Category Archives: Acting

Did I Do You Yet?

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Out of all the gyms, in all of gay San Francisco, I pick a gym owned by a straight guy, so I now have to pay, like a chump, it’s awful carry on. This gym, however, posed a very important question for me to mull over today – What is gayer: the couple (guy and girl) who both times I have been there have worn identical matching outfits (different matching outfits too, first day mostly made up of blue, I thought it was a strange coincidence, today mostly black and white, confirmed my ape suspicions), who wont stop walking around the gym with their arms around each other’s lower back so they’re waddling in sync, OR; the gay couples in the gym in West Hollywood. Both are pretty, pretty gay. OR, me, seeing as I probably trump them both for noticing and taking the time to write about it. Plus the fact I’ve used OR twice so far and keep saying it out loud as I do. I win.

Moving on, while I am on my week or so away from L.A, I have been given writing assignments to do, to assess and reflect on the time I have been there so far. Different writing and organisation exercises to see if I am serious about writing, can I work in a time frame, how has the acting side of things gone for me, or I am just in L.A to party. I have worked hard all day, procrastinating, thinking about which one I should do first. As of yet, I am still undecided, so I’ll hold off until tomorrow to start. I think I will plough ahead with the one I must write about what I have done so far while in L.A to achieve my goals, and what then is it that I need to do when I go back.

First thing I did to perfection in L.A, was to finely hone the art of procrastination whilst on Craigslist, thinking I was being productive. Craigslist is one of the most helpful, frustrating, useful, annoying, time saving and time consuming websites there is out there. It is a complete paradox. I have had many hits, and double the misses from the website. The good: I found a place to live with cool roommates; the website indirectly got me playing soccer in Robbie Williams’ house. The bad: got me excited about a job that never seemed to really exist (hired at about 3 in the afternoon, company disappeared off the radar about 11 that night); had me walk around the city of L.A to open interview jobs where hundreds of others would also show up before me (might have been handy if I brought a C.V along with me to those interviews, although making out a C.V for myself might be a good starting point too); the whole Bucket fiasco (go read the plentiful posts on that if you need a reminder, I miss her still). I’m sure there have been many more misses, they are just the main ones off the top of my head. I won’t even mention what happens if you try to get free Sigur Ros tickets from someone off the website, lets just say nothing is free in this day and age!

Anyways, for the first few weeks in L.A, I was convincing myself that looking for a job and car on Craigslist, or posting ads offering soccer coaching, website design, accent coaching, translation, pornogr…photography lessons etc, was a way of me being productive. Nay, nay, nay. Complete waste of time, although at least it got me out of the house!

On the acting side, I have probably not done enough, but I have made some sort of progress. I am still agent-less, and my phone has yet to start hopping with calls about auditions. No SAG card or head shots either come to think of it. However, at least now, when an acting teacher asks me “Have you studied Method, or Meisner, or theatre, or E-Business, or whatever before?”, I no longer reply sheepishly “Eh, yeah?”, but instead confidently reply, with a wink, “All of the above really”. Progress has been made! 

My ramblings are being put on paper, so to speak, so at least the writing is flowing. I have Craigslist to thank for a good bit of that, so that is another hit really. And now that I have been given assignments, and even asked to do an article, big time Charlie, hopefully more structure will come to it. Sitcom on!!!

All my galavanting on nights out has led me to make a few contacts, which is a plus. They might not remember me too well, or my many names, but I’m sure they will be delighted to learn that I have put them on my speed dial. Lucky them. Plus I now know who to call if ever I want to get scammed into buying a broken down truck, always handy. It’s all about who you know really, ha.

So, from the gibberish above, I see that I have done a few things ok, to an extent, and the rest, eh…yeah. I haven’t even made out this list or post well, the random ramblings are kicking in. Ok, focus, what’s the first thing on my to do list when I get back to L.A… what to do… to do… to duu… I thought of something! Here’s hoping my hot neighbour wants to do it too!

Here’s a great song to pound the streets of L.A to while on the job hunt, although it has yet to bring me luck in finding a job…Punkrocker by the Teddybears ft Iggy Pop.

…With Colin Farrell Playing The Lead!

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For technical reasons, which I shall not get into, I have to leave L.A for a week or so and head to Mexico. Conveniently enough, spring break is on at the same time, actually a total coincidence in timing for me, but, wuu duu. I also have to fly there from San Francisco, I shall not bore you with the details as to why. I was wondering if I would continue on with this wonderful blog while I am gone, but as long as stupid stuff keep happening to me, I say blog on!

Firstly, I would not recommend wearing baggy shorts, which require a belt to keep them from falling off, while going through security check at the airport. The whole point of the trip was to keep it innocuous, up, down to San Fran, in & out of Meeheeko, back to L.A, happy days. Low profile, say nothing. Good plan.

It’s my turn to go through the metal detector when the first beep pops off and ruins my great plan. “Please check your pockets sir and try again.” I pad the outside of each of the 6 pockets in my shorts, nothing in them, go through again…beep, beep. “Please check your pockets sir and try again.” I actually check my pockets this time, metal pen in one, notepad with metal coil in the other, two batteries in one of the back pockets, I should’ve checked first time really. So, through the detector again…beep, beep. The security guy repeats himself again, adds in to take off my belt if I’m wearing one. Ah, the belt. Off with the belt, shorts almost fall down. So, I try again, getting annoyed with the annoying security guy doing his job (instead of with myself for being dumb)…beep beep beep. “Security check on row 5”. 

So another guy comes over with his big beeping wand, takes me to the side for a quick pat down. He asks me to hold my arms out, shorts close to falling off as I do, bend the knees quickly to keep them up. He’s wanding me up and down, asks me to stand up straight, I tell him I cant really, what happened to this being innocuous and low-key?!!! So after seeing his glare and dirty look, I stand up straight, arms held out to the side, shorts slide down, leaving me standing there in my nice orange pair of American Eagle boxers. Like a fool. Turns out the chewing gum pack in my back pocket was the problem. It was an empty pack too, well worth all that.

So on the flight up to San Fran, I met my first random Irish guy since I have been in L.A, so close to getting away with it. He’s sitting next to me on the aisle. While he makes small talk about seeing the incident, I notice that he has an Irish accent masked underneath an annoying American one. When he realizes I too am Irish, out comes the Irish accent in full bloom, one of those gimps. “Alright man, you’re Irish, I didn’t think you were…” and so on, as his American accent fades into an over the top Irish accent.

When he asks what do I do, I tell him I’m here trying to act and write. Trying being the key word. He tells me he lives in L.A, traveling to San Fran to meet his wife’s parents, his wife is sitting next to him, American, hi, how’s it going, all that. So where in Ireland are you from by the way, I ask him. “Dublin man, yeah, I’m an actor”. The job, I think, he might be able to give me some tips… so, are you getting much work? “Yeah, my agent has lined up a good few auditions for me next week, can’t wait, it’s going really well.” Which agency are you with, if you don’t mind me asking, I need an agent myself! “Well, it’s a friend of mine, he’s not an agent as in with an agency, he’s my agent, he’s my buddy.” Oh right, what stuff have you been in so far? “Nothing yet man, good few stuff lined up though” Are you going to acting classes? “No man, you don’t need any of that really though, my buddy was telling me, he knows people.” Your buddy sounds like an ape. And you sound like a gimp. A complete spoof.

I start to change the subject, however, every time I do, and the more he speaks, the bigger kind of spoofing ape he becomes… What part of L.A do you live in? “Well it’s more Santa Barbara than really in L.A man” SB? That’s about 2 hours north of L.A, you spoofing gimp! I ask if he’s in L.A much at all so or what? “Well I will be now, if my buddy can set up the auditions. I’ve gone out there a few times with herself.”

I go off the subjects of acting and L.A, and ask him about his visa situation, how did he sort it out? “I got married, she hooked me up”  – nods to his wife. I know people who do that, good work, at least you’re good to stay here now. But this is when he truely blossoms as a gimp. His wife, technically she is anyways, goes to the bathroom. When she leaves, he swoops in with the comment of how she is usually hotter looking, you should’ve seen her when he first met her, she’s put on a bit of weight since, but she looks so hot when she slims down. What the funk?!!! Why would you say that to me??? Well done, I believe you, good work. When she loses the (good) few pounds, and is looking great, ask her to call me. Until then, she’s all yours.

So I change the subject completely, ask a straight forward question about what part of Dublin he’s from, buddies living up there, and so on… he tells me Kildare!!! What a funking gimp, Kil-funking-dare?!!! Why bother to tell me Dublin so at all first time around??? My laughing at him at this stage throws him off a bit, he tries to change the subject this time by telling me he’s writing a screenplay, it’s going to be great. He then describes his movie which is the exact same as You, Me & Dupree, except in his version, he’d cast Colin Farrell as Dupree. I ask him has he seen You, Me & Dupree, no? Go rent it. He tells me he has more, describes another movie he’s going to write, which is the exact same as School of Rock, except in his version, he’d cast… guess who? I mention School of Rock to him, his bubble bursts, tells me he has more, pity we’re close to landing, we should talk more. I tell him I’ve no American phone yet, so I give him my Irish 088 number, an oldie but a goodie, call me, man. I was looking forward to hearing more about his new screenplay as well. The one about some big ship that crashes into an iceberg, the premise sounded good, and original. Hopefully he’ll call.

So anyways, I’m in San Fran now. I had forgotten how many homeless people there are in San Fran, while I was in my gay neighborhood bubble in West Hollywood. They are everywhere! Although, can’t knock them, they just looking for happiness like the rest of us. In the pursuit of it, you could say. Maybe there’s a good idea for a movie. I can think of a good story line already. Now, if only I could find a black Colin Farrell to play the lead role!

Song of the day is this savage chilling song, Blood Bank by Bon Iver

In The Shower. Singing. In French. Crying. Go!

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I feel the blog has wavered off the acting and writing track a tad lately, so I must write a post about the first Lee Strasburg class I went to last week. Not that it has been on that track much anyways, but the class was pretty nuts to say the least so worth a mention.

It was last Thursday, and I had just been informed by Aaron Speiser’s people that his class was going to be $50, instead of free like I thought, plus the $40-$50 round trip in the cab ride, good duckaduu to that, does he not know I’m homeless and unemployed! It was 7 on the button when I rang the Lee Strasburg school and the class started at 7 until 11. I could come along if I hurried and came straight away. I’ll be there in two minutes! So I had a cup of tea, changed out of my blue t-shirt (remembering the last time I was hungover in class and wearing blue), had another drop of tea, hurried as fast as I could and went to class. 

So I get there about half 7, go to the reception, tell guy at the desk about the flat tire in my imaginary car, had to walk, sorry for being late, sign up for the class, then sign in for the class for some reason, get given a few pages of a scene and get told I might get do to a scene with one of the girls at the end if there’s time. Not too shabby, could be good. So I’m brought upstairs to one of the rooms, the teacher is expecting me, have fun! I surely will. I walk into the big enough room, and immediately I’m worried and freaked. Everyone is crying and making weird noises. This is going to be great fun.

A guy who looks a bit like Woody Allen, glasses and accent included but with black hair, sees me at the door – freaked and wondering why everyone is crying, is this a cult? – and starts to walk over to me. When I say walk, I really mean pirouette. Seriously, he does about 4 twirls across the room, swivels through 2 crying, wailing people in his way, and comes over to me. With him in a ballet stance (on his toes with one foot, arms up in the air, other foot wiggling around gracefully, like a posh little tea cup stance), he introduces himself “Hey, I’m Robert, we’re warming up, have a seat, take it all in, I didn’t get to dance without the practicing, essential, absolutely essential, warming up and practicing, have a seat”. He points, with his toe thats in the air about neck height, to where I should sit. Cheers Robert.

While all of that was going on, everyone is still chanting, wailing and crying. Some are staring at the wall, some are walking around, some have their arms out, fists clenched. There are about 12 in the class, the majority are crying, pausing only to say “HUUUUHHHH, HHHUUUUHHHH. HHHUUUHHHHHH”, then politely crying on. There’s one guy sitting on the floor in the corner saying and doing nothing, just rocking to himself. He must be newish too. There’s a girl with a massive afro, shaking her head, spitting out random bits of French, crying and rubbing her hands all over herself. This is freaky as funk, reminds me of a voodoo scene from a movie. I notice as well that the majority of the girls in the class are extremely hot. Even amongst the tears and wailing, they are still top dollar. Maybe I’ll stick around for a few more minutes at least. it’d be rude not to.

The layout of the room is two stages either end, and wooden floor in between, with seats scattered here and there. I followed the teacher’s toe and sit in the corner. As I’m realizing to myself it didn’t matter what colour t-shirt I wore to this asylum, and realizing how hot the women are, this Australian dude, old enough as well compared to the rest (I’m guessing 37 and a half maybe?) sits two seats down from me, huhing away to himself. Softly at first, eyes closed, arms out like a cross. Ok, huh on buddy, this is normal. So while he is huhing to my left, an extremely hot girl sits two seats to my right (people were walking around the room, changing places). So I forget about the dude, decide to see how good an actress the girl is, do I really believe that she is crying, is she really as hot as I first thought. She’s sobbing away, looking well, when I hear the huhing getting louder next to me. I turn back towards my left, and see the guy is looking at me, or into the distance and through me, not sure, and huhing for dear life, getting intenser and louder with each one, veins popping out of his neck. What is going on, is that his chick next to me, should I move seats, this is fun alright, surrounded by nutters!!! 

The girl next to me gets up, eyes closed still, starting to laugh now – Good, you’re getting better, did I tell you I’m Irish? She then does a big “HUUUUHHHH”, wacks me in the head with her arms out cross motion, reverts back to laughing straight away, and goes on her merry way. What is going on, good God this is freaking me out. 

The teacher must’ve seen this, starts to pirouette over to me, explains how he is getting the students to see what emotions they are overcome by today, strip them down bare so they can work off an empty canvas, blowing on. He also liked to start every single sentence with “Dahling…Lee used to say that to me…Dahling…” then say whatever it was he was going to say. 

The first hour went on like this. Good laugh. Just sitting there watching this. The second hour involved them doing a daily activity with a twist. So the students were still spread out all over the room, doing a daily activity, such as showering, cleaning the dishes, making breakfast etc, when the teacher would say a different twist to each… “Showering drunk” or “Cooking naked” or to the girl with the afro, “Making coffee, singing a song, your national anthem, at the top of your voice”. And she wouldn’t or couldn’t stop crying while doing it for some reason. She was the most disturbed I think.

The teacher goes around asking them how they are feeling while doing their daily activity. One feels sad (no way!), one feels explosive(is that even an emotion?), the really hot girl feels sick. She then reveals too much while she’s cooking her eggs, in the freezing cold, with her eyes shut, and half crying… Dahling, why do you feel that, tell me more… my stomach feels sick, I don’t want to eat these eggs… tell me more, what happened today that made you sick… I was using the bathroom all day, my stomach is upset… Dahling, tell me more, were you getting sick all day… no, the other way, it was really bad… good, let it all out, now you’re ready to act, open your eyes! 

Too much info for my liking. Thankfully it was time for a break. I found out during the break that the French girl was in fact from the Ivory Coast (she didn’t care or seem impressed when I threw Didier Drogba’s name into the converstion, thinking we shared common ground about a soccer player). The Aussie dude told me he was at make or break time, if he didn’t make it in LA his wife and kid were not going to be happy. He also let slip that he had being going to this class for 9 semesters which I’m guessing is a long enough time so his family might not be happy with him. I didn’t see the really hot girl, probably in the bathroom the whole time.

The second half started with two students doing a scene they had prepared. Ah, here comes the good stuff, a 15 minute scene where you get to see if they can act or not, then the teacher gives them pointers. Except it went on for about 40 minutes. And the guy was from Argentina I think, somewhere in South America anyways, and the girl was Spanish I think, and I had little to no clue what they were saying, or what scene from what movie it was meant to be, so was completely lost (it was actually a scene from a play, one with only 3 long scenes, and they were speaking English apparently). I went to the bathroom after their scene and forgot to go back, it had been a long, tough few hours.

The weird thing is, when I went home and thought about it, I actually think it was a good class. It was highly bizarre and full of nuts, but I could see where ballet man was coming from with what he was saying and the logic behind it. I might go back for another audit or two. I’ll bring some Imodium for the hot girl next time as well.

I must go now and practice my “Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhs”, while staring at the wall. Naked. With an upset stomach. Song of the day is Silent Shout by The Knife.

Any Spare Change, Boss?

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Today has been a day of chats, stories and getting information, some meaningless, the rest highly useful. 

Here’s a highly useful bit of information I got today, which will definitely benefit me further down the line. Apparently Matt Damon lived in the same place I live now. Very useful to know. At least now if I ever meet him I have a good ice breaker. A great story.

This nugget of information was followed by a mighty chat today with one of my neighbors. Mighty altogether, I was smoothness personified. One of my neighbors is ridiculously hot, an Australian actress. I found out today she was in Neighbors. I could try to make up a horrific joke about my neighbor being in Neighbors but I’m too tired, and thats all I could think of anyways. She’s the reason David Spade has been hanging around my place now and again, they’re working together. She’s not that famous or anything, but she promised she wouldn’t mention me in her blog if I did the same, you know how it goes. The bad news was that one of my roommates told me she lives here with her husband. Great. I was well in there too before I found this out. I felt the spark the one time I said hi to her, although I’m not sure if she even said hi back. 

So while I’m watching t.v, I see her outside my window, messing around with her dog or something. The sun was shining, she was dazzling in it, looking savage. As I said to my other roommate, knowing she wouldn’t get it, she is a weapon. Strangely at that exact time, more or less, I thought to myself, now is a good time to dump the bins, and while I’m outside, I might as well say hello. So I throw an empty can into an empty bin-bag, the rubbish was overflowing, really important I dumped it at that time, and go outside. I should mention at this point that my roommate’s dog was sick today, so puking out of both ends. This will help my smoothness later on. 

I head out, make some small talk with her about it being a great day, dazzling, weapons, all that jazz. I then tell her how I have to empty the bins again, so much rubbish, where does it keep coming from, you know how it is, throw my eyes to heaven, tut to myself, all that jazz. She doesn’t care, and I realize I shouldn’t literally talk rubbish to her, my regular small talk is bad enough. So I go dump the can into the trash shute, come back, ask her what type of dog does she have. It’s a bulldog but I ask anyways. I’m good at small talk. I then think to myself, I should really tell her how my roommate’s dog is sick out both ends, and how I’ve stepped in it a few times already today, tut, throw my eyes to heaven. So I’ve now moved on to the subject of s**t with her. Rubbish and s**t, same old small talk as usual so. 

Our spark is interrupted by her husband popping his head out their window and asking her would she get his drying from downstairs. Hang on buddy, we’re sharing a moment over dog s**t. So I go back inside, tell my roommate its a pity she’s married, I think she likes me. I know these vibes well. My roommate, who has lived here longer than my other roommate, then tells me she’s not married, that’s a gay guy who lives in the same house. The other roommate had got it wrong! No wonder so David Spade was over there all the time, trying to move in on my woman. I’m thinking of inviting her over to check out the dog’s puke stains, always a banker to seal the deal.

So they were two highly useful, informative stories I heard and had earlier in the day. I also heard how Brad Pitt got the agent, who got him his big break, to represent him in the first place. My roommate had all the good stories for me today! Apparently, he went to her office with his resume, photos, reel etc. She said no thanks. So he kept showing up every day at her office, with cakes, flowers, mixed tapes, homemade stuff, being nice and pleasant, and eventually, she said yes. Talent, good looks and the ability to bake tasty cakes and deserts seems to be the way to get your foot in the door. I’m letting the custard on my trifle set as we speak.

On my way to a meeting I had today, I stopped by the good old Coffee Bean for a coffee, surprisingly enough. Its a sit wherever, share tables, kind of place when its busy. So I’m busy scribbling stuff down in my notebook about something, a shopping list I think, when a girl asks if she can sit at my table. Work away, pull up a chair. I thought she was Irish first, had all the tell tale signs, pinky skin complexion, colour of bacon, iPod on, green top and a white skirt. The minute she asked me what do you do and who are you, however, I knew she wasn’t. Here we go again. Luckily, I pulled a George Kastanza moment out of the bag, that will be used in future when needed…”I’m unemployed and kind of homeless, things are looking bad.” A great way to nip something in the bud early in LA it seems. Plus I called over Amadeus and introduced him to her, she probably believed the homeless comment more after seeing he was my buddy.

I then met a literary agent, who had read some of my writing. That turned out to be the most useful out of all my chats, as he gave me unreal helpful information about LA, getting into the business, and taking things to the next level. Basically you need a plan. Then you need ten more plans. Then you have to be open to ten more possible plans. So the more you put yourself out there, try different routes, network, and work hard while making it look effortless, the bigger chance you have of getting a foot or hook in somewhere. I know that can be applied for a lot of things, and might seem obvious, but when you’re being told by someone in the business you want to be in, by someone who knows what they’re talking about, and thinks you have a good chance if the necessary hard work is done, its good stuff to hear and have laid out in front of you. Its a bit much to take in all in one go too, so by the end I was processing it through my head and was a bit lost for words as to what responses I should give “Eh, thanks?”. Stand-up comedy could be another option now too, boo on!!! At least now though, more direction has been given to me, it no longer feels completely alien being here, and I have set things to start doing. Either that or I’m banking on my homemade trifle!

A great song to finish the day is Road To Joy by Bright Eyes

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.

Actually Neil, They’re Swedish…

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So yesterday was a highly productive day. Highly. I got a call in the afternoon asking me if I wanted to audit another one of Aaron Speiser’s classes. I said I would, it was free, I’m not starting the other class full on until the start of April, might as well get the free ones in until then. So, having that lined up for 7.30, I killed the day getting some ridiculously good music remixes from obscure parts of the web. I had planned going back to DJ AM next week and wowing him with my mixes, or at least the ones I had found. Might see if he’s up for starting a collaboration, AM/PM perhaps, he could do with the exposure. I had a lot of free time on my hands yesterday to think of all this.

Anyways, while I’m getting stuck into the music, I remember I must text the writer I met last night who had a movie or two made already. He had given me his number so I could text him the name of the documentary I rambled on about. I had asked and taken it hoping he’d end up writing a new role for me in any upcoming projects. Surely he would, we both liked soccer after all! We were on different wavelengths to be true, so I didn’t have a clue what it was I was hoping he’d do but must text him at least to suss it out. So, I send him a text about the documentary (Black Star, about Michael Essien). I leave a question at the end of the text, he can’t just get away with a “Cheers bud” now if he texts back. I also recommend another documentary I’ve seen recently (Waltz with Bashir) if he ever got free time he should go see it, unreal, great movie etc etc. It wasn’t until after I press send and re-read the text that I realize it has the air of me almost asking him out to go see it again. Almost has the air of me asking him on a date. The job. Exactly what I was trying to convey. I do not recommend sending important texts when hungover.

Lo and behold, I get a positive reply. He cant find the doc on Blockbusters though, do I have a copy he could borrow? I’m thinking, I give him a copy of the movie, he gives me a movie role, fair swap. But I have no copy of it. And it’s not on Youtube. I checked. Or Amazon. I checked. Perhaps I could get onto my friend at home and see if he could get me a copy of it. Has he ever seen the documentary “The Bridge” as well by the way. He really should. It’s class. That is on Youtube. So, while he’s probably expecting a simple “Yes, I have a copy”, or, “No, I don’t”, I take option C. The long rambling text which is more or less the length of this paragraph explaining the above. About 4 texts sent as one. One of those great texts I send now and again, then after think a phone call might’ve been better.

Surprisingly, I get no reply. Come to think of it, I’m still not used to my new phone. I’m still in the stage where I can’t yet walk and text at the same time with it. Or I’m still texting with both hands, not used to the buttons. Did the text actually send? I got no delivery report. I better send it again. Sent. Oh yeah, I don’t get reports on this phone. Great work by me, bombard him with rambling texts. Good duck to that lead anyways I’d say. I have to say though, thats another hurdle I must figure out how to get over. Texting or ringing someone who could give me a break – Do I just say…Hook me up, or do I end up recommending a morbid documentary about suicides (The Bridge) in a rambling text? I’ll try hook me up next time, trial and error!

After a mixed bag of a day, delighted with the new music, annoyed by my inability to text a lead, Aaron Speiser’s office call me again to confirm the class. Yeah, I’ll be there, can’t wait to work with Aaron again, can’t wait to hear who he’s worked with lately too. Pardon? It’ll be $50 this time. Oh right, usually people don’t get so many free audits. Oh right. Yeah, yeah, I’ll still be there, you have a really great day too…Sure I’ll be there.

So I Google map his studio again. Its a good hour’s walk from my place. Or a $40 dollar round trip cab. Plus the $50 for the class on top, is $90 really worth it? Eh, nope. While on Google maps, I stick in acting classes near my house. There’s actually one close-by that I haven’t tried yet, Lee Strasberg. I manage to get myself in to audit a class that night, the day has not been fully lost. I’ll write a separate post on that class as it was highly, highly, highly weird and entertaining so might ramble on a bit.

I get out of that class about 10 o’clock. I had been asked to go onto the Neil Prendeville show at 2.15 my time at night, but never got a confirmation email about it so presumed it wasn’t going ahead. What to do. I’ve loaded up on coffee and red bull to get me through the long acting class so I’m pumped to do something. I go meet a few randomers I met somewhere, someplace before and have a few drinks. Good buddies of mine, cant remember their names though. I head home about half 11 and have a few more drinks with my roommates. About 1 I get a text from a random Swedish girl with an appealing offer…”At a villa in the hills, lots of booze, my 3 other Swedish friends are here, you should come! We have a hot-tub!” As my friend pointed out to me, why did I have to mention the Swedish part. No offence, but, for example, if I was to say I got invited to a hot-tub party with 4 Mongolian girls, it wouldn’t have the same ring to it. Plus, they’re actually Swedish so it was just the facts. Anyways, they give me the address so I can Google map it and suss it out. It’s while I’m on my laptop checking this out, that I see I have an email from the 96FM show. They’ll be calling in about half an hour after all. I thought I’d get a bit more notice. Was hoping to get my antidotes and stories in order. Have a bit of cohesion to my ramblings. Put on some nice clothes and comb my hair for it. No time for any of that. I sip on my can and mull over what to do. Swedes or Neil Prendeville. Swedes or Neil. I think I’m living in this area too long. I turn down the Swedes, or Mongolian girls, whichever you prefer, for Neil. There’s always the next night. Duu.

I think I’ll liven up my day by texting the writer, Kami, Tami, and the Bucket all the same rambling text to see if I can get any reply, so both of my hands are needed for it. I’ll write about the acting class I was at last night later on or tomorrow. Here’s two of those cool remixes I found…
Breaking It Up (Pocketknife’s Loosefoot Remix) by Lykke Li (She has some savage songs and she’s from Mongolia!).

And Knocked Up (Lykke Li vs Rodeo Remix) by Kings of Leon.