Category Archives: LA Living

Funk Off Tom, This Is My House!!!

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I am gutted to be writing this post at this hour of the night. Once again, it would be brilliant, if only it had happened to a friend. It is a recurring theme at this stage. Today was a great day, funny as funk, very unfruitful, didn’t achieve much, but had to laugh at it. I’ll write about that tomorrow. Tonight was the main story. I was done. But, I understand why at least.

I decided to lift my no boozing ban at the 11th hour. Seeing as I got a call from a few guys I play soccer with to head out, along with the fact I had to celebrate my first paid article being published today (wuu huu! I am now officially a struggling writer, ha), I decided it would be rude not to.

As it was Wednesday, My House was the port of call, the scene where I made such good buddies with Ricky Bobby and Shwayze. I can have no qualms with the DJ dude about the website not materializing, seeing as he managed to skip me past a queue of about a hundred to get in. Once again, if only the girls in the queue knew how unimportant I actually was as I skipped on by. It would later work to my advantage.

So, I get in, the place is rocking, it actually is a savage venue, good music too, clientele are posing to the max everywhere you look but seeing as I wore a scarf there, who was I to complain. I stroll around, in my scarf, looking for the soccer heads. Find them, small talk, rar diddy rar, I notice a hot enough girl sitting on the edge of the couch next to me on her own. Me being so nice and all, go over to her to engage in a bit of conversation. She immediately loves the accent. Well, not really, I think she loves the fact that I am apparently speaking English but all it sounds like to her is “Hubbula hubbula, hubbula?”  All I said was “Howdy”. To and fro we go, me talking, her not understanding a word, oh my God, you are too funny. I had not attempted one joke at that stage so I presume she is laughing at me. At least she hadn’t Googled my name and left yet.

My hubbula’s have her in bits, she has to introduce me to her friend and the guy she’s talking to. How’s it going, hubbula, yeah, I am speaking English too, hubbula, I know that dude from somewhere. So I make some horrific joke about the other girl’s name, which none of them laugh at. However, they do laugh when I say “Oh Jesus” that they haven’t laughed. It is going well. Except the fact that there is a familiar smell lingering from the girls, sniff sniff, they smell Irish, sniff sniff, thats the one, fake tan. Anyways, the dude is the guy from the Fabulous 4 (I am later informed its the Fantastic 4). He suggests that we get the girls some drinks, sure bud, your round. Up to the bar we go, some small talk which he obviously cant understand. It is then that I notice that the smell of fake tan is worse now that Im standing next to him at the bar helping him with the drinks. Sniff sniff. The smell is off him. Oh Jesus.

We go back to the girls with the drinks, more banter, the girl gives me her number (means nothing here by the way, same as me giving a girl my 088 number) and we finish the drinks. The guy gives me a knowing nod, “Get the same round in again, this is going well”, one of those nods. I give him a nod back, same again girls, be right back. As I walk to the bar I cop on that the last round of 4 vodka Red Bulls he bought us cost about $50, including tip. Hmmm, $50, on my budget. I have $30 in my pocket. Hmmm. That girl has already given me her number and was starting to look bored at not understanding a word I said. Hmmm. What to do… Excuse me, just the one bottle of Bud Light please. I forgot to go back to them, ha.

Instead I go for a stroll around the club, noticing that the staff working there are ridiculously hot, they seem just to be wearing long shirts as their uniform. I stop one girl and ask her why she’s wearing no pants, and we’re off on the hubbula road again. The girl comments on how she saw me skip the queue, what do I do? One of those I know, but she was hot so I left her off. I told her the truth, I was out celebrating my first article being printed in the Echo, had she ever heard of it, it was a pretty big deal, ha. She laughed, either because she didn’t understand, or else, even worse, she did understand, which made her laugh even harder, at me. Either way she was sucked in, nice shirt, where are your pants, I’ll swap you mine if you like, hardy har. Any parties after the club, I’m finished work at two? Oh sweet Jesus, I do, up on Mulholland, my buddy’s buddy’s house, he has a few pools, we should do a bit of midnight swimming. 

It was at this point when the lights came on, the club was over. She said she had to go finish up, let me know the address, she’ll follow in 5 minutes. I ask for her number, she starts to slowly (why not fast!), s-l-o-w-l-y give me her digits. She is 5 numbers in when this guy dressed as a hobo next to us interrupts, taps her on the shoulder. She turns, we both look at him, the hobo is Tom Green. Balls. He says don’t bother with that party, he is having one at his friend’s place, it’ll be far better. Ok Tom, I was planning something else but I suppose a party with you will be okay still. Oh, it’s just her that’s invited. Oh. You pr**k. 

I’m not too worried though, I have faith in the girl still, she’s 5 digits in, too late to pull out now, obviously. She turns back around, and the face says it all. Eh, sorry, but that is Tom Green, it could be good for my career. Noooo, I was going to put you in my sitcom, noooo!!! Sorry, great meeting you though, you’re so funny. Noooo, I’m not funny, I can dress like a hobo too if you like, nooooo!!!! Did I tell you who owned the house?!! He won’t be there or anything, but still… Tom, you pr**k!!!!!

The night ends on a sour note. My buddy says he’ll drop me home if I like, cheers man, at least I don’t have to pay for a cab. As we walk to his car, we stroll past another car with the paparazzi swarming it. Look in, its good old Tom posing for a few pictures. No sign of the girl. Must have been following him in 5 minutes. 

At least this is a savage song to pick up anyone’s spirits and give you back some soul, pump it up, some song to drive through L.A to… Everyday People by Sly and The Family Stone

No Job. No Agent. Funk, Looks Like Pimp Time!

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Today was an off day in my relationship with L.A, we were having a bad hair day, so to speak. The whole no job affair is getting to me. Either that or being off the booze is kicking in more than I thought. I wonder if waking up daily knowing, once again, you have no job, is better or worse than having to wake up early and go to work at a job you dislike? Highly debatable really. This morning I learnt that the film festival which had asked me to update their website, was as I had suspected, intended to be done pro bono. Unfortunately for them, I am anti bono. Particularly in this current state anyways. I still had got no phone call back from Jim, in the gym, so the day did not start off on a good note. Plus, unsurprisingly, the DJ who asked me to design a website for him, seemed to not notice my calls and forgot to return my voicemail. For once I wanted random dudes to be plaguing me with offers!

My day was drudging along, my spark had yet to ignite, no jobs, where was the money to keep me afloat going to come from, the sun was shining and beating down, but the gloom was setting in. I have realized that the majority of job offers I have gotten since being here, seem just to be ways of luring me in and trying to bed me. And before you think I am being a cocky ape thinking this, know that any girl who has done this has not been good looking (average at best), and the rest have been dudes. For example, the hippy who told me she had work for me just tried to get me drunk and asked me to change a lightbulb, as she dressed up as a leprechaun. For example, with the website work, could I do it for free but, you know,maybe we can work out a different payment? No, thank you. For example, the orgy chick told me she could sort out a job for me helping on a movie set, but seemingly I would need to partake in a mostly male orgy for that. I could go on but thankfully wont.

I decided to get proactive, and head to the gym earlier than usual, up to big happy gay Jim. I had faith in Jim! High fives, rock paper, greetings done, where was my call, you pr**k, and why no pillow talk?! Turns out the operations manager was off until tomorrow so he hadn’t asked her yet. However, he rings her there and then to try and rush through an okay for me to start. I get him put it on loudspeaker, so I know he’s not spoofing. Setback, only get her voicemail, he leaves her a long rambling message, but he still seems optimistic so things were looking up a bit. Hopefully tomorrow I will get the call! The only bad thing about it all was this… as I was leaving, Jim tells me to get my best French stuff ready, he really enjoyed yesterday. Oh Jesus.  Eh, don’t worry Jim, I will have the place rocking, just give me a trial run. He tells me he can’t wait to see me in action for the full two hours if I get the all clear,then, as you do, or he does at least, finishes the conversation off with a subtle cat-like claw and gnawing his teeth at me. Oh sweet Lord, please say you did not just do that and that this job offer is actually real.

While walking home, I started to ponder was it really time to give in and take heed of all these signs. I was already forming a client base , should I just get a pimp and start the money flowing in. Maybe the pimp could get me some movie work too, didn’t seem like too bad a plan after all. Luckily, I have a minor brainwave. I should try dropping demos into all the gyms I have been to since I got here, to see if I can blag work with any of them. Not much I know but something at least, I could feel a bit productive. And it keeps me from getting my very own pimp for another few days at least.

Another sticky issue today arose from the simple task of being asked for a photo of myself. Well, not just a photo, a Hollywood photo if I have it. Maybe one with the Hollywood sign in the background. Oh right, I have plenty of them lying around. I have an article being published in a newspaper on Thursday, and they asked for that kind of photo to go with it. It is bad enough that I have had a great dislike for photos my whole life, so something as specific as that was going to be great fun getting. Plus, obviously, one where I didn’t look like an ape, didn’t look drunk to funk, and it had to be of me on my own, which was probably the worst of all. I don’t know about you, but that to me was asking a lot. Writing the article was easy, getting that photo was far tougher!

Last night, a friend who is a photographer said he would take a photo of me with the city of L.A in the background, the Hollywood sign included, he had the perfect spot. On our way to the location, we noticed that the Hollywood sign wasn’t lit up, the job, the one night it wouldn’t be, of course it wouldn’t. However, as we are driving home, right by my house, I spot the perfect, and more fitting, alternative. Next to the Laugh Factory, there is a big Hollywood sign spray-painted on the wall. Its not glamourous, not the first choice, a bit grimy and on the side of a petrol station, the perfect photo. He takes one snap, looks acceptable to me, thats the money shot, we are done! Personally, I don’t know how anyone could model if they weren’t getting paid for it. Or if they were sober. Standing having your photo taken, posing – look into the sky, look at my finger, look less like you are looking at anything, look like you know what you’re doing, look like you might be able to take a picture, just look away, look you’re crap at this, we are done – how anyone can enjoy that without getting paid is beyond me. Technically, I was getting paid, so thats why I had to do it, ha.

All in all, today has finished off quite well. I just emailed off the photo, the article is good to go. I have demos ready for the other gyms tomorrow. I had even set up a few free audits for acting classes for later this week, I managed to be productive in the end. And, wuu huu, just got a text from the DJ dude, hang on, let me read it before I finish up… Sorry mate… hold off on website… maybe in a month or two… busy with work. Balls. Woke up finding out one website job was a no-go, going to sleep finding out the exact same. The funking berries. I’m shaving my head tomorrow. I wonder if its too late to find a pimp at this hour too.

First a great chilled song that was on my iTunes a while ago… Save Myself by Willy Mason.

Here’s a song that will, if nothing else, have you wishing you were a robot for a song. Or, that you could dance as well as the guy in this video… Crimewave (Crystal Castles VS Health) by Crystal Castles

Pumping. Spinning. Sweating. Oh Jesus, What Have We Done Jim?!!!

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Priority number one at the moment is to find a job. The movie career has been put on hold until this has been accomplished. One needs to have money for food, and all. Here are my highly promising and highly stable job possibilities, which I have lined up at the moment:

1. Design a website for a DJ/club promoter, who actually asked me would I design it, but since then has been dodging me;

2. Fix and update a website for a film festival, but I think they think I will do it for free in return for my company (?) getting free advertising;

3. Selling shamwows;

4. DJ’ing and promoting in a bar/restaurant after hours, but still no meeting lined up with the owner, and, finally;

5. DJ’ing in the gym I go to, ha, probably the most likely of them.

This is the best I can muster up it seems, my degree and masters are being fully used to the highest degree. I am useless.

Moving on, yesterday the dude working in the gym, Jim we’ll call him, asked me to drop in a demo of the music which I would play to liven the place up. I should probably mention now my DJ’ing skills consist of having good music, and bob all mixing. I bought a mixer once, never used it, and ended just blending songs in on my iTunes whenever needed, I was quite the DJ wizard. I only had one blank CD to burn my demo onto, so just had the one shot at it really, great preparation. I chose my top 5, stuck them on the CD and got a quick tutorial from my DJ buddy for any lingo I may need if asked. Equipment, mixers, sound cards, song bits, sound checks, bits of card, plugs, wires, blenders, I was well equipped to spoof on if needed. In return for the tutorial I said I would give his podcast a mention, http://tantricdex.podomatic.com/. 

Up to the gym I go, I was pumped, the songs I picked were rocking, perfect for the gym. Jim greets me trying to pound fists, I give him paper, we’re off to a good start. “Thanks Merrick, I’ll have a listen and let you know.” Funk that, throw it on now Jim, I need a job!!! He doesn’t know how to use the equipment behind the desk, so says he’ll listen to it in the room they use for the spinning classes and let me know. Jim, listen to it now and tell me, I’m on my last few coppers. I manage to get him to go to the spinning room there and then to listen to the CD. 

We get into the spinning room, he tells me to have a seat. As there are only bikes in the room, I sit on a bike. He sits on a bike at the top of the class, next to the CD player, and turns my demo on. We were on the road. First song is brilliant, an indie remix. It gets me pumped straight away. Jim has an ear cocked to the music, his head starts to bop, he is feeling the tune. It is then that I notice I have started to cycle the bike I’m sitting on, the music got me going. The song is really kicking in, I’m pedaling a bit more, I notice Jim has started too.

I snap out of the pedaling “Next song Jim, it is even better!”. Song 2 is put on, which is even more rocking. We’re both pedaling a bit, his head is bopping like a toy dog on a dashboard, fingers clicking, I’m pedaling faster, he is pedaling faster, this is the greatest demo ever! Third song the beat slows a bit. However, once it kicks in, Jim is funking loving it. Clapping his hands, pumping them out, gay head bopping around as if Madonna was in the room, he’s pedaling, the music has me pedaling, I couldn’t stop, I made the demo too good!

At this stage I am getting worried. I know the fourth and fifth song are better than the first three. The fourth is a French house song, funking savage, almost too good though is what I’m thinking, this is veering off into something I was not expecting. He had asked if I could make the demo have a European vibe, something different, so when he hears the French lyrics, he almost squeals like a girl/pig, and starts pedaling away furiously. His shoulders are shrugging like a gay robot, he is pumping the air with his hands, loving it! I realize then that I can’t stop pedaling, the music has me hooked, you try sit on a bike and not pedal with that music playing! At this stage we are pedaling in synch, to the music, to the beat, faster, faster, oh Jesus, this is the best part of the song, it is really going to kick in “Change the song Jim, change it, song 5, Jim, quick, stop this!”

Jim puts on the final song. I know how good it is, so start to feel very nervous and afraid. I’m starting to feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead, I have to stop pedaling in synch, it’s like we are one, oh Jesus, why did I make this demo so good! The final song is building up, Jim at this stage has his lips pursued, eyes closed, head back in the air, legs pumping, hands in the air still squealing. I’m cycling in synch to the music, and with Jim, what is going on, turn it off Jim, turn it off, I didn’t know this was going to happen, it was only meant to be a demo!!! The song is kicking in for the last time, the big chorus, the last hurrah, this is what it was all about. I can’t resist any longer, no energy to hold back, I just give in and go with the music. My hands are in the air, legs pumping to the beat, biting my lip, this is the greatest song ever, my head is bopping, wuu, eyes shut tight, work it out, feel the beat, oh jesus, is this some sort of gay sex, what is going on!!!

Finally, the song finishes up. I feel naked and exposed, sweating, red head, dizzy, gasping for air, thank God I stopped at five songs! Jim sparks up a cigarette, looks at me, and tells me “That was good, I enjoyed it, good work.” Oh sweet Lord, what just happened? Why did I not play the usual mundane crap they have on repeat in there instead. I felt violated, are we meant to hug now? Jim tells me he’ll call me, he must let the other manager hear it as well and they’ll work out a schedule if she likes it too. He hasn’t called me yet. The bastard used me.

On my way out I got some better news at least, I have a new target. Holly Valance is also a member of my gym, although she wasn’t looking the May West I must say. Not to worry though, hopefully for her, if I get the job, she will have my music pumping her on and she’ll be back to her best in no time. I just better not have been used for a quick demo, I feel so cheap.

Two songs of the day. I couldn’t find the French one on Youtube that tipped the scale so here’s the first song that got the ball rolling… Viva La Vida (DiscoTech Remix) by Coldplay

Second one is a Kings of Leon remix also included… Sex On Fire (Richard Sharkey & Peter Sar Remix)

I was actually going to put a 6th song on at the end, as a joke, but at the last minute decided not to, just in case they didn’t see the funny side of it. The song was, and this is not a lie, Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by Wham. Thank funk I didn’t.

I’ll Have A Diet Coke, A Muppet And… An Orgy?

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Friday and Saturday night were full of hits and misses. Friday started off with me being in a “funk the recession, I’m on a session” mood. I had devised a plan for myself… blog -> book -> sitcom -> movie, ha, every man needs a plan! Plus, I was back in my embracing L.A, going with the flow, don’t turn down random invites anymore, frame of mind. Not as clever as I thought it might be.

First club I went to, once again, was full of girls with a thirst for Coca-Cola, Pepsi must be freaked. My new response is to tell them no, but I have some Diet if they want it? This is met by puzzlement and being asked if it is good? Yes, you ape, its lovely. It’s funny as well to watch girls flock over to your table if there are bottles of vodka or the likes on it, not that that they were mine or anything, obviously. The minute the last drop of the last bottle is finished, the girls disperse like gay magicians, poof, disappear. I waited for the girl I was talking to to come back, to give me her number, but she obviously got lost, or found a can of Coke in the toilet to keep her occupied. 

The next bar on the list was the first bar in Hollywood I have seen hit by the recession, it was not on a session, it was funking dead. Cool bar too, but just dead. And there was an absolute ape on the door, an Irish ape as it happens. As I’m stopped at the door, I notice the bouncer, about my age, has a hybrid American/Irish accent, like the gimp I met on the plane. I don’t mean either that he was American with Irish parents. He was fully Irish, putting on an American accent. When he hears my accent, for some reason, he thinks I’m taking the p**s out of him. “Where are you from?” Ireland, you? “Who sent you up to me? You’re not Irish, where are you from?” Cork, you? “Belfast, but you’re not Irish, who sent you up to me to talk like that?” I am Irish, what are you on about? “Say something Irish so…” You’re a muppet, can I go in now? This actually gets me in, but not before he has given me a high five, and told the other bouncers of how we belong to the same clan, he’s Gaelic too, and out comes the Belfast accent. Sure we are, because Irish people often call each other Gaelic, you muppet.

The next day, I decided to give up booze. At least until I start to be productive. So, until I got a definite yes for a job, no more boozing, these are recession times we live in after all. At least when people in L.A hear you’re off the booze, they do not look at you like a freak they don’t want to get stuck talking to for the night, as they might, say, in Ireland on a night out. In L.A, they save those looks for when you tell them you actually don’t drink Coke, so to speak.

So, anyways, I decide to head out on Saturday for a while sober Joe, to a going away party in a bar close to my house. About half one, I get a text asking if I want to go to a house party, which is on in an apartment close by. The text is from a random girl I met before, a European like myself. She lures me to the party by telling me there are lots of “hot European girls here who would love to say hi” How could I resist?!

I get to the apartment, she opens the door looking all bohemian like, tells me to come in, have a seat. The minute I cross the threshold, I get a weird vibe. No music at the party, but that is the least of my worries. There is also a fire on, for some odd reason, so the place was roasting. Again, not a major worry I would find out. The apartment is a sitting room and kitchen in one, plus bathroom and bedroom. I have been fooled with false promises. There is only one other girl here, and four guys. The guys are sitting on the L-shaped couch, the girl is sitting on the floor. The hostess tells me take a seat, there is only room on the floor, so I sit next to the girl, who is French it seems, and quite hot. Just as I sit down, on the floor, and notice I am sitting right with my back to the fire, the job, a guy comes out of the bathroom, the girl next to me stands up, goes over to the guy, they hold hands, and both leave, all in one foul swoop. Ciao, ciao, nice to meet you, eh, where are the other hot European girls?

The hostess comes in, sits between the guys on the couch, and starts smiling at me. I notice the dudes are kind of doing the same. I am on the ground, giving them all a dopey, uncomfortable, what-the-funk-is-this, smile back, feeling like I am being interviewed with the set-up going on, and feeling the heat rip into me from the fire. Then the random questions are thrown at me by the dudes, who I now see are probably, max, bicentennial, max. “Want a beer?” No, thanks. “Are you on anything?” No. “Want to be on something?” No. “Are you single?” No, I’m married to God. “You’re funny. You should relax, this is a good place to be, we’re going to have fun”. Oook, this is not the party I was promised, where are those hot European girls again?

Trying to change the subject, and getting sick of the stares from some German dude, Klaus, I ask the girl where the funk are all the hot European girls she was on about to me. “Hey, chill out Mark, you need to relax on that, it’s not always all about the women you know” What the funk are you on about. What the funk is this. “Yeah, you need to relax, want to be on something?” Klaus, funk off. It is now when I realize I am no longer sweating because of the fire. I think this is lined up to be an orgy. With one girl, four dudes, and, if their plan goes well, me. 

This is the first time I have been in this situation, so I did not really register what exactly was going on at first, it was not something I expected, as a normal person wouldn’t I presume. So, I asked again, are there any women coming, and got the same reply. Why is there no music either? Oh, there’s music in the bedroom, want to come in and help me pick a song? I wasn’t asking you, Klaus, funk off. In reality, I didn’t tell him to funk off at all, I was planning my escape route and trying to play it cool. So, after having sat down only a few long, long minutes earlier, I jumped back up, time for me to leave. “Oh you can’t leave, you just got here, we’re going to have a fun night, you’re not leaving” Of course I’m not, I’m just going outside to make a quick call, I’ll be right back, chill out Klaus. 

For some reason I didn’t want to risk the elevator, so I hurtled down the three flights of stairs and briskly walked (half ran) home. To top it all off, I actually got a text on the way home from the girl asking why I just disappeared like that, some of the guys thought it was very rude, I should be more open, maybe next time? Hopefully, hopefully, she understood my text calling her a muppet. I’ll have to start screening the random invites from now on!

Song of the weekend is Gifted (featuring Kanye West, Santogold and Lykke Li) by N.A.S.A

Poker With Slash? Jazz With Prince? I’ll Pass

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My first few days back in L.A have been rocky to say the least. I was getting body blows from all angles. Firstly, I had to pay rent, blow to the stomach. Secondly, I now had to pay for the gym, that bastard, blow to the kidneys. All of this and still no job on the horizon. I was then told by someone in the know to check out if I could even act or audition here while not having a long term visa, cheap blow to the mid-section.

Finally, I was hit with some really hard news to take. While I was gone, I missed out on a big game of poker in Robbie Williams’ house, which was fine, until I was told Slash was playing! Slash, how many times would I get a chance to play poker with a Guns & Roses dude?! Upper cut to the chin, I was reeling and only back a day or two!!! I’ll ignore the fact that they were probably not all playing for the usual $10 a man pot I play, so not sure if my budget would’ve allowed me to take up the offer anyways. I’ll ignore that though.

I decided I would sleep the body blows off, it’ll all be rosy in the morning. However, it was then that I realized I need new sheets and pillows, the ones I had been using were no longer there. Using my great improvisation skills, I used a slightly wet hand towel as my pillow the first night, and my very damp bath towel as my sheet, almost covering me down to my waist, I was sorted! Although sheets and pillows were luxury items on my new budget, after that great sleep, I felt they would be a good investment. It was only when I got to the shop, saw the prices, and checked my budget, that the FEAR showed up and started to win the fight. I could afford one pillow, and a sheet. Maybe I’ll try to rob a homeless guy’s blanket on the way home.

Second night back in L.A, depleted of money (I bought food as well – a loaf of bread, 2 eggs, 1 can of tuna, a banana, handful of nuts, and a yoghurt, hopefully all of that will last me a week or two) and fighting the FEAR, I decided I would start being smarter with my money, start to economize, focus on what I could afford and needed. So, when my roommates asked me to join them in going to a jazz night at a club, I played my smart card, and declined. I was looking forward to trying out my new sheet and pillow anyways.

Woke up the next day, and I am informed I missed a great night, jazz was really good, place was cool, do I know Prince? Not personally, but yes, why so? Oh, he was there as well, jazzing it up. I prefer Michael Jackson anyways. For some reason, it was at this point when I decided to give up worrying. Funk the FEAR, I will beat you off (not in the West Hollywood way, but you know what I mean). I had missed out on poker with Slash, and now a night of jazz with Prince. I was resisting L.A, trying to be smart, use my head, think things through, economize, plan ahead. Thats not what L.A was about for me, I had to get back to basics, back to being dumb and going with the flow, stick to what you know!!!

Rent was paid for the month, I had bought time at least. I was in hobo heaven, a poor man’s paradise! So what if E.T was calling me to go home, I must plough on! Acting might not be the immediate route, but writing is free to do wherever. Looks like its back to getting free acting classes too, I could still do it! Who cares if the sheets I bought are actually meant for a single bed and my bed is a king size, so what if they don’t fit, it all be alright! The minute I stopped worrying about the funds, if I was goosed, how could I afford the acting classes, should I buy new sheets, etc., bits and pieces started to fall my way. Kind of.

While in the gym, after talking about music to the gay dude and how crap it is in the gym at times, there is now a chance I could get a job there as D.J during the day, ha, funking hilarious. I have to drop a demo in tomorrow. I also have a meeting with a guy about potentially running a night or DJ’ing in his bar/restaurant. I need to brush up on my mixing skills fairly lively. There is also now another possibility of selling Shamwows on the weekends, my career options are on the up!

More good news today. My roommate told me, if it ever came to it, I could act away as well without a visa, start off in non-union stuff, I should put up a resume on L.A Casting to get the ball rolling. Wuu huu, my acting career was rising up from the flames, Phoenix style! Seems I just have to remember to try not to be too smart and over-think things. I should have no problem with that so. L.A seems to have made me dumber anyways, or else I just get into more dumb scenarios when I go with the flow, or it could be a combination of all three. Wahey!

Song of this glorious, sunny day is I Feel It All by Feist, pump it up!!!

When Will I, Will I Be Famous? Bros, Answer Me!

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Now I was back in L.A, it was time to get back in the groove and be productive. With this in mind, I decided I’d head up to the gym and see if my buddy will hook me with free membership again. I was feeling confident about getting hooked up for free again, after all, I did watch Milk, in San Francisco, how could he say no now??!!!! I was ready to give my gayest high five and pump the air Milk style when I saw him.

Alas, this was not the case. I must have caught him on an off day. Either that or he had remembered what I had been telling him. It is time I reveal my dark secret – I had been leading the gay gym manager on all along. I felt so dirty hiding it, ha. When he tried to get me to sign up initially, I told him I would, definitely, 100%, for the two year plan as well, sign up and join, I love this gym, best gym around buddy, high five, but it will have to be when I find out how long I was able to stay in L.A. Which would always be next week when I find out, and then the week after, and so on, so he kept giving me free gym. Finally, when I told him I had to leave the country for a while, he must have presumed I would join up when I got back.

As I was saying, unfortunately he must have remembered, as I was getting the vibe it would no longer be free this time around. So, he offered me a cheaper month to month rate than usual but I was not happy with this still. I told him I must go home and mull it over. So, home I went, had a quick shower, shave, combed my hair, put on my best shirt, put on some cologne, time to get the free gym. Once again, however, I was told I would have to pay for the gym. The cheek of him, I had watched MILK! How could he do this to me?! Wait until I tell my brothers on Castro!!!

Anyways, today was the first day I went back to the gym, and it was great being back! I have a new gym buddy, Common will be freaked. Although I was really only sharing the machine with my new buddy, while I hummed his song. I was procrastinating away on some cable machine, still struggling to text quickly on my new crap phone, texting Twitter at the time of all people, ha. This guy asks can he jump in and use the machine while I text away. Work away buddy, and I recognize his face straight away, a lot less hair but its one of the dudes from Bros! Their classic 80’s song begins to play in the jukebox in my head! I text Twitter quickly to tell it this, I could do with a few more texting buddies it is true, ha. He finished his set, and jokes “I hope she’s worth all the texts whoever she is mate”. I mull over saying “I’m actually texting Twitter about you, would you believe” but decide not to.

I do a set, he then does another one. While he is doing his, I notice I am humming a song, but not the one on my iPod. I’m humming/whistling to myself ” Umh, umh umh, umh umh be ummmmhumh?! Umh umh umhum umh, umh umh umhum umh – When, will I, will I be famous?! I can’t answer that, I can’t answer that” (It’s hard enough to spell out a good humming noise for lyrics, that effort took me a while I must admit!). As he probably would, he notices I am humming his song, and the alert is on. He quickly finished and moves on. No more sets to do Bros? I could do with a hand on my final one? Bros? No? Common is way sounder than you!!!

As I was saying, it was great to be back in the gym, the magic of random L.A was back!!! However, I forgot about the lesson I learnt on the plane back from Mexico, I am a foolish man at times. The lesson about my blue Nike Jordan shorts. Being like blue bicycle shorts at times. Most of the time. Giving the world a good indication of what you bring to the table. If it will reach down as far as the table, that is!

So the gym shorts I wear the majority of the time are these blue Nike Jordan ones. Read back about the flight from Mexico post to see what their major flaw is if you couldn’t gather from above. Wearing these shorts to a gym, where its mostly gay dudes in there, is not the best idea, unless of course you’re gay yourself and looking. It’s like I am throwing it out there, seeing what I get offered more or less, teasing. No wonder I had been getting stares and looks in the gym all along. I shudder now thinking about the times I did stuff like bench press or sit-ups, anything lying down. They can be very deceiving or flattering shorts! And don’t think I’m saying it like “Oh, it’s like a third leg, hung like a horse, the blue bicycle shorts don’t do it enough justice!” kind of thing. I’m not. At all.

Think of it like this. If you were a guy like me in a gym, and you saw a girl who was, for example, showing side nipple. No matter what size breasts she has, big or small, you will still look. It’s out there, it would be rude not to really. It is kind of like that, in a completely different way. From now on, I think I will have to wear my shorts with the big pink flowers on them to the gym instead. Far less gay. Although, thinking about it more, maybe side nipple might have got me free gym again as well, too late now though!

Song of the day is this tremendous song… Skeletons by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.