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Pro Bimbo

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I’ll try to keep this short. I am getting a burst of writing, so I need to channel it towards a script, the blogaruu might have to take a backseat tonight it seems! Like a jilted lover, I hope it wont feel too neglected. Speaking of which, I think I may know what it feels like to be in a one of those relationships where the blonde, bimbo stripper marries a rich old man, hoping he will croak quickly so that she can enjoy his money. Kind of. In the worst comparative way ever. Anyways, it is good to try out what that must be like I suppose. To help me with my decision, in case any old rich woman ever offers me like wise.

For a girl in that situation, call her either Anna or Nicole, this is how I would imagine our current situations being a tad similar. Lets say her original plan did not go as she might initially have hoped and the old man hangs around for longer than expected. I imagine when she realizes this, time must stop in front of her and gloat. Ha, time will say, looks like you’ve to stick with him longer than expected. Not so clever now, huh. Taunting her that she will just have to live with her situation, and wait until he croaks. Make the most of it, keep fit in the gym, do bits here and there to stay busy. Can’t have it all her own way, but when she is living it up and blowing his money, she can look back and smile at those boring times. Eh, which is similar, if not identical to me killing time and trying to be productive while I wait to hear back about my visa. World’s worst comparison? Quite possibly. Although I do have faith that I could easily do worse.

Today I tried to be proactive, and start lining up DJ gigs in Dublin for myself before I go back up for a bit of stand-up. Practice and an influx of money are always handy. However, knowing where to start when you don’t really know the scene in a city is a hurdle. Similar to the acting side of things here I suppose. If I knew promoters or bar/club owners in Dublin I could work some DJ charm there. Seeing as I don’t really know any, I decided to do what at the time seemed like a very productive idea. I emailed a few different venues, along with a demo sample, seeing if they needed anyone for a night or two. Similar, I imagine, to what a few dumb, bimbos might have done if they were to get proactive in their hunt for a rich old man to marry. 

Never, ever, ever, have I ever heard of someone getting a DJ job, from their credentials in an email, ha. “Hi, I DJ, I think I’m great, you will too, any chance of a night or two? Here’s a link to a demo. Cheers.” Pretty appealing offer, I think you will agree. Honestly, a dumb bimbo would have a better chance of getting herself a rich husband, by sending out an email “Hi, I’m me, here’s a photo, hope you’re rich, any chance of marriage? Thanks” than I would with mine. Unfortunately, at the time, I was imagining people working in bars and clubs all over Dublin, would stop whatever it was they were doing, throw down their work tools, and just start to dance to my demo when it started to play. Screaming at whoever it was that read my email that I had to be hired for a few nights!!! Seemed like a logic reaction to me at the time. That was until about a minute after I sent the batch of emails. Then I quickly realized I wasted too much time on that fruitless activity.

Although, one place did reply saying that they were booked out, but would be in touch if anything came up. Maybe not so dumb after all. Which doesn’t really make any sense, as I still didn’t get any joy. It has just occurred where I got the idea perhaps. Thinking back, I remember talking to a DJ from San Francisco, who is a really good DJ (like myself, I hear you think, thanks) who was asking me if I knew any venues in Dublin that might be interested in having him play, as he was doing a tour of Europe, and Ireland was not on the list for some reason. Seeing as he really wanted to check Ireland out, being 1/17th Irish himself, he emailed a few bars & clubs, but didn’t get any replies. What a chump. Wait until I tell him I at least got one reply.

I did well with keeping it short. I couldn’t jilt the blog. At least it kept me busy for a while longer than I anticipated. I’ll mark that time off on the calendar, every minute counts.

 

Supertramp

Give A Little Bit – Supertramp

And a song for the cougars… 

Death Cab For Cutie

Cath – Death Cab For Cutie

99 Luftballons

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The following three adjectives might sum up why I am not yet back in L.A, typing this up… stupidity, impatience, and my inability to wait for the website page to load to confirm my flight had actually been booked, instead of me closing it down in a rush to leave the house. Maybe prolix should’ve been the third one. (Ha, just in case, like me, you have to look that up, click here). Anyways, luckily for you, even though I said I would only blogaruu from on when in L.A, a few events have taken place over the past few days, which have urged my typing hand to type.

Firstly, the draft of the episode has more or less been fully completed. Re-writes are slowing down to roughly only one a day, so I think it is good to go. In fact, is has gone, been emailed out to a few people in L.A already, time for the offers to flood in. Nay. Completing the episode and emailing it off to interested parties has actually provided me with far less satisfaction than I would previously have imagined. Far, far less. Which is actually a good thing.

Now it is written, so what, well done. Same as writing a good song perhaps, lyrics mean bob all on paper. I now need music, and singers! If you get what I mean. The script is longer than one (well, I) might have imagined, almost 50 pages. Getting someone to sit down and read all this, fully as to get the humour and all that, is asking a tad much. Particularly when I am who again? The key here is to get my visual, any visual, to accompany my script. I am aiming for a few scenes to make a mini episode out of them, but even if I can get one in the time which I have left, I shall be pleased. Moderately. At least then I can show a 5 minute clip, or a 30 second clip, giving the feel that I am aiming for, and luring, whoever it may be, in with my packet of sweets and my cheesy reel, so that they will want to then read the magnificent episode!

Another event to have occurred since last blogaruu, was a little old D.J gig, in a bar here in San Frankisco. Finally, a flow of money inwards was on the cards, but everything comes out a cost. Including money. I was told beforehand that it might not be the kind of crowd that I play to regularly down in L.A, i.e the crowd at the gym. Not too worry, I told them in return, I also D.J in a bar in L.A, I am very adaptable, I have a broad range. My one request, is that you have none. Ok, cool, should be good, just bring a few Irish songs along with you in case. No, I shall not, I will win them over with my remixes. Take them on, head first. If the women and the gay guys in the gym love them so much, then your punters surely will too.

Happy enough that my name was up in lights outside the door as I entered the bar… Tonight “D.J No Requests” All the way from L.A!!! A new name is added to the list. To say that the bar was packed, might be a bit of an exaggeration. It was busy, ish. Very ish. To say that the bar was Irish, might be a bit of an understatement. Think of a bar in a little village somewhere in West Cork, with a few American tourists after wandering in, and you might get a visual of the place. Pre-tty Irish. I was asked to stop the music at about 12 o’ clock for a while so a raffle could take place. Gay gym remixes all the way!

First song in, I decided I would play a little medley I had prepared, wow them with my D.J’ing skills. The first section of the medley had barely kicked off, when some drunk dude comes stumbling up… “Will you play that s**t song, Poker Face? Play that for me, I like that” No, did you not see the sign at the front door. He started to give me weird looks, copping on that I was Irish too, which threw him off. I gave in, easiest way to get rid of him would be to just play the song, so told him cool, no problem, and played the remix I have… “I Poke Her Face”, which I think he liked. Thankfully that was the only request I got all night. Nay. The requests came flooding in, a wide and varying range… “Play some Scooter”… “Play some heavy metal rock, then some Scooter”… “Play that band I loved back home, Cascade?”… “Do you know this song (and this is no lie, he thought I would get it from this) – Do do doooo doo do dooo dada – that dance one?” No, sing it again for me… “La la laaa la le da da doo da – you do know it? Everyone knows that, what kind of D.J are you?”… Eye balls me up and down as I shake my head and laugh at his attempt… “You’re some s**t D.J”. Cheers bud!

One guy in particular grew an immense dislike for me, in such a short time too. “Play me some rock will ya, some heavy s**t, all my friends are D.J’s, its cool, I know what I am on about” (Incidentally, this was at my highest point, when I started to play the gym remix section, which had the crowd pumping and actually on the dance floor) Hang on two minutes, I’ll play it in a while for you, just hang on. “Play it now, I want to rock out before I go home” Hazarding a guess, this guy was closer to 40 that 20. Also very drunk, and gripping an empty bottle while looking me up and down. So he decided to hang on for the rock, standing next to me, looking at me with disgust.

Eventually, I decided to throw in a rock song. A Metallica one, just like he asked. The floor had died down at this stage, to the point where he was the only person on it. And he started rocking on, air guitaring his heart out, but not in a piss take way, this was life and death stuff. Until he realized that it was not the version he was expecting, but a remix one. Ha, he flipped, straight up “For f**k’s sake, you pr**k, play me a rock one, my friends D.J too, they play rock for me.” Again, gripping his empty bottle and eye-balling me. So, obviously seeing as I am so obliging and all, I played him another rock song. Which was also a remix. “You f**king pr**k, you’re a c**t, you know that, stop DJ’ing up the song and let me rock out!” 

By this time the dance floor had picked up a bit again, the rest of the crowd enjoyed the remixes it seemed. This little angry ape of a man was now in the D.J booth next to me, informing me that I was a s**t DJ, really s**t, his friends are way better. Now that I had a view of him almost face in my face, I would confidently say he was almost 40. “I’ve never liked you playing here before. You’re always s**t when you play here. If you don’t play me a rock song, I’ll bottle ya, ya f**king pr**k”. I decided not to inform him that it was my first time, and high possibility my last time, playing at the venue. Instead I gave him a patronizing smile, wink, nod and a thumbs up. Strangely, this calmed him down, maybe thinking I was being serious.

Either way, as he walked back onto the dance floor, over to his group to inform them of how s**t I was, I decided to play him this great rock song, one he would be able to truly rock out to… 99 Red Balloons.

Ha, he went mental, by the looks of it his friends had to hold him back, and “If I didn’t know your cousins, I’d smash the bottle over ya”. Again, I gave him thumbs up, two this time, rock on! I meant to ask him for a favour before he left, but decided against it. He would’ve been an ideal candidate to read my episode and give me an honest opinion though! At the end of the night, last song over, a few of his friends moseyed on over… “You’re not Irish, are ya?” Sorry to disappoint you, but yes, I too am Irish. “Well, you’re not from Cork”. Again, apologies, but I actually am. “You’re not from Wishht Cork anyways. Because that’s where I’m from!” You got me there, well done! Delighted, knowing looks spread on their faces… a “Thank God this quare isn’t one of us too” kind of look. Yeah, thank God. Besides these minor incidents, coupled with the sound system almost blowing out, which nearly blew out my ear drums, all in all, it was a good night!

Almost wrapping up, 3 little bizarre incidents that occurred today that I feel the need to type about, maybe just so that I can remember again if needed. 1. My toothbrush snapped in half while brushing my teeth earlier. Strange enough. 2. My nose started to bleed uncontrollably in the gym while I was doing a squat. Worryingly weird. And 3. On the way home from the gym a homeless woman flashed me her left… ? Guess. Delightful.

Finally, I got a bit of bad news today, so not sure how long more this section of the L.A adventure, and in turn, perhaps the blog, will carry on for. 99 Red Balloons has another symbolic meaning too, can you figure out why? Re de de, the next blogaruu might be the…

Besides the obvious, classic rock song above, 99 Red Balloons by Nena, the other song for this day, which is either highly annoying, or strangely good…

Combination Pizza Hut & Taco Bell (Wallpaper Remix) by Das Racist

Down, Date, Down

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The controversy over If You Seek Amy was spelt out for me ever so kindly, literally. Mucho gracias. Now that I get it, what a genius! I have been trying hard to do something similar for a name I am mulling over, but as of yet, no joy. The best I have got so far has involved a key, that is fun, ha. But, I digress, a tad.

I also realize that the last post might have seemed a bit bitter. It was not meant to be, just surprised that they were doing it in a place like that, was all. Looking at it now, more power to them if they can bluff and get away with it. Who am I, of all people, to say anything?!!!! Bluff on! Moving on, next post…

Milky Meh Hee Ko!!!

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Today has just been a really super, super, SUPER day, really super. I watched Milk, in San Francisco, how inspiring. I think I might put on my rainbow t-shirt and run down Castro giving high fives. It is a savage movie though, the acting is unreal. Especially after living in West Hollywood, seeing the gay mannerisms that Sean Penn and Emile Hirsh have are brilliant, funking savage. Sean Penn should’ve won an Oscar for that performance, maybe next year.

Another reason today is so so SO super, is that I am off to Meh hee ko, finally. I am heading there with Andy and Colin Todd in case anyone was wondering. Also known as on my todd. Also quite commonly known as on my own. In fact, I am probably there now as we speak. I found a clever little addition to the blog where I can post them at a set time in the future, so I’ve set the alarm ahead for this one. Hopefully, in the next few days I won’t be online and able to ballyblog on. If I am, take it as a bad sign. I will be leaving spring break down if I find time to be on Spacebook et al.

Although technically I am going there to get some writing done. And I will technically be there from L.A. So, technically I could use the spoof line that I’m a writer down from L.A, taking a break from acting, and working on a project, if any girls happen to ask. Which would also technically mean I will be as bad as that gimp I met on the flight up to San Fran from L.A. It’s all technicalities really. I think I’ll just stick with the truth… I’m a priest from Ireland, trainee priest anyways, this is my last holiday before I get ordained. Honesty is the best policy! Forgive me Father!

Here are two songs of the day before I depart. The first is dedicated to Harvey Milk, super song, don’t give up, fight on Harv… Ali In The Jungle by The Hours

The second one I dedicate to myself before I hit the pool in my thong and covered in baby oil down in Mexico… Golden Cage (Fred Falke Remix) by The Whitest Boy Alive

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.

Brad, I Feel Your Pain…

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I now know how Brad felt when he left the set of Mr & Mrs Smith and had to leave Angelina to go back to Jennifer. I am in almost the exact, exact same situation. Almost. L.A is my mistress, Angelina, San Fran is my Jennifer. I used to love San Fran, my favourite city in America by far. There are only two people I know that liked San Fran more than I did, a scone and a rink. Now, all I think about is L.A. I wonder what I’m missing out on. Why did I not stay put. Will it be the same when I go back. A lot can change in a week, what have I done?!!!!

I’m walking down the street in San Fran, waiting for someone to pretend to be my friend and con me out of something, or potentially give me a big break. However, unlike L.A, no one glances twice, they don’t look to see if you might be famous, they don’t care. There are no mishaps waiting around the corner, or famous people to bump into. Just boring, regular, sound people, tut tut, for God’s sake, what a crap city. The only people who are off kilter are the millions of homeless people but what good will they do me (the movie I was thinking of has been done, apparently). Where have all the fake smiles and fakes boobs gone to?!!!

The weather in L.A is perfect. Hot during the day so you know you’ll be wearing shorts. At night its cool enough for you to wear a new jacket that you want to show off, as if though you personally hand stitched it and deserve credit for it, or not wear one at all.The weather in San Fran is almost to a tee like the Irish weather. Cold and raining at night, humid and windy during the day. The wind is blowing in all directions here at the moment as well, ruining my well combed hair, what a crap city!

People get my name right in San Fran too, I’m mumbling more than ever now just to bring back the memories of Omar and Merrick. Why doesn’t anyone Google my name here as well by the way?!!! Pardon me, who am I? Thats more like it, oh, you asked how am I? Tut tut, not so good! Tissue anyone? I have a load to spare!

Where have all the perks of a gay neighborhood gone as well? I’m in the gayest city in the world now but there are no free gym perks here. I’m paying like everyone else. There is no Common in the gym for me to chin wag with, only commoners like myself, pink heads and sweaty machines, tut tut, what a crap city!

I presume L.A is struggling to cope just as much as I am since I had to leave, obviously she is. I wonder if she is moping around watching Scrubs and drinking tea all day, not thats what I’m doing or anything. Speaking of which, I no longer even have a Coffee Bean to mosey on up to if my day was going slow, I don’t want a cheap tart like Peet’s Coffee replacing her! I might text L.A, see what she’s up to tonight, see if she’s up for a quick chat on Skype later on.

Here’s the song I have lined up to play once I get to fly back down to L.A, sorry San Fran, its just no longer the same this time around, we’ve grown apart, I’ve found someone else. Apparently Brad played this for Jennifer as well as he drove off…I’m Leaving You Because I Don’t Love You by Jens Lekman.