Hung Like A Horse!

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Thrift Shop – Macklemore & Ryan Lewis

It’s a Sunday night. You’re sick of talking to banterless clowns in dead bars. So you go to a liquor store. And end up down an alley. Trying to have a laugh with some homeless guy. Who’s trying to take a drink from your brown paper bag. Life. Going. Well. Wake up the next day. Look in the mirror. Shake your head. Slap your soul. Say no more. Time to cop on.

Now obviously none of that actually happened. Ahem. However. Ever since that night, I haven’t boozed a drop. Not a sniff. Not a touch. Not a smell. Nothing more. Four weeks and counting. Booze off. Work. On.

Surprisingly, far easier than I anticipated. Thought it might be tough going dealing with clowns while DJing but stick a Red Bull in the system and you’re as dancing as ever. Obviously numerous advantages to this non-boozing too. Such as, the lack of hangovers. Sundays have taken on a whole new meaning, a whole new feeling. Even the lack of mysterious grogginess felt after you’ve only had one or two drinks the night before – Gone. Now refreshed. Clear headed. Raring to go. Thank funk too. No time to be hungover.

Coinciding with a lack of booze, has been an immense amount of work. From an intense trip down the well to get a show bible written, to starting an edit of book three, to planning trips to New York, the Caribbean and London, to setting up meetings in various places, to booking stand up shows here there and everywhere, to meeting producers, to greeting directors, to lining up actors, to gibbering on, to shooting a music video, to traveling all over for DJ jigs, to doing double shifts, to them blurring into quadruple ones, to getting a haircut, to brushing my teeth, to washing my socks, to writing this blogaruu, it has been pretty full on. Look. A hair was cut… Continue Reading »

Crazy In Logic


If you’re going to be crazy,

you have to get paid for it

or else you’re going to be locked up. 

A mighty quote I happened to read yesterday. Hunter S. Good logic behind his madness. Lately, the more I speak to people that work normal hours, the more I get the impression they think I’m losing my logic. Going to bed when it’s bright. Getting up when it’s dark. Curtains only needing to be opened for about a ten minute period. That’s crazy. Would you not try to sort it out? Why don’t you change your routine?! Makes far more sense! I can see their logic. Of how it looks illogical. However, there is logic behind the madness. Which my buddy verbalised today to me. Day. Time. People. Awake. Night. Time. People. Asleep. Less distractions. More time to write. See. Logic. Dumb by day. Alive at night. Continue Reading »

I Can’t Rap. You Can’t Mug.

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At times it is a challenge to tie a series of random events together in one big bow of a blogaruu. Isolated events of oddness which just occur and end with no string attached. However, other times, these random events occur in a sequential order and all lead up to something. Saturday, running into Sunday, was one of those days. A match. A long train ride. A lack of seats. And a distracting thought about corn all tied together to lead up to an event. Which never ended up getting off the ground now I think about it. Back to the start… Continue Reading »

I Deserve A Medley

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Apologies for anyone left high and dry without their daily dosage of the blog for the past day or two. Well, to that one person who asked where they were. The sitcom episode is coming together, but with my brain being used for that at full capacity, it could not cope doing both. However, over the past few days, one might say a medley of stories have occurred. So I’ll now string a few together, starting with the most important.

First random bit of useless info. A while back, I mentioned that one search that someone (or people) used to find the blog was something related to gay rape in a gym, or along those lines. Recently, “Do chicken have teeth?” was somehow, no clue at all as to how, but somehow, used as a search to get to my blogaduu. Pre-tty weird.

On my way to the gym on Friday I tried in vain to think of any possible connection of how this might be linked to the blog. Still didn’t get to figure it out. However, I did get to see a big gang fight happen. And by big gang fight, I mean two big gangs, being tough, talking about fighting, but not actually fighting. Like most fights really. Not like how Jack and Sawyer fought in the last episode of Lost, with the realistic punch effects. This was proper fighting, with little to no punches being thrown. 

While observing this tough gang fight, I noticed the homeless couple I had seen the day before. Once again, they were sitting against a wall, on the side of a street, and, once again, they were at it, hammer style. However, there was a difference this time. When the homeless woman got up and left her spot to get a better view of the fight. I noticed this, but also, that the hammer kept on hammering. By who, I wondered. Ah, thats right, obviously, by the dude. Sitting on the side of the street, with his hammer in his hand, covered, but still, doing a D.I.Y job, on his own. Once again, in the light of evening. Watching the fight, and, seemingly, getting off on it. All feelings of empathy were immediately lost. Like Bonnie, he was not the same without his woman. Now he was just a weird, blue balled, bald, homeless dude.

Unfortunately, he was not the only weird, blue balled, bald dude that I encountered that evening. In the gym, a regular nutter, some old, weird, bald, gay, creepy dude, once again started asking me if I do much work on my legs, could I recommend anything for his legs, or show him some exercises? These chicken things? No. And, no. When he left, probably the only other person younger than 37 in the gym, a quite pleasant looking girl, told me he chats her up as well. We bonded over baldy, blue balled weirdo! Turns out I was wrong too, well kind of. Still, I shouldn’t have presumed. He wasn’t gay. Actually, he was bi, seeing as he told the girl that, while also revealing to her that he likes to wear a wig at times, one similar to her own hair style! A great chat up line if ever I’ve heard one. Ha, funking nut. We bonded well over him. However, once the conversation drifted to any other topic, we lost the connection. Blue balled and bald, or nothing.

Skip forward to tonight (final gym and homeless related story). While walking back from the gym, I noticed a new homeless guy, who was not there on my way to the gym. And the reason I knew this, for a fact, was that he had managed to get a massive kings sized bed set up on the path for himself. It was huge, bigger than any bed I have ever slept in. How he got it there, I have no clue. He asked for a dollar, so I gave him all my money, a few quarters, purely for having that bed. On a footpath. It was highly impressive. When I remarked this to him, he offered me a seat, try it out, lie down man, it is a nice bed. 

Just as I started to bend my knees, and take him up on his offer, I somehow managed to stop myself. I got the feeling if I sat or lay down with him on the bed, I might never get up. The next few years of my life would’ve been mapped out. Lugging that bed around with him, street to street, living the high life. That can wait until I’m retired, work to be done first.

I’ll finish off with the reason, that I think, maybe I should be given a medal. Earlier today, I went to my first rugby match, USA against Ireland. Being patriotic, however, should not be the reason for maybe getting a medal. Can’t beat a day in the sun. Swimming amongst all the factor 60. Or else a nice, dangerously rare – steak wise – looking shade of pink. No, the reason I may deserve a medal, is that I stayed until the end, ha. Sweet Lord. First and last has a nice ring to it really.

Two songs, for all the factor 60 and pink armed fans earlier today… 

Psychic City by Yacht

And, Wild Thing (Remix) by Tone-Loc and Peaches

p.s I think I now have a bit of sun stroke. Should’ve put on some of that factor 60. Clever rugby folk.

Cough, Spit & A Fondle

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Today, I realized a few things. Firstly, I have noticed that I have started to consciously swallow drinks. And, by that, I mean, I no longer just swallow water from a bottle or tea from a cup and get on with whatever I am doing. For some bizarre reason, I believe because I think that I have started to gulp loudly when I swallow, I make an effort to control the swallowing. Which, in turn, leads me to focus on swallowing after the third go, lets just say, and I inevitably gulp louder, get the liquid to go down the wrong tube, and I end up coughing, spluttering, and have to spit the water out. In case I choke. All makes perfect sense. To me. In my head. There is a reason for this nonsense.

Moving on, I have also realized, that the 16 block walk to the gym actually does bring up a few random stories. I had just been too anti-San Fran, probably missing L.A like the temptress that she is, to let myself observe the carry on. Unsurprisingly, for San Fran, there is a lot of homeless people on the gym route. Which provide a few interesting scenarios. Again, I was waiting at the lights to cross the road (a mighty place to observe life it seems) when I saw a couple at the other side of the road having a big fight. Screaming at each other. In Chinese. It was near impossible not to watch, or start to slow down walking wise to see what was going on. 

The Chinese woman was freaking out for some reason, although I am only presuming she was, not speaking too much Chinese myself. She did not seem happy, giving me a nice dirty look as I walked up, maybe she was trying to say hello though. Again, the lack of Chinese was a barrier for me. They had a place set-up in the doorway of a bank, with all their stuff there, two shopping trolleys next to the make-shift bed. The Chinese man was backing off, shouting back a bit, but it was plain to see that the woman was kicking him out, of their doorway. They were now taking up the entire path, so she started physically kicking out at him to clear off, threw a blanket at him, then gave one last tirade in Chinese, and the guy gave me. She had kicked him out, he was gone. Across the road he went, to the bank on the other side of the street, and sat in that doorway, with his blanket. Few more words shouted over and back, and it died down. Fight over.

We were all able to go on our way. The path was clear. There were a few of us after building up on the path, waiting for them to finish up, so we could keep walking on. On we went, me drinking back some Red Bull, listening to see if I was gulping loudly for every drink. Few coughs, few splutters, and the can was almost gone. One last drink, and, conveniently, there was a bin to my right. In fairness, I did kind of stop suddenly, but I just noticed the bin, to my immediate right, as I took the last gulp. Stopped suddenly, stuck the can into the bin, but as I did, the person who had been walking right behind me, walked straight into me.

The last big mouthful sprayed out. Not really actually, more it filled up my mouth, caused me to splutter, then half sprayed, half snorted, out my mouth and nose, as I tried in vain to save a bit of dignity and hold it in. Should’ve let the spray just gracefully happen. Must have been quite a charming sight, if anyone had seen it. The person who had bumped into me was annoyed with me, for stopping. I was too covered in Red Bull to remember if I should’ve been annoyed with anyone, probably myself, but it all ended then and there. Continued on to the gym. This was getting more eventful, this was more like it.

Into the gym, did my bit, drinking back the water, needed to refill my bottle up at the water fountain, which is in the downstairs part of the gym. This gym is far quieter than the one in L.A, so you can take your time with the machines. And the fountain. I had a bit left in my bottle, might as well finish it off before I fill her up, so took another big gulp. With my iPod earphones on, I started to think that might be the reason why I was hearing stuff louder in my head, the earphones being on! Which, obviously, made me concentrate far too much on the gulp. And I have already described what happens. Cough, splutter, down the wrong pipe, out comes the liquid. Over the water fountain. Didn’t really get the spout part, but still nobody wants to see someone dribble back over the water fountain. Thankfully, I don’t think the person behind me, waiting for me to finish up, saw any of it. Either way, I gave it a quick rinse. Left it germ and dribble free. 

Leaving the gym and walking home threw up one final piece to this tale. Two days ago, next to the gym, in the bright light of the evening, on a main street, I thought I saw a different homeless couple, getting cordial with each other. As in the full wack. Just with clothes on. Not fully sure, but I was 99% certain. Seeing as they were a foot away from me, in a doorway, while I knocked on the door of the gym, not realizing that it was closed early for a holiday here. I was pretty certain. Leaving the gym tonight, the same couple are sitting in the doorway, not on top of each other or positioned like they were last time. Just sitting side by side. With her hand somewhere. Blatant. Like a hammer.

All of this lead, kind of bizarrely, lead to a feeling of empathy for the homeless folk. For the following reason, which I could relate to, a bit. Kind of. Not that this has ever happened to me, obviously. However, do you remember when you lived at home, and a girl wanted to come around for, eh, a cup of tea? But you didn’t think the best place to bring the girl for a cup of tea, was to your place, for various reasons. You were left wondering, where should we go? Where could you go? Probably not their place, for the same reason. More than likely at the age where a cup of a tea in a hotel was too expensive, have you seen the prices, or you simply would not have thought of it. What were you to do? Have a tea party outdoors? Dodge. Fun once, perhaps, but after a while, probably get a cold. So, what are those without any home, meant to do? Not fair really. I know it is probably not top of their list of priorities, but still, amongst many other problems, that must annoy them.

I am not making fun of the homeless either, far from it. Just observations. I’ll wrap up by saying I got a bit of good news myself today. I now have a marketing company in L.A waiting for my sitcom pitch, to help me with my viral campaign. Plus, I have camera men and lighting crew waiting in the wings to help me out with making a scene or two. Wuu to the huu. Good to have the pressure on. Must get the script finished and get back there. Time is ticking! My Mastercard is running out! Oh Jesus. (That is meant to be a brutal dumb joke. But, now I think about it, it also makes sense. Take it in the dumb joke way. If you get it. Always fun feeling the need to explain a joke). The End.

Song of the day. This is a ridiculously good song, which hopefully will not be wrecked by drunken sing-alongs too soon. I am still scarred from hearing the people in the apartment below doing muffled karaoke for a few hours yesterday. They were horrendous. Mundy & Damien Rice were sang over and over, ruined a few good songs

The Gardener by The Tallest Man On Earth