Jaysus, Some Heat!

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Temperature wise, the extreme heat wave here in L.A seems to be over. However, I will not lie, between you, me, and the garden path, I am going through a bit of a dry spell myself. It has been a few days, ha. Some heat. Which has been made all the worse by the carry on the last few days.

On Wednesday, after contemplating going to My House (US Weekly were having a big event though and my buddy on the door was off for the night, so nay go there), then perhaps Disco Dodgeball (exactly what you think it might be, however in the end my knee ruled me out), I ended up going for a random third option and went to a house club in Hollywood. Which was cool enough, and seemed like a normal club. No celebs in there, girls weren’t asking you who you were, they were more interested in where the accent was from, back to basics!

So I am outside in the smoking room with a guy I play soccer with. We are speaking at the top of our voices, throwing our accents around like a girl with tassive mits might do, seeing what we could reel in. And it worked a treat, “Where are you from, really, I R Land, oh my God, no way, you’re a priest, that’s so cool!” The night was going well, two girls could not get enough of me telling them they were horrific looking, they were far from it being honest, and when I told one she needed to shave her shoulders, it tipped her over the edge. “Oh my Gawd, you’re so funny, you have to come back to our place after this, the three of us have to party together!” Who, just the two of ye, and me? “Yeah, are you not allowed being a priest?!!” Oh sweet Lord, play it cool, was I jumping the gun presuming this, no, surely not, surely, finally, was this going to be the Holy Grail of a threesome, the two girls were offering me to come back to their place, and the night was still young, let me check my watch, not yet one o’clock. 

Balls. I remembered at this point that I was due to do a radio interview for a Cork station at 1.10 my time here, 9.10 back in Cork. I was outside in the smoking room, but it was still loud, music pumping, it was going to be tough to hear the call or for them to hear me. So, I told the girls I would be back in two minutes, I just have to go outside to take a call. Oh, and I can’t wait to come party with both of ye later, sounds savage. Back in two minutes, hang on here, I’ll be right back, down move. I scuttle back into the club, force my way all the way through, tell the bouncer I’ll be just outside for two minutes, and I’ll be back in. All of this was a bit of effort seeing as the club was full to the brim. Anyways, I am outside by 1.10, waiting for the call. Waiting. No call. Wait some more. No call. It is about 1.20, and I am standing outside a club on Hollywood Boulevard with my phone in my hand, no one ringing me, feeling like a complete ape.

I get proactive, and like a fool, I ring them, freaking to myself about my credit. Oh sorry Mark, big news here, Roy Keane has just been appointed manager of Ipswich, I was just about to call you, we’re having Eamonn Dunphy on first, then you, sound good? I was being bumped an hour. The job. I hang up, back to the bouncer, I was just inside, you didn’t give me a stamp, I was, seriously, you just saw me leaving, cool, am I good, finally. Back through the crowd of people on the dance floor, back outside to the smoking room, back out to my buddy and the gir… where did those two girls go? “Where did you go mate, you just f**ked off after they asked you back to their place later, the girls left, not sure where they are gone to now, they thought they scared you off being a priest!” No funking way. No way. Seriously? No way. You’re lying. Seriously? For funk’s sake, I’m some ape. How did the radio thing go? It didn’t!!! Did they just leave… nooo, Keanoooo, nooooo!!!

Back inside to the club, do one (two) quick laps of the club to see if I can find the girls, no joy, straight to the bar, line up the shots, never good when highly annoyed. The night has dipped unexpectedly but they weren’t the only two girls in the club, it can still be saved. If I wasn’t an ape. Trying to do a bit of dancing (good old shots) with an Aussie girl, getting into a rhythm, bodies swaying, legs interlinked, knees twisting, oh sweet Jesus my knee. A combination of her and the crowd off the dance floor hit off my knee, it buckles, she steps back away from me, I fall down on one knee, kneeling in pain for what seems like an age but probably only about a minute on the dance floor, good God what a horrendous night. Few more drinks with the soccer buddy, one final lap of the club for the girls with the lights on to make sure, no joy, obviously, cab home, just as I get out the phone rings, all I can think of while doing it is about the missed opportunities, done and dusted, and I am home, alone, reeking, horrendous night.

The next night, I had another acting class to audit, for free, I think that may have been the last one at that school. I have actually been to this class before, it is the nutter class where everyone cries, a lot (In The Shower. Singing. In French. Crying. Go!) As with all classes, the teacher introduces himself (re-introduces, he half recognizes me but I played dumb, not too hard for me) and tells me to enjoy the class, observe, and if you see something you like or want to try out the exercises, join in with it, its all up to you.

Sounds good, I’ll just observe to start with. Again, everyone is scattered all over the room, doing different warming up techniques and exercises. All of which seem to involve crying and punching your arms out saying “Huuuuhhhhh”. Freaks me out, but not as much as the first time. Until one girl, facing me but a few feet away, suddenly opens her eyes and punches the air with a “Huuuuhhh” while staring at me, then bursts into tears. Oh Jesus, did I do something, no, I forgot, thats just their thing to do, nutters.

There I am, in a room full of people crying, huhhing away, when I hear a familiar cry and wail, it’s the girl who sang the last time. She is wailing for dear life, sobbing like mad, freaking out, it is like she is possessed. She calms down a bit, and starts panting, and moaning, as if she is having an orgasm. Then the crying starts again, the teacher is telling her to calm down, be happy (more tears), be excited (even more tears), be sad (orgasm time). She is not the best looking girl in the class, or even outside the class, but she is sitting behind me, so all I hear is her moaning, and panting, slowly, deeply, and the heat kicks in again, ha! Eventually she tails off into a song, which sounds like a French version of Baa Baa Black Sheep.

I decide to observe other people. Bad idea. An Asian girl is after rolling around the room and ended up on the floor in front of me, doing the “exploration exercise” with “extreme heat” on top. So she starts to feel the imaginary heat beat down on her, rolling around the floor in front of me, and starts to whip off her top. Slowly pulling it over her head, eyes closed the whole time, wriggling on the floor, doing the splits, oh sweet Lord for your own sake stop, off comes the top, she’s now in her bikini top and jeans, wriggling on the floor, slightly tugging at her jeans as if they are too warm for her to wear. I was told to observe, so felt it would’ve been rude not to look.

Next minute I hear the panting from behind me again, Baa Baa Black Sheep must’ve ended. So as I am observing a hot girl wriggle around the floor in front of me, stripping down, doing the splits and all sorts of maneuvers, all I can hear from behind me is a girl panting, moaning, building up a head of steam in French. Oh sweet Jesus, this is to much, teacher, TEACHER, what did you mean by “Join in if I see something I’d like to try”?!!!!

Just as I am taking off my shoes and socks about to join in, the teacher rudely stops the warm up, and tells us it it time for this week’s scenes. Give me just 5 more minutes to warm up! No? My mind has drifted for the rest of the class, but I must admit, this acting malarky is growing on me more and more.

The nights here can get quite chilly, so they can, do the walk home cools me off. At least I got a 10 minute reprieve. Just as I reach my entrance, I notice a lot of commotion at the top of my street. There are four television trucks getting ready outside the club that had been shut since I moved in, I did notice that there were a few hot girls making their way towards the place earlier. Might as well go check it out, I’ll ask a bouncer for the inside scoop. What’s going on here, grand re-opening? There was a big fire, I did not know that. What actually is the name of the place? The Body Shop? What kind of club is it? Pardon? A strip club? Right next to my house? Good work.

Always good to have a place like that next door, purely because the security guys now outside will make this safe neighborhood, even safer, obviously. Actually, before I forget, I think I must go up there right now, for good reason too. I was told it used to be an Irish bar, so must see if that is true or false. And I must ask them if they might perhaps need a DJ, I am willing to work there for free as well. I’ll come straight home once I find those two things out. Straight home.

Two songs, one in honour of the girl in the acting class, could well actually be her “singing” at the end (if you’re too impatient fast forward to the last minute if you don’t know it)… French Kiss by Lil Louis

And one with a great title…My Night With The Prostitute From Marseille by Beirut

Actually Neil, They’re Swedish…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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