there will be no high fives or sharing bottles of vodka, I am cutting him loose. 

Here is song of the day, which should’ve been used yesterday, seeing as Liverpool were knocked out of a cup competition. The last time they were, by Everton, wuu duu, there was a funny story to go along with the song. Weeks back, I was watching Everton play Liverpool in the F.A Cup. I had played this song on my laptop while having breakfast that day, and one of my roommates remarked how it was interesting that I liked that song and that band. Ok. So, I’m watching the match, my roommate comes back home from meeting her friend, who is now with her. How’s it going boss, big game on, give me a minute. He asks who’s playing, but as he does, Everton score in the last minute, last gasp winner, I am wuu huu’ing my way around the room (being an Everton fan) giving them high fives, hugs, great day, we beat Liverpool. It is then when I recognize the dude… the lead singer from this band, funking nuts! My first introduction to weirdness in L.A! After that long winded introduction, here’s the song… The Underdog by Spoon

It is a savage song, and they are a savage band. The song just came on my iTunes and if you did not gather, I wanted to include that story for ages, ha, hence the weak link, well worked really! The dude was sound, telling me about playing in Dublin with Interpol, not sure if many people in Ireland even know of them but Spoon on!!!!!

A Toothbrush Away From A Great, Great Day!

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Finally, a day to write home about. Today has been a turn-up for the books – productive, full to the brim, and almost nothing weird or stupid happened. Almost. 

In L.A, it is all about the meetings. Meetings and projects. Everyone is having meetings, working on projects, or having meetings about projects. I too have meetings and projects everyday, but my projects seem to involve meetings that do not benefit me in the slightest. Not today though, the tables were turned.

I was up at the crack of dawn, about half 9, for a meeting I had this morning. Jumped out of bed, forgetting about my leg, and thought it was about to snap like a twig when I put weight on it. Down like a sack of potatoes I go, wasting valuable time. Not wanting to be late (again), I started to multi task to try and make up on lost time. This went well. While brushing my teeth, and listening to some spam voicemail on my phone, I decided to go to the bathroom at the same time, how hard could it be. Hard enough standing up with a brittle leg and dodgy knee. Phone on my shoulder and pressing my ear down on it to hold it safe, toothbrush in my mouth , and hips maneuvering around, things started off well.

Lasted about half a minute. My bathroom window is located across and a bit below somebody’s sitting room in the building next door. When I looked out the window casually, I saw a girl on the phone looking out her window. Our eyes met, I got a bit of a shock, the sudden movement sent a shudder through my knee, which caused me to buckle a bit, phone falls off my shoulder, I reach out to grab it, at the same time the toothbrush drops out of my mouth, I forget to reach for this, catch the phone, my toilet catches my toothbrush. The girl can see all this, I have no curtain in my bathroom, good work out of me. Flush the toilet, fish the toothbrush out, will I rinse it, ha, no, better dump it. Actually, on my budget a toothbrush is a luxury item, will I rinse it… no, I think she’s still looking, better dump it to keep up with the Joneses and all!

No time to waste mourning the loss of a dear friend, I scuttle off to my meeting. The meeting is with a writer/mentor guy I have met before who gave me great advice. Which I did not heed as much as I should have. I am given one last chance, make the meeting on the button for 11, good sign. I have my assignments ready, some are okay, I get grilled on other sections, it is brilliant though, exactly what I need to hear. I am then given an outline and map of what I need to do. I now have a list of 19 bullet points of things I need to do to get where I want to be. Some are big, others are small, but if I cover all bases, do what is required and what I know now is exactly needed to do, I think I can get to where I want to be. Which is a savage thing to have laid out in front of you. These bullets points range from stop being a procrastinating ape, to neutralizing my accent at times to make sure my point is not lost in translation. Every aspect was covered in the two hours. It was savage to hear it all. After the meeting I was funking pumped.

When I get back to my house, things got even better. I am offered a job from Thursday until Sunday. This day is going superbly well and its not even 2 o’clock. The job actually pays money too, depending on how many items I sell. And what is it that I shall be selling…? Shamwows! For anyone who doesn’t know what they are, enjoy this video.

Should be funny enough, I must study the guy’s facial expression and enthusiasm to make sure I sell enough of them to make some bobs. Shamwow on!!!

I was on a roll, surely I should just cut my losses and go to bed at 4 in the afternoon to make sure I didn’t ruin the day. However, about an hour later I find out that one of the acting classes I went to audit before I was in Mexico, are offering me to audit a few more classes if I like. Once again, for free, so I surely will (the classes cost almost $100 per class if you break it down so getting them for free is highly recommended). It is in the Lee Strasberg acting school, the scene of all the crying and nutters that actually turned out to be good in the end (if you don’t remember, read the madness here).

The class I am auditing is for TV and Film Acting. Sounds perfect. Except for the fact that, once again, the acting studio has no air conditioning, it is like a sauna. However, besides that, it is far and away the best class I have been to, it is brilliant! The teacher is young compared to all the other teachers so far (late 20’s), and he is definitely the best. No crap or bulls**t like all the others, his advice is spot on, and the direction he gives after seeing a scene once is savage, improves all the actors who are involved. Plus he gave interesting side stories, not boasting like some of others (for example, Heath Ledger used Clockwork Orange as his inspiration for the Joker, used to be playing all the time in his trailer during filming).

A downside was sitting next to a gimp, who kept eating popcorn and slurping a drink, claiming to not understand me when I asked him to stop, I am still working on the neutralizing part of my accent. And he kept, kept, kept panting and saying “Hmmmm” for no apparent reason, to himself. He was the spitting image of this dude from the Big Lebowski.

A German guy livened things up a good bit too. He had a scene prepared, which he actually did well, bar the fact he couldn’t make himself cry for the big finale. After the final effort he had at doing it – Cuuuut, next week maybe Jurgen – he freaked at himself that he couldn’t cry, and ended up freaking so much that his eyes watered up and he left the room whimpering, two minutes too late though. It was nuts but a good laugh to watch. Especially when he got some criticism and advice mixed up, lost in translation. The teacher told him… “You should treat your acting like the act of foreplay, don’t rush the key part and get it over with too quickly, build up to the crying part”. To which he got very offended by, and shouted out that he loves to eat the…, just ask his wife. Ha. The awkward silence that followed was worth going to the class alone, although myself and Jesus next to me couldn’t stop laughing. I have a bucket load of savage notes as well from the rest of the class, 4 hours long and only the last guy wasn’t the May West and a bit boring.

While reading over the notes I had taken on the hobble home, I missed a dip in the path, put all my weight on the bad knee, and faltered like James Brown. It was at this time, while kind of holding my knee and trying to recuperate, on the side of the street in the gay neighborhood that I live in, that two gay dudes in an Escalade pull up next to me, surely to see if I was alright. Window rolls down, a fat gay dude pops his fat gay head out “Hey baby, are you working?” Huh, yeah, how did you know? I got a job selling Shamwows toda… hang on a minute, what the funk do you mean?!!! “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, we thought you were, drive…” and the two apes drive off in a hurry. It’s only when they have taken off in a hurry that it dawns on me what had happened, the dopes. Although, although, it was haunted that I got the good news of the Shamwows job earlier that day, things were looking bleak! Ha. Hang on buddy, I never gave you the price list!!!

All in all, a productive day I must say, I need my sleep after it. Must just brush my teeth first. As I said, I am not yet living the lap of luxury to afford such things as new toothbrushes, so looks like it will have to be the toothpaste on the finger trick for a while. Song of the day… The Plot by White Rabbits

Hollywood FC… Worst Trial Ever

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Sweet Lord what a magnificent match I just had earlier tonight. Absolutely tremendous, from start to finish. It started off with some Spanish lady screaming rape at me, I came on in the match at half time, subbed back off after 10 minutes, and I now have the left knee of a 94 year old woman with arthritis, in her left knee. Hollywood FC will be beating down my door for me to sign, wuu huu.

I suppose I better give the background details of how I ended up getting the trial in the first place. Back in my dark Craigslist days, when I was hooked and could not kick the habit, I put an ad up offering soccer coaching lessons. Any port in a storm, and any job would do. This was when I was stupid enough to think I might have a chance of getting a job that pays money in exchange for work, I have since learnt the ways of L.A. A coach of a soccer team saw the ad, asked me if I wanted to play for a team, why not, I had an open schedule at the time (as opposed to now where I am so busy with… with… my blog).

Initially, I thought my team was half decent, few good players, savage pitch, won the first two matches, scored a few goals, happy days. However, since then, the truth has been revealed. For every 1 good player, there are at least 2 that seem to have never played the game before in their lives. A few play as if they have been dropped from the sky, onto a soccer pitch, not knowing what is going on, standing there embarrassed and clueless. The worst thing is that they’re sound, so if you get annoyed with them for forgetting to play the 2 part in a 1-2, they just kill you with kindness.

I should take this opportunity now to apologize to anyone I have played with before where I tried to make a rousing speech before a match or at half time. Listening to some of my teammates speak before or during a game has made me realize what I must’ve sounded like at times. However, I don’t think I could possibly be as bad or as clueless, but that is debatable. The worst/funniest part of it all is that everyone is expected to say something, so I am guaranteed a few gems. “The next corner we get man, I will stand at the right hand side of their left centre defence guy, move to his left, my right, and make that offensive run to the goal and score a header with my head. That could be a great move, I scored a goal like that in high school, can you put the ball there for me, maybe a foot above my head?” That kind of stuff has to be listened to, great fun, and bewildering. A guy actually said that to me on Sunday, which was made worse by the fact that we had not yet had 1 corner, I zoned out half way through his plan so he had to tell me twice, and he was a sub at the time and only came on in the last few minutes of the match. It would’ve been a great move and goal though! Maybe next week.

When it is my turn, I give my thoughts and vent frustration, and the majority of the players have no iota what I just said. Luckily, an English guy on the team picked up on this, and has taken to re-say and translate me after I am done with each sentence. It is handy having a translator though, me not being able to speak English and all. 

Last week I got an email from the coach, telling me that Hollywood FC wanted myself and another guy on the team to go for a trial. Sounded good, their name won me over. I didn’t really think much of it, until my roommate, a girl who openly claims to not being the biggest soccer fan or have in depth knowledge of the game, got very excited, said it was a big thing, congrats. Who are they again? So I wikipedia’d them, and they looked quite good, lot of ex pros and movie heads seemed to be playing or have played for them. Plus a few players from their team had been signed by teams in Europe. Then the other guy going to the trial told me if we were to get on, we would probably get paid and get to travel around California to play matches. Pay I hear you say, as in actual money and not the make believe stuff I have had to deal with recently, wuu huu, I am pumped for this now. And, he added, they might be able to sort out a longer visa for me if I was to sign for them. Oh sweet Lord, this could be two birds with one stone mythic stuff.

The trial was tonight, my regular weekly game was last night. Along to the normal game I go last night, after about 50 minutes, while chasing a ball going over the sideline, and on my own, I catch my leg on the cement running around the pitch, jar my knee, hear some sort of snap, crackle or pop, and fall down like a heap on the side of the pitch, with a dull sickening pain washing over me. Ah, this is great, good work out of me. Coach/physio sprints over, pours water over my head, cheers, thats helping, and starts telling me he thinks I have done my cruciate ligament. Ah, this is getting even better, mighty stuff. I can’t really move, don’t want help to be moved, just want to lie there, face down on the ground, until the pain goes away. Luckily enough, I have flopped down next to my clothes and stuff, which I use as a pillow. After about 10 minutes of lying there face down, I figure out it is not my cruciate, but still have a sickening dull pain. I can see the visa and money opportunity sailing away.

I ice my leg up all day today, plough through a bucket of pain killers, and fool myself into thinking I am good to try and play the match (being honest I would not have gone except the coach said this is probably the only chance for the trial, now or never). Era shur, I’ll be fine, who needs two knees anyways. Executive decision is made, I’ll go along and see how it is after warming up.

With all the pain killers and ice, I cant really feel my leg as I warm up, I’ll be grand! Just as long as I don’t kick the ball with my left foot, move any direction but forward, don’t get tackled, and don’t run, I will be flying and good to go. Must just go to the bathroom before the match starts, be right back. This is where things go a bit awry.

Firstly, the men’s bathroom looks like someone has been murdered in there, covered up with tape, all sectioned off, do not come in sign, door locked. I really have to go though, so needs must. Knock on the women’s bathroom door, no answer. Knock again and open the door, “Howdy, anyone in here?” No answer again. Knock and take a step in the door, “Hellloooo, anyone in here?”. No answer, I am good to go. In I walk, far cubicle door is open, looks clean, good to go. As I make my move, a small little Mexican lady, in her 40’s I’m guessing, comes out of another cubicle with a little girl. Oh Jesus. Sorry, I thought nobody was in here, ye don’t mind me using the bathroom do ye? I am bursting! From her facial expressions, she either doesn’t speak English, or does not understand my version of English to understand me. She rattles off a load of Spanish, I am really bursting, so start to apologize and move for the cubicle at the same time, the far one, two down from her. More Spanish, followed by the distinct word “Rape, rape, raaaaaape” Oh Jesus. What? I just want to use the bathroom! As in now, I need to go!!! I rush into the cubicle, she rushes out rattling off the word again and again. Oh sweet Jesus, please stop.

When I come out of the bathroom I am greeted by the stares of Mexicans and a little lynch mob forming. Luckily, and surprisingly, the misunderstanding is cleared up quite quickly, although the Mexican lady is still repeating the word over and over, unless there’s a Spanish word the exact same, but means something else. I speak German, Irish and mangled English so I have no clue whatsoever.

Moving on, back to the great game. Our team is made up of, supposedly, the best players in our league. And me. I am meant to be starting, but think it would be better to come on and try to play well, as opposed to starting and going off early due to my big ballooned knee. Makes great sense in my head. The Hollywood team are good, very good, 3-nil up at half time, a few class players. Start of the second half, I am on, time to impress. Close to scoring twice in a vain effort to impress (one unlucky off the crossbar, one horrendous miss off the post) and numerous near buckles of the knee later, I finally flop to the ground like a sack of potatoes, holding my knee and close to crying like a girl. This is definitely making an impression, my plan has gone swimmingly well. Max, max I was on the pitch 15 minutes, I am thinking more like 10, but time flies when you are having fun and digging an early grave for one of your knees. I give their coach a thumbs up as I am helped off the pitch and the call me sign with my hand. They badly need an idiot in their squad.

I would say I am in pain writing this, but the good old pain killers are kicking in and I am feeling nay too shabby. All I need to do now is just sit by the phone, and wait for the call from Hollywood FC. They should be calling any minute now. Any minute. After that great cameo, topped off with the horrendous miss from 5 yards out, and the great accusations just before kick-off, seriously, how ever could they not?!!

Until they do ring, here’s a class song to pass away the time… Sleepyhead by Passion Pit.

Thai Angel!!! THAI ANGEL!!!!

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Racially abused, crocked from a dodgy, sickening soccer injury, and a magnificent red wine hangover to deal with, it has been a tough 24 hours. I am feeling very tender, sore and both physically and mentally abused writing this post. At least I got to go to a place called Thai Angel, which is great fun to say while drunk. And party with strippers, which is also great fun to do while drunk.

First, I’ll deal with the emotional distress I was caused. The first pub I went to last night was fairly horrific. I have been there twice before with Andy and Colin, so seeing as I would be going with actual people this time, I thought it might possibly be better or have nicer women at least. It wasn’t and it didn’t. Thankfully the next bar was brilliant, purely because I got schooled in music by a very tasty and funky looking Danish heavy metal MTV presenter. When she asked what I did, DJ in a gym, I think, she seemed a bit interested. When I told her the only two genres of music I did not really like or have a clue about were country and heavy metal, her interest was gone. Seeing as they were her favourite two. How convenient and of course they would be, you should have said before I opened my mouth. I was then given a passionate lecture on the music of Lamb of God and some other bands I had no clue about. Weirdly, this Lamb of God lecture would benefit me later.

That pub finished up at 2, Danish girl left with her boyfriend, the job, and I headed to an after hours bar with guys on my soccer team. Thai Angel, this seedy bar in a dodgy neighborhood was the venue. I had never been but decided the night was too young to finish this soon. Thai Angel was brilliant, in a one time experience place, plus I was getting free drink from the bar maid, THAI ANGEL ON!!! For some reason, it was also great fun, to me at least, saying Thai Angel while drunk, in my best Chinese accent while in Thai Angel. I have yet to perfect my Thai accent so had to be my Chinese one, ha, ape. Anyways, this stupid way I was saying Thai Angel, THAI ANGEL, sparked up some conversation with a group of girls in there, the only group of girls in there, it seemed everyone was else was a dude in some cheesy suit eating Thai food. Irish this, Merrick that, rar diddy rar, want to come back to a party, I surely do. 

I head to the party with the 4 girls I just met, and one other dude, one of their friends, I presumed. Never presume really. Moving on, I get back to the house, bottles and bottles of red wine lined up, there are a few more girls back there, they are half watching some weird horror movie on t.v, how bad, finally, finally, things are looking good for me at a party. It had been a while.

My accent is going down well, the red wine is flowing, 5 of the 7 girls are hot, the night was getting better and better. How do ye all know each other girls, oh, ye work together, cool. Where do ye work? Never heard of it, what kind of place is that? A bikini bar? Like a beach bar or something? A dance bar? What do you mean a dancing bar? Oh, ye’re all strippers? Oh. Oh yes. Well 5 oh yes and 2 oh no thank you.

The hottest girl there was the spitting image of the lead singer in the Pussycat Dolls, she was funbelievable! However, she was the only one not to laugh at any of my stupid jokes. And decided I wasn’t even worth facing, so continued on watching the nuts horror movie after I first walked in. So, I obviously liked her the most. And wasted the majority of my time trying to make her crack. However, no joy at the inn, of course. As I am re-topping my wine to the brim, another girl comes up and asks what music I am into. 9 times out of 10 I would have been delighted to chat with her, she is tasty, but her stubborn friend has me distracted. I answer her with a question “Does your friend have a boyfriend or what’s the story?” “Who, Erica? No, she just has a thing against men, she’s not into them at all, she’s a lesbian. I saw you waste your time with her earlier.” Personally, I would never say time spent trying to chat up a ridiculously hot lesbian stripper was time wasted, but I could see her point now I had the bigger picture.

Time to talk music it seemed! She tells me she’s trying to get away from the only other dude who is at the party, keeps talking crap and wrecking her head. She better look for someone else to talk to then besides me, ha, this stupid joke goes down well, in like flynn! And the type of music she likes… heavy metal, favourite band… ha, Lamb of God! No way, I tell her, I like them too, and rattle off bits and pieces from the lecture I had received earlier. She is highly impressed, I didn’t look like I would be a fan of theirs. Who me? I’ve liked them for years! 

Things are going well, until the other dude comes over, looking annoyed at me for being able to talk crap and wreck the girl’s head better than he was. The guy looked and dressed like Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Stupid looking cardigan over his shoulders, stuck-up, pompous fool. The most annoying thing was that when he was yapping on about crap, he would blink and leave his eyes shut for about ten seconds, as if this made his crap point more interesting or valid. He tries to join in talking about music, spoofing on about David Bowie and The Clash, making completely made up facts and stories. Luckily my buddy Bob from home has me well educated in The Clash and Bowie, so I was able to catch him every time he made up stupid spoof to the girl e.g seeing Joe Strummer in concert last summer here in L.A. Must’ve been weird seeing him, with him being dead a few years now and all.

This really annoys him, so starts to turn on me. Comes out with the statement that rocked the boat “Look, everyone knows that all Irish are criminals, or descendants of criminals, so I don’t really think you can try to educate me on music” What the funk was that, what did you just say? Then, for some odd reason, he validates his comment with this “Its okay, I’m a screenwriter, I can say this sort of stuff” Well, buddy, I write a blog and you are a funking gimp. The girl is shocked by the other dude, and starts freaking out, about the racism. I get a bit freaked that something I have said to him was racist (did I call him Carlton?) but the girls have turned on him and his racism towards me, ha. Commotion ensues, who knows him anyways, who brought this guy. Turns out nobody knew him, or invited him. He just snaked along from Thai Angel after overhearing the address. Everyone presumed he was someone else’s friend there.

To my delight, and with my help, he is phunted out of the party “Go f**k yourself you racist pig, we don’t tolerate that s**t here” is screamed at him by the girl who owned the house. Poor Carlton, did they not know he was a screenwriter so he could say what he wanted. Back inside at the party, I am surrounded by sympathy, rage and disgust that I had to deal with that kind of stuff, a guest in their country, so so sorry, please don’t think we’re all racist like him. Yeah, that was tough to deal with, I could do with a hug, group hug girls. Sure, it would cheer me up to go listen to Lamb of God on your laptop with you. My favourite song? How could  I pick just one, I love them all!

I would play a Lamb of God song but I had to endure a few last night and still not a fan. Here’s a Bowie one instead which is always good to strip, I mean, dance to… Rebel Rebel, eye patch on!!!

Gymps!!!

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I am trying to decide whether I will start my roommate’s fun filled blog today instead of mine or tell you about my ape like story? Ape, I hear you say? Ape it is. 

Big day yesterday. A very nervous day for me. First day of my new job, remember, the one that doesn’t pay me any money. Big day for a chump like me. Seeing I was on at 12, had no mixing equipment, or mixing ability that I know of (yet), I got up at 11 to prepare for work. I hooked up a 3 hour playlist, where every song ended with a similar sounding beat the to start of the next one, mixaruu on! All I needed to do was stand there with my headphones, pretend to be mixing, and I was a born again DJ.

Having re-read my spoof DJ cue cards with all my lingo, found my best DJ-esque t-shirt and equipped with my laptop and cable, I was good to go. The sun was shining, L.A was buzzing, the walk up to the gym had me pumped. In I get, and go to the front desk, informing the girl I was here to DJ, wuu, get ready to be pumped. She gives me an inquisitive look, oook, let me just check, I was never told anything about that and the manager has just left. Ooook, I’ll just go get a Red Bull to wake me up. So I go over to the little shop part, Red Bull it up, ah shur would you look who it is, my old buddy Common has come to join me for a beverage. 

While he is waiting for a shake of some sort to be made, he seems to remember me and sparks up some conversation (my achievements have taken a beating lately, so at this stage, the fact that someone remembers who I am is pleasing, how the standards have dropped!). “What up Irish, are you in working out?” Not today my common man, I am DJ’ing in a minute. “In the gym? How did you get that gig? Funds your drinking at least man!” I choose not to tell him that I won’t be getting paid money for the gig, just great publicity and all that crap, ha. I realize that Common has now a new found respect for me it seems, he has gotten the impression that I am in the music business as well. I forget as well to inform him that I am actually not, who was I to burst his bubble.

While we are talking music, and as Common gives me one of his demos to see if I will play it sometime, ha, spoof, I notice that the guy with the fairly bulbous head next to us is trying to edge into the conversation. Back off buddy, I am letting Common sell me the concept of his demo, give the man a chance. At a second glance, I see that its Craig David (I think anyways, looked like him, English accent, sounded like him, I am presuming it was him). I didn’t really want him to give me a demo of his to play as well, so I ignore his efforts to join in. Around this time the girl from the front desk comes back over, and ruins it all.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt, you’re actually not DJ’ing at all today.” I look at Common, and see the respect drain from his face. He thinks I am a spoofing ape, tuts at me, shakes his head, then says he’ll be off, must go work-out. As he goes up the stairs, he turns around taking one last look, a look of disgust, and shakes his head, how could that Irish guy have led me on! I swivel to the girl working there, you ruined it all woman, how could you do that, you gymp!!! “Yeah, Jim said you were going to come in on Monday at 12? Not today” I told Jim yesterday I would start tomorrow, as in today. “Oh yeah, that probably meant come in on Monday” Oh right, that makes plenty of sense. I am being turned away from my new job that I won’t get paid for, this is a great feeling.

She tells me that she could ring the manager again and see if I could do it maybe for an hour now. The pity vote. However, I get the feeling she might not know much about setting up the sound system, so I inquire if she does first before she goes back and rings the manager. “No, I wouldn’t have a clue, you should be able to figure it out though, right, it should be easy for you.” Ha, do I look like a DJ or something to you? I’ll hold off until Monday, I don’t want to risk feeling even stupider by struggling to set up my equipment, i.e plug my cable into the correct slot, rocket science really.

The dejection and gimp feeling on the walk home was tremendous. Just when I thought things could stoop no lower or become more comical, lower they go. To save myself looking like a complete fool, as opposed to just a gimp, I decide to buy mixing software so that when I do go up on Monday I can at least have that up on screen and pretend to be using it if anyone walks by. It only cost me $50. Which was great. So far it has cost me only about $68 ($18 cable that I’m still not sure is going to be the right one) to not work at a place that wont pay me anyways if I do every end up working there. Great work if you can get it, lucky me!!!

At least I have a plan to spruce up the gig on Monday if it does actually go ahead. I am mulling over having the dude from Bros’s song at hand if he happens to be in working out. About time someone else is embarrassed in that gym besides just me. Song of the day was needed to chill me out on the way home… Paper Aeroplane by Angus & Julia Stone