Category Archives: Uncategorized

…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

A Messy Break-Up, Karaoke, and “The Lads”

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I was going to try and change the style of the posts today and do an informative one about the weird world of Craigslist. However, I’m too hungover and tired to be informative. Plus, its been an emotional day. Break-ups and goodbyes are hard to do.

I get woken up this morning, early, by my phone buzzing next to my ear. Hungover to funk, I answer without looking at it. “Hey, my friend, I’m calling about the horse, si”. The horse? What did I do last night?!! But I know that voice from somewhere…Silvestre? “Yes, I am Silvestre, do you still have the horse my friend?” No, but I have the truck, what happened to yesterday? You never showed! “Que? The truck?…The truck! Sorry sir, I’ll call back” So realizing he rang me by mistake, he hangs up. I try to call back straight away,but he turns his phone off, another weird time wasting scenario. Hungover and reminded about the bloody Bucket again so early (I was just moving on with my life too) I put an ad up on Craigslist (again), basically offering it to anyone who shows, with any amount of cash, or a tow-truck. Take it away. So I get the usual call from some guy, I’m on my way, will you take $300, whats the street, I’ll be there in 15. Sure you will.

Get the call – I’m outside, come on out. The Champions League just kicks off so I say I’ll be right out and don’t bother. Not in the mood to go back out waving at no one again. Except he rings again, asks me can he get into the truck and have a look, bring out the keys. There actually is someone outside, a hyper Californian dude, almost getting turned on by the bad shape of the truck, how its so old, how crap it is, and yet how much of a beast it is. Turns out he’s a mechanic, loves fixing old cars, he’ll take it. Without even driving it or turning the engine on. Im hungover and dumb, nowhere near with it, offer to take him around the block for a test drive. Why, I don’t know. Sure thing, I’ll go for a drive around the block maaan if you want, so we get in, it starts after 5 goes, his enthusiasm wears off a bit. Im thinking, balls, why didn’t I just give him the keys, take the money and run.

So we take off down the street, and the Bucket runs out of gas, breaks down mid stream. Im goosed, very hungover, getting annoyed and just start randomly putting it into neutral, park, drive, reverse, while freewheeling down my street, killing the transmission (I’ve learned a bit more about trucks now, ha). He makes me stop. Laughing at me, he asks if I had too much Bud. I tell him yes, too goosed to drive, plus its out of petrol but does he want a go anyways. He gives me a knowing look – “I knew you were a stoner man, we have the best bud in Cali! I have to buy this thing now! Helping each other out maaan”. I thought he meant booze but this misunderstanding pleases him and the deal is back on! He someone manages to get us to the petrol station in first gear, the Bucket making noises like a cat being raped. I still don’t get why but at this stage he has fallen in love with the Bucket, almost giddy with excitement over this battered truck with no petrol, he offers me $326 for the Bucket. Snap his hand off, even put $6 petrol in it for him to get him home, done deal. I tell him I’ll walk home, only around the corner, don’t want to get into it again now its off my hands. Its on the walk home when its all kicks in though…I’ll never see the Bucket again, the good times we had, the high, the lows, all that jazz. That was it though, the affair was over, time to move on, plenty more Buckets on Craigslist for me to waste my money on.

For a change last night, I was spoilt for choice. Instead of my fairly regular plan of hitting a club with people I barely know, usually meeting them for the first time that night, if not just going on my own, and using the line “Oh, my friend is in the bathroom” if someone asks who I’m here with, I had two offers. My roommates were going to karaoke in a bar close enough to where we live. And the lads from soccer in Robbie’s house were going to Les Deux, or Les Duu, cant remember which, did I want to come along? So, spoilt for choice, I punted for Les Duu, and could always go to karaoke if it wasn’t good.

The guy who texted me about Les Duu says he’ll collect me on his way there. Picks me up, I’m pumped, after a few boozes, come on the lads!!! “Sorry I’m late mate, had to look after Rob’s dog for a while – No problem, are the others already in there? – Yeah mate, I’m meant to be meeting the lads in there now. Should be good”. Meant being the most important word. So we pull up outside the door, and just as we’re going in he tells me “I faawking hate this place, mate, bunch of w**kers”. I’m like, ok, looks good to me though. Its a rock night in there, the crowd is funky, rock and roll style, mohawks, top hats, cool, with a load of hot funky women. Its like the Brog but instead of one gem, there are buckets full of gems here. It looks class. And the music is good, with a band playing in the another room as well. I’m really pumped at this stage.

What are we drinking boss? “Naw mate, I don’t drink much…I faawking hate this place, uuuggghhh, look at the state of her, don’t fancy yours much love” Oh right. Weird. Eh, want to go find the lads so or what. “Yeah, not sure who’s here really, one guy who used to play might be in here, I think he djs.” Oh right. Are the lads even out? ” Not sure mate…don’t fancy yours much either luv, bunch of W**KERS!!!” I’m completely lost at this stage, “the lads” don’t seem to be out, he hates this place that he’s brought me to (which is class), he’s engaged so its not another gay scenario thankfully, I need a drink. I’ll be back in a minute boss, must get a booze. I get two, could be another long weird night, and head back out to my buddy. As I walk back up to him, he tells me, loudly, surrounded by people, “I’m not a racist, but I f***ing hate those…” Then lists off people he doesn’t like. Includes this place. He doesn’t seem to fancy hers much at all. Who wears those w**ker V-neck t-shirts (I was wearing one the exact same that day, ha). This music is s**t (it’s rocking), put on something good MATE!!! Sweet Jesus, this is going well. It’s like a scene from This Is England or something.

I pull the old just got a text trick, I must make a call, back in a minute boss. So I go for a little stroll on my own, listen to the band, then have to head back to the my buddy. Its a lost cause, he’s complaining about a guy who asked him for a light “What the f**k do I look like mate” so I agree with him this place is crap, this is greeted by the first smile all night, is he up for karaoke instead. At least I know what its like now. I’ll be back next week with my buddy who’s in the bathroom, just not with my mate.

Karaoke in Hollywood compared to karaoke in Ireland is like comparing a team in the NFL and an American football team in Ireland. I didn’t have a clue it would be so good, its unreal!!! My past experiences with karaoke in Ireland was the singer mumbling into the mic, eyes trained on the screen, guessing a few words, then hoping everyone else will sing the chorus with them and save them looking terrible. Here, its some old Chinese dude rapping with an R Kelly style guy, and they are savage, its hilarious how good they are. Apparently, people take it really seriously here, hoping for the tiny chance there is someone in the bar who will hear them and give them their big break. You obviously have the few idiots who think they’re better than they are and are cheesy boy-band style apes (two guys ripped open their shirts, being serious, while singing Boys II Men, End of the Road, one guy had nice man boobs in fairness to him). The girl doing the MC was like Christina Aguilera, kept singing between people coming up (hot as well, had a boyfriend though – so do I, we should double-date…it didn’t work). There was a Frank Sinatra style crooner, about 60, slick, groomed, smarmy, who was way too good for there. Serenading the crowd, walking all around the bar singing, reaching the highest of high notes effortlessly, and even getting in a little jig with me while singing, he was brilliant. Two girls rapped some 90’s rap song, and were brilliant. All this on a random Monday night for karaoke. They’d be chart toppers in Ireland. I’m pretty sure the majority were sober too, which made it even stranger, no inhibitions whatsoever.

After a few shots, and before I realized how good everyone else was (I hadn’t been paying attention and by then only saw man boobs strut his stuff), I put my name down to sing. After a few more horrific shots I forgot that I had put my name down as Omar (for the laugh, I’m too funny at times, I tried to explain my joke later to my roommates but they didn’t get it, always a good sign when you are explaining why your jokes are funny too) and didn’t realize I was being called to sing Tiny Dancer. Ha, I missed my chance to shine as Elton John. No wonder my roommate asked if I was gay. Good song but not sure if my mate fancied it much. He kept telling me he didnt fancy the girl behind the bar much, luv, she had charms for faaaaawk’s sake, sort it out luv (chubby arms – he had to explain that to me but at least his was funny).

Turned out to be a great night in the end. Tough day though. After all the bud I had. And the emotional aspect. End of an era. I managed to convince myself I had been productive by selling the truck, and getting money coming in for a change, so I did bob all else but battle my hangover. I texted the Bucket a few times to see what it was up to as well, no reply though. Hard to think of it with someone else, after all the time I wasted trying to make things work too. Best 11 days holiday romance I’ve ever had. I’m better off single and walking though.

Song of the day was going to be Tiny Dancer but too cheesy. This is far better and I can dedicate it to the Bucket…Bruises by Chairlift.

Here’s one last great song that just came on my iTunes…Run To Your Grave by the Mae Shi

Free Jim!!!

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Today was highly productive. I had to cancel the newest class I was meant to audit, Playhouse West, as I no longer had a mode of transport to and back. The Bucket was still not returned by Robbie so I presume he’s happy with the present. Not really up for paying a $80 taxi for the round trip either, cabs are a rip-off in LA!

So, as I was saying, it was a highly productive day. I managed to apply for a few jobs on-line, go food shopping and go to the gym. Wuu. I would highly recommend living close to a few gyms if you ever move to LA, or any city in America probably. The ones I live close to are tres expensive, at least $150-$250 dollars a month and they tie you down to a 2 year contract, which are meant to be even harder than a full nelson to get out of. But, if you’re clever, they’re free. And if a gay dude takes a fancy to you, they are free for longer. My first week here I went up to Crunch gym which is just around the corner from where I live. Spoofed on how I was really looking forward to joining for the next few years, such a nice gym, we don’t have gyms like these in Ireland, my God this place is amazing. Any chance of a free pass for the week?

So, you fill out the form for the free pass, email, address, phone number etc. I’d advise saving the gym’s phone number straight away so you know its them when they call and you can dodge. And they call the minute your foot touches the ground outside the door. “Hey Merrick, this is so and so from Crunch/Equinox/24 Hour Fitness, how was your first visit? Would you like to join? We have a great deal on today and its only for you.” You can literally look back in the window and see them on the phone to you, giving you a big wave full of American enthusiasm. Or just give them a wrong number. Although not always the best option as it turns out.

First week I went for Crunch, second week I went for Equinox, third week I went for 24 Hour Fitness. Crunch and Equinox are full of ridiculously hot women and gay dudes. So its balanced for the area I live in. 24 Hour Fitness is borderline gay porn. No joke. When my week was up in Equinox and I had dodged enough calls from them for them to give up, I checked Google Maps for the next closest gym to me. 24 Hour Fitness. I didn’t ask my roommates what it was like as I just presumed it would be the same as the other two.

Straight away I get a weird, different, even friendlier vibe in 24 Hour Fitness. Rainbows everywhere. Only guys in the guys changing room. Weird. Something was definitely up, ha. So as I walk around lost looking for the weights room, I kind of thought it was weird that an old old guy was just sitting in jeans and a headband, no top, just kind of watching people work out. As in staring at people and giving them shrugged eyebrows and a smile as they walked by. And guys like the dude with the wig and spandex pants would shrug their eyebrows back and hug each other. But anyways, continued on, looking for some machine or something I recognized to avoid too much eye contact with people in there. Maybe the machine is behind the two guys kissing. I’ll check later. Maybe over there where some guy was telling another guy I will bite it off if you do that again. Still not sure what he was going to bite but I still couldn’t find what I was looking for. That guy over there seems to recognize me, trying to get my eye contact, keeps saying hi and nodding his head towards the steam room. Hang on buddy, I must get my weights session in first! When two guys started to pretend to simulate stuff next to me, jokingly in fairness, but still, I decided this wasn’t the best time for me to be here.

The walk home was a bit numb. What just happened. Was I part of a gay orgy somehow? After I get home and tell my roommate about it, she’s just in shock that I was there. She asks me half jokingly but a bit serious “Are you gay?’. I give her a “Ha, no, why?” Apparently, that gym is the gay gym, where only gay guys go, and the showers is where you wash down and hook up. Basically, if you’re in there, its assumed you’re gay and looking to hook up. Good to know now. Would’ve been even better to have known before then.

So I ask her is it normal that the two other gyms keep ringing me, plaguing me to join, leaving me messages on the hour every hour. It is. Is it normal that this guy from Crunch keeps ringing me and giving me his personal cell number in the messages, to call him anytime about anything. He’s here to help. Did I know there’s a great new bar opened up on Sunset. I’d love it. We should so go. Is that kind of message normal? It’s not. Ok.

Its only day two of my weekly free pass and I have no intention of going back to 24 Hour Fitness. Purely because they didn’t have the right equipment that suited me. Obviously. Im gym-less six days sooner than expected. I must put visa application, job hunting, acting classes, writing, everything on hold until this major issue is sorted. The next closest gym is a good 35 minute walk. Bob Hope. Time to make the return call. Sell my soul. “Hey buddy from Crunch, Merrick here, did you see Queer Eye For The Straight Guy last night? Oh, its not on anymore. Anyways I really want to join for the 2 years but might have to go home soon for a week and Ill join when I get back. Anything you can do? You’ll put me on the system until I leave? Sorted? Cheers. Yeah, it is a fabulous day. What am I up to? Do I have plans? Oh no, my battery is about to g…”

That was about a month ago and my free pass is still going strong. My buddy who hooked me up told me to call in some time too to say hi. He told me he works 9 until 5 every day. Unfortunately, with my busy schedule of classes, work, food shopping, sleeping, eating and buying & selling a bucket I have only been able to make it in there after 7 whenever I go. Ill fit it in someday this week. Could be dodge tomorrow though. Laundry is piling up.

Here’s a great song too on behalf of 24 Hour Fitness and all the other Jims out there…Hey Muscles I Love You by Muscles. Muscles – Hey Muscles I Love You

Right On!!!

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The whole point of me coming to LA was to pursue acting and writing. However, mundane stuff like sorting out a visa, finding a job, finding somewhere to live, buying a bucket and other daily occurrences make it hard to solely concentrate on these two things.

For example, today has been spent going to the DMV to try and register the bucket. The dirty waddling b*****d who sold it to me gave me his solemn word, swore on his mother’s grave in fact, that it would cost me a maximum of $40 to register the truck. MAXIMUM, tops, at the very most 40 dollars to transfer it to my name, was what he said. So seeing as its a nice day, and the fact its daytime and the Bucket is a night owl, I decide to walk, just in case. Google Maps informs me its a 26 minute walk away, give or take a minute. About 20 minutes into the walk I realize that I forgot my wallet in my house, good work by me. I decide to plough on, Ill at least find out what I need to do to register it and get an estimate for the price.

I get there at about 4.58 and it closes at 5. There are still about 50 people here. So, I get my ticket number 591, and wait, seeing 541 being served next. It was a good estimate by me. So wait and wait, finally get to the desk with my pink slip, ask the lady if she could check how much I have to pay to register it. She checks the computer and tells me eight sixty seven. For one dumb stupid moment I think, Jesus, that’s brilliant, only 8 dollars and 67 cent, thats unreal. This look must have beamed across my face as she then says “Thats 8 hundred and 67 dollars, not 8 dollars…”. Apparently the truck had not been registered since 2003 so it owed penalties. The dirty lying waddling b*****d. Walking home I’m not too pissed off, gut feeling was something was up with the whole affair, only 400 dollars but still, the fact of getting mugged was the worst part. I haven’t felt mugged like that since my buddy sold me a guitar for €100 and it was worth half of that max. And it broke a string first time I strummed it.

Then a song comes on my iPod, Atlas by Battles.
This is some song to pump you up before going out at night or clubbing. Not so good when you realize you have just been done even more than you thought. So Im power walking home, swinging the arms, song blaring, Ill get that b*****d somehow, it takes me about 14 minutes home, Google Maps should have considered the circumstances! I then remember his number was in the ad for the truck. Go home, borrow my roommate’s phone, ring the prick. It rings twice and is followed by the delightful message “Sorry, this number is no longer in service”. It even repeated it in Spanish for me to rub it in. Surely I dialed the wrong number, try again, the dirty waddling b*****d. After that I’ve more or less given up on him. I might ask about his status when I call out to the golf club about caddying but as it stands I have 4 ads on Craigslist to sell it and a week or two grace to drive around in it.

So these annoying little everyday occurrences distract highly from the acting and writing. In fairness I had no acting classes scheduled for today so not too bad. I was, however, planning on writing but it never happened. Life got in the way.

My whole approach to writing was this. I watched a load of Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm. Loved them. Started to write down everyday stories that happened to me and around me and wove them together to come out with about eight episodes of my own for a sitcom I wrote. So sent them in to RTE, got a bit of good feedback, bluffed my way through a few stages, but at the end of the day I was someone with no experience and was applying to write and produce(and star)in my own sitcom. At least thats what I told myself was why they didnt take it further, obviously nothing to do with the quality, obviously, ha. TG4 and BBC both gave good feedback but ended in the same result. I didn’t really have any gauge to use for standard of writing as I have had never done it before and wasn’t really in that environment spending 5 or 6 years in college.

So, I decided the best place to go was LA to learn the business. Luckily enough for me, a writer lives in the place directly across from me. Im not fully sure what he’s written but my roommates told me a few feature films and working on a reality show now thats being developed. So, he called in earlier and told me ways to try and break into the writing business.

Firstly he told me keep the sitcom episodes, they could be the stuff to get the big break in a few years. The key is to get in the door as a writer’s assistant. There you can sit around the writer’s table, then after a while start throwing out your own ideas, if they’re liked you get bumped up and pretty soon you’re a writer on the Office(it was on t.v at the time). He told me he knows of plenty of writers who broke in this way, some even ended up playing parts on the shows. The way in, one of them anyways, is to write an episode for an existing show. So, he took the Office as an example, as I was watching it, and said try to write an episode for that. I’ve been given a script for the Office before and it was brilliant, so well written. It’ll make you laugh out loud just reading it. And the reason its so good is that you can visualize the characters in your head already, as opposed to someone reading a script from a complete unknown with characters they’ve never seen on screen trying to imagine anything. I presume if you give them a work of brilliance its a different story but until that happens, writing an episode of the Office or some other show seems the best way in. Good to know at least.

Thats the easy part over with, finding out what to do. Now all I need is an episode to pop into my head. I just have to get that dirty waddling b*****d out of there first.

Song of the day, which came on my iPod after Battles, was The World At Large by Modest Mouse, good to chill you out, era shur didn’t we have a great lunch together on Saturday after all, ha.

After watching that video I just saw Things I Don’t Remember by Ugly Casanova, pretty class.

Transformer

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We’ve all been there before. You go out, have a few drinks, meet a truck, its dark in the club, the truck looks well. Then you wake up the next morning, paint and make-up scrawled all over the place, fake tan all over your sheets, rust everywhere, this was not the same Love Truck as last night. The Bucket in full effect.The Bucket

Here are a few photos of my street and area I live in too, Sunset…

Bought A Bucket, Lost A Phone, Brought Back From The Edge…

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This past weekend has been eventful to say the least. This post has nothing at all to do with acting, purely the randomness of LA. If I was writing about 5 hours ago I would say it has been pretty horrific. However, now that my hangover is almost gone it doesn’t seem as bad.. Ill start first with me buying a bucket.

Ever since I arrived back in Emerica I’ve been on Craigslist hunting for a cheap bargain car. I was going to buy one in San Francisco and drive down to LA  then. However, I was told a cheap as funk car would have bob hope of making it that distance. Anyways, get down here, worst city in the world for no car, check out a few on Craigslist. All dodgy to say the least. Ill write more on Craigslist some other time. So, saw this ad on Craigslist…http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/cto/1053632122.html. Cheap as funk, runs, pick-up trucks look cool, what could be wrong for that price. The guy selling the truck said he’d drive up to me if I would drive him back, no problem, sure.

So he arrives up on Saturday about 11. I go outside my door to see that the Mexican painters are blocking the parking entrance again. No, no, that was actually my potential bucket. I knew from the photos it wasn’t the prettiest of buckets, and for some reason it is very photogenic, but in the daylight it is pretty, pretty, pretty ugly. It is a lovely shades of several whites. The paint job was hand painted, I could literally see the brush strokes covering over stuff. So the guy gets out of the truck when he sees me and starts to waddle over to me. I immediately thought it was the oddest walk Ive ever seen and forgot about the bucket. So he introduces himself, small talk on, whatever. If you want a mental image of what he looks like think the pilot dude in Lost.

He then starts to tell me absolutely everything about the truck. Everything. Little does he know that I know absolutely nothing about the inside or mechanics of any motorized vehicle. Nothing whatsoever. I am a fan of Top Gear and all but mostly for the humour. I feel like a mechanic when I manage to fill up the water for wind wipers without doing damage. So he starts to tell me about fuses, sparks, carburetors(needed spell check for that, ha), starters, belts, tubes, pistons, horses, cows(seriously, he told me he moved a cow for someone once with the truck), bangs and pops. Going on and on. All the time I was just thinking, why was he waddling when he got out of the truck, it was weird. So I interrupt after a lengthy period of him showing me the engine, say will we take it for a drive. Inside is even funnier, dash is bust up, the driver’s door doesn’t always open so you must open the window to open it or get in passenger’s side. It was also nice of him to clean it a bit before showing me. There’s peanut butter jars on the floor, piles of Coke bottles, a few brushes in the back, a weird looking cooler and numerous other delightful items. Straight away I noticed the smell, it was mank. Thankfully that turned out to be his feet and not the truck. There was also no A/C, which is magnificent in LA. So we go for a drive around my neighborhood, get looks from the dudes walking their poodles, waves from the Mexicans working, truck runs fine, it drives.

We pull up outside my house again. There is no way I am buying the truck even though I kind of told the guy on the phone if he drove up and it went well I would. He seems to have thought it went swimmingly well. I make up some spoof that I forgot my phone inside, Ill be back out in two minutes. So I ring my cousin and my friend, ask their opinion if I should buy a truck they have never seen for $500. I know its cheap and not much but when you’re paying 1200 bones the same day for rent and still no joy with a job, it seems more. Anyways, I wanted them both to say dont do it but both say go for it. I decide then I definitely wont so. I think the fact that I was seeing the truck alongside all the Porsches, BMWs and Escalades around my house didn’t help matters. I go back out to the guy to break the bad news. He is just sitting on the back of the truck, happy as larry. I tell him its not for me, I need the A/C, from Ireland, we only have rain and leprechauns there, the joke does not go down well. Neither does the fact I dont want to buy it. He is almost in tears. He had just told a guy that morning it was sold, now he’d have to hope he didnt buy something else. Then he gets really emotional, the reason he is selling is because he must get some hip operation and wont be able to get back into the truck as its too high off the ground. He also couldn’t work with his hip so needed the money. I felt bad thinking he waddled then. His sob story/haggling skills worked. I tell him I really need the A/C but Id give him $300 for it. We agree on $400. I immediately regret it. Then he tells me where he lives, about an hour away. The job. Then I really, really regret it. Here’s the bucket…

The BucketThe Love Truck

So we drive out to his house. All the way he talks and talks, while I give him a few yeah, yeahs, nods of the head and struggle to cope with no A/C stuck in traffic. Its a killer. Somewhere I hear the talk of how he’s a caddy. I spiel him my bit about me caddying for years, throw in a bit of spoof about caddying for Tiger Woods, Michael Douglas etc. He’s loving all this, tells me he’d hook me up with the starter, get me a job, happy days, the truck could pay its way already. He then almost crashes with excitement when I tell him my handicap is 7(spoof). Gets onto the starter on the phone to tell him he’s a great Irish caddy for him. The starter tells him to give me his number and I’ll be in after meeting him. I’m pumped, the Big Lebowski-esque dude with the truck has hooked me up. He gives me the digits, log them in my phone. Now we’re great friends, he’s hungry, I’m hungry, the truck needs oil, we’ll go to the shop on the way and get food and oil. I end up spending a few hours with him, munching a horrible sandwich from some place he highly recommended, while he tells me about these chicks he almost got before, it was a great story. So we go to his house, do the paper work, hand over the cash, I have his number if any problems, I have the starter’s number for the job, I’m sorted. Im on my own in this beast on the freeway on the way home, pumped. My windows are down, the radio, which is stuck on one station I think, is pumping out some Akon song out of my one working speaker, the truck seems to run, who cares if its horrific looking. I had a great day with the Dude. No parking by my house when I get back so parked a good 25 minute walk away, LA parking is pretty shocking I found out but I wouldn’t let that ruin my day.

So that night I decide to go out to celebrate. Send around a few texts to my vast network of friends here, about 10 texts Id say, ha. Get an offer to go to that club that I was in where I ended up at that party in the hills, I’m in like flynn. So pre-boozing on, the more drink I have the better I feel about the truck. At least no more walking. I can now call out to people. No more $100 on taxis. Wuu duu. 

I get a cab to the club and on the way I forgot I never did my trick to get on the guestlist, balls. Ill use the old bluffy mac technique. So, spot a dude with a clipboard, he wants to know where Im from with the accent, do I follow Rangers or Celtic, turn up the Irishness a notch, backfires, his buddy is Demarcus Beasley so cant let me in now kind of small talk, joke here, joke there, sound guy and I finally get in. Horse us over your number there boss and he says he’ll hook me up from now on if I support Rangers, he worked a few different clubs, happy days. The night is a drunken blur from there on in. I have one photo in my camera of this Swedish dude who was dressed even more over the top than Boy George, feathers in the hair, weird as funk, unreal on the harmonica while I sang freestyle along, and was friends with a few tasty Swedish girls. I ended up at a party deep in the slums of the Hollywood this time, right on Hollywood Blvd but dodgy enough. I had to leave as well early as I was goosed drunk. 

So woke up this morning with the immediate feeling of…”Balls, somethings wrong”. Did the phone, wallet, passport check, no phone. Its early too so Im still half drunk and cant function. Gutted about my phone. I remembered using it in the cab on the way home so must have left it thrown on the seat. It was an absolutely useless phone, no reception in my house except one corner of one room but it had all my Emericano numbers. Including the numbers of the guy who was getting me the caddy job, the guy who sold me the bucket, the bouncer dude who said he’d sort me out getting in places, and one of Boy George’s tasty Swedish friends. I was gutted, stumbling around my room looking for it, barely able to open my eyes still goosed, see a note that the tv and internet is out as the bill wasn’t paid on time. Some funking great way to start the day. No phone, no internet to find where was near to buy a new one and no tv to cure my half drunk state. It was then I realised I had to move my truck closer to my house from where I parked it the night before or it might be towed. 

So walked to the truck, no matter what the weather was like I was going to be annoyed, it was roasting beyond belief, parched and pissed off by the time I get to the truck. The key almost snaps when I forget the door doesn’t open sometimes(always) from the driver’s side. Get in, like a sweat box, looks even worse than it did yesterday. So, I start her up, nada. Turn the key again, nothing. It doesn’t even really annoy me. Im still thinking about my phone too much. It was as if I knew it was horrific anyways so it not starting put my mind at ease. I tried again and it kicked into life, feebly. So I drive down the street to do a u-turn, thankfully on not the busiest road I live by but still a lot of cars. As I turn the bucket cuts out. Fully. And its a big bucket, so Im blocking my side of the road and a good bit of the other side. Cars are waiting for me. It starts again, I drive another foot as fast as I can and it cuts out again. So now Im blocking all the road somehow. Cars are building up, people shouting, Im shouting back saying its not my truck, its my friend’s, Im only moving it for him! My head is on the steering wheel, really thinking about my phone and not caring about the truck, the lack of A/C has begun to get at me again and is making my hangover even more enjoyable. I was half thinking of getting out and leaving it. Finally it starts and I tear down the road, park it up, get out, grab my laptop and go to the nearest coffee shop with wireless internet. Straight onto Craigslist, put up an ad for a great pick-up truck for sale, only $800, great deal!

I Google phone shops near me too and find one close by. There’s no way Im risking driving the bucket again so walk to the phone shop. Its down the street from me, right in the middle of ‘boys’ town as its called. So Im walking and walking, seems to be way longer than the 14 minutes Google Maps said it’d take. I cant check how long its been either as I usually use the clock on my phone to check the time. So I just keep on walking, not paying much attention, noticing how most gay guys have way better posture than usual, its weird, ha, and still no sign of the phone shop. So I give up, cross the road to get another coffee for the way back and walk home. Its then when I have walked close to my street that I come across the phone shop Im looking for. I was on the wrong side of the road all along, ape. I go in, ask for their cheapest phone and the guy in the store tells me he has just sold the last prepaid phone they had in stock that day, more back in Wednesday. I’ve given up at this stage, has to be a joke, most annoying day I’ve had in a while.

So I get home and remember that I was asked to play a soccer match at 7 downtown in LA somewhere. I had agreed to go the day before, seeing as I had the truck and could get there. I didn’t have the guy’s number anymore to ring and cancel and wanted to play again with them so decided to take the plunge and give the bucket one last go. My neighbor gave me her wireless password so I was back online, my day was turning around, found the directions, headed off with my bucket.

It seems the Bucket is a night person like myself. There was some difference. After only 2 attempts it started and then roared its way through LA! It was a beast on the road, again Akon pumping out my one speaker(they seem to have 3 songs on loop, Akon, T.I & Rihanna and some other song that sounds the exact same). It was on the drive that I remembered the guy had given me the name of the golf club where he caddied, I could just show up and ask for the starter! The night was beating down the disastrous day! I have seen more of LA in that one round trip to the pitch as well than the whole rest of the 5 weeks I’ve been here. The Bucket was growing on me.

So, I get to the pitch, and its in the middle of skyscrapers and the heart of downtown, coolest surroundings ever, its class. The team is a mix of Americans, few English guys and a Eastern European here and there. So bit of small talk before the match getting introduced to the players, one guy shouts over “Hey Irish, I hear you were a drunk f**ker last night”. I thought he was just using the generic all Irish get drunk card so gave him a nod and agreed. He then tells me his buddy works the door of the club I was in…the bouncer dude who gave me his number and said he would hook me up! Highly, highly random but he is next to him tying his boots, laughs at me and fills in a few blanks for me. It was weird in a city so big to think of the possibility that the same guy would be in the random soccer team that I end up playing for, but LA is nuts so thought nothing of it. Play the game and even though Im hungover to funk and playing in boots 2 sizes too small for me, I play well. They’re happy out, the English guy in charge asks me if  I want to play 5-a-side with him and his buddies on Tuesday. I say sure no problem, where. Out in Beverly Hills, he’s living in his friend’s house and the friend had a pitch built in the back garden for them to play soccer. As you do. Im wondering what friend would do that, random enough. So he casually mentions he lives with Robbie Williams. Who? Oh, right, him. See you Tuesday. LA is random to say the least.

So the night was turning out to be better than the day. I walk back to the parking lot to see the Bucket, chilling. Starts right up first time this time around, just like the ad said it would! My windows are down driving home, still hot at night, T.I and Rihanna are strutting their stuff on the speaker,  I think its a Bose speaker, when these two girls pull up next to me in traffic. “Oh my god I love that song, what station is it on?” I make up some spoof 101.4 kgb all night long station I think. “Oh my god I love your truck too, so retro, is that the loooove truck?” I was going to say, no, its The Bucket, but the lights went green. These didn’t seem like the girls who could do sarcasm or know what it was, but either way I drove off loving the Love Truck. Thank funk it didnt cut out at the lights as I drove off! The Bucket by day, the Love Truck at night. 

An apt song for today would be Sunshine by Atmosphere. And a cool funking song is Aint No Other Way by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. I think I was trying to sing that last night while the Swedish dude did a jig on the harmonica.