Clueless

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Off the top of my head, odd things which I have a slight clue about, is how to speak conversational Cantonese, particularly if you’re a taxi man from Hong Kong, and I have a clue how to dismantle, clean, and operate a Naval machine gun. Pretty strange I suppose, only 2 I can think of at the moment. On the other hand, one bizarre thing which I am completely clueless about, is how exactly the acting side of the business works in Ireland. Specifically, how one might go about trying out a few auditions, just to get some practice. Not a notion. Are there any? Where might they be? Not a clue. In L.A, obviously enough, providing you have a visa and all, auditions, how to submit yourself, open calls etc. can be easily found in abundance. However, in Ireland, as far as I can tell, there seems to be nothing. As in, nothing. I am confident that I am actually wrong. However, after a fruitless few attempts today trying to figure it out, I have come to the conclusion that there is nada.

Who do you ask? Unfortunately, for a change, it seems not Google. He will not deliver as well as he usually does. And when you don’t know too many people in the acting business (t.v or film sides anyways), Google might be your first and last call. Maybe if you’re looking for a course in acting, Google can hook you up. If you want the websites for the Irish Film Board, the Irish Film Centre, or anything like that, Google will deliver. “Acting auditions in Ireland” or some similar term typed might hook you up with an audition in Iowa, and other parts of America, for some reason, but not much in Ireland. Not the most helpful. The best I got was a list of casting agencies in Ireland, that either never existed, or that most seem to no longer be in business.

I know as well, that if you were young, just out of school maybe and wanted to start acting from scratch in Ireland, there’s the whole doing an acting course, getting in some theatre work, moving up the ladder that way, doing it as something on the side and wading it out for a big break. Which, it seems, if you stay in Ireland and hope to get, the most you might muster in the movie world is to be an extra on the set of War of the Buttons, or The Wind That Shakes The Barley. Better still, you might end up being an extra for something even bigger, like Braveheart or along those lines. Which would be good to say to people, I suppose. If I was 16.

Do a course, join a theatre group, start that way. Or, be an extra, along with thousands of others, hoping that you will be plucked out of the crowd for your ability to stand around better than others. And pray you then make an impression. Preferably a good one. As you might gather from these scenarios, I don’t really have a clue. Either way, neither of the two above are really great options. Neither are really options if I’m being honest. Not for me at least while I am back in Ireland.

I remember the one full time actress I spoke to since I have been back, told me that if you want to do any acting in Ireland, t.v or film work anyways, you need to go to London. Apparently you have a far better chance of getting an audition for a show even like Fair City, if you were based in London, than if you were based in Dublin. Which is very heartening to know. Especially when you’re mostly based in Cork while you wait to hopefully sort out a visa back to L.A. Her beliefs proved to be spot on after my attempts today. In this day and age, if the information is not online, then it is probably looking dodge. At least now I am a bit more clued in. Slightly. Acting will have to be kept on ice for a while. 

With that in mind, I turned my attentions back to writing today. As I’ve said before, you can thankfully do that anywhere. In theory anyways. Preferably, I’d like to do it in places where the inspiration is over-flowing, i.e not really here. Still though, with a combination of perseverance and dedication, along with some weird thing called patience, that mental barrier can be overcome. At least, thats the great advice Google provided me with today. He would not leave me hanging in the writing department! Go on the Google!!!

Song on…

The Big Pink

Dominos – The Big Pink

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Thats What She Said…

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Fruitless is how I would describe today. Absolutely fruitless. Although, probably my most productive activity ended up being buying apples. Plus I got a cool new t-shirt indirectly given to me by Bill Clinton. Very, very, very indirectly.

My three main things to do today were: 1. Go up to the strip club at the top of the street and enquire about the potential DJ job that Jim told me about; 2. Call over to the Irish Film Board, which is across the road from the strip club conveniently, and try to get a bit of help and guidance from a contact in there, and; 3. Buy some turkey slices. That was it. 3 basic enough things to do. How hard could they be? Surely I would achieve one of them, my money was definitely on one of the first two, definitely one of them.

1. Up to the strip club and go inside. I get a flood of flashbacks now that I am back inside, oh yeah I remember that seat, I remember those ATM machines by the wall, balls, did I take money out? No, doubt it, hopefully not. I remembered a girl in there too, sitting at a table, and, surprisingly, she remembered me, I must’ve made a good impression (more than likely made an ape of myself completely but I’ll tell myself a good impression for the sake of it). She brings me over to Charlie, the manager/owner, not too sure. He doesn’t seem too impressed by me, or care what I have to say really, doesn’t bother to get up, or say hello, who needs introductions anyways, straight to the point “What do you want?” Eh, Jim told me to call in during the day, said something about a DJ job perhaps? Charlie is old, and I can see all over his face that he has not understood any of what I had just said, I was trying to be as clear as I could too.

Maybe if I speak slower, and louder, he’ll understand. I do, he doesn’t. Tells me Jim starts at 6, call back then. This is going nowhere fast. A girl calls his name from across the room, and he shouts back at her “Did you finish up yet?” I wasn’t too sure what he was on about, but the next bit of banter I blame as a result of me watching too much of the Office and my roommate for being good at these jokes and getting me hooked. Anyways, the girl shouts back across the room ” I can’t Charlie, it’s too hard.” To which I instinctively say to Charlie, thats what she said, ha. Probably not the best thing to try the humour with Charlie seeing as it was going so poorly anyways. It didn’t really matter though, he couldn’t understand me anyways.

Oh but he understood that line, “What’s that meant to mean?” Eh, you know, ha, it was a joke, thats what she said, as in… “Yeah, she did say that, but what are you trying to say?” Oh sweet Lord, I have the job in the bag, best interview ever. “What do you want anyways? You’re looking for Jim?’ No, about a DJ job, Jim said… “We’re not hiring” And that was that. End of. See ya later Charlie.

2. Walked across the road. Starting to notice how there are a lot of film production companies based right across the road from me. As in a building or two full of them. Where was the neon sign that should’ve alerted me to this place before?!!! Found the Irish Film Board, happy days. I had decided not to email them first, I would just call up. It would be quicker and easier to get help in person, or for them to ignore me through emails, plus I am more likeable in person, or so I have been told, personally I have my doubts. Find the buzzer, get buzzed in, walk to the office, find out that the guy I was told to look for has left already for the weekend and I should’ve emailed ahead first to set up a time. Ah, good old emails, always a smart thing to do. I didn’t mind too much though, at least I hadn’t traipsed around the city for hours to find that out. 

3. Bad sign when buying turkey to make a sandwich for yourself is the best you can do all day, but I was determined to do at least one thing on the to-do list. As I was walking to Trader Joes, I saw The Laugh Factory across the road. I’ll save my day by going in and playing the Irish priest card, and try to get a slot for their open mic session next week. Wuu, finally a good plan. Cross the road, push into the door to open her up, door is shut, so I just walk into the door. The idiot clown walking into The Laugh Factory. I bumble back across the road, I’ll stick to the plan of turkey and home. Or so I thought. Ever hear of a meat rush on Friday afternoon? No? Me neither. But apparently they have them here, and they were out of turkey slices. Ha, how, why, I didn’t have the energy, why bother, I gave up. I ended up buying good turkey substitutes of apples and potatoes instead, not before knocking two piles of them on the floor, taking both from the bottom of the highly stacked piles. Surely they can come up with a better way to arrange them instead of towering piles which I will inevitably knock over.

Three things to do. Zero of them accomplished. Wuu, fruitful on! Apparently, I think I have the timeline right, but as I walked home, there was also an earthquake. Oddly, it measured 4.4 on the Richter scale, the same as the one the shook me insides out in San Francisco. People were freaking out “It was super scary, I thought it was the big one, oh my Gawd” (Apparently a big one is due that will funk the whole place up). I couldn’t even do the earthquake right, I didn’t feel a bloody thing, gutted I missed out on all the fun.

All in all, I was not too pushed with the pointless day I had, tomorrow is the big one, potentially. Big meet and greet tomorrow afternoon (I think it’s big anyways), followed by a potentially big night, re de de, I’ll say no more. My day was brightened up by my roommate at least. She had been at a Bill Clinton fundraiser the night before, met the man himself, the likes of Zach Braff and Jessica Alba amongst others mingling too (I told you that her blog would be waaaaaaay better than mine if she did one). Bill had given her a t-shirt, she doesn’t wear XL men’s size, I don’t either but with the help of 3 t-shirts underneath I can pull XL off, so she gave me the t-shirt as a present. I made her tell me that Bill had personally asked her to give it to me, just so I could feel good about it. How sound is Bill?!!!

And, as I am sure you were wondering, so just in case you were, 2 of the 3 apples I bought were rotten to the core. I could not even do that right, wuu, tomorrow is the big one though, I’m saving myself for then, c’mon Hatton!!!!!

Song of the day is the first song I heard this morning, and final song I will play before I get my sleep on. It is ominous to say the least, but a savage song… How It Ends by Devotchka

In Case You Didn’t Know…

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I can be quite dumb at times. Firstly, apologies for the lack of blogaruu yesterday but I was busy being stupid, then getting drunk, and finally stupidly drunk, so the blogaruu was neglected. Whereas on Tuesday I figured out I have a 3 minute limit for being funny in one day, yesterday I figured out my smart limit is about the same length of time.

Back to dumb mode. You might think I was dumb yesterday for leaving my wallet at home when I headed off to be productive. However, just as I was about to walk the 25 minutes back to my house and get it, I copped on there was no money in it anyways, so I was better off not having the bulky thing weighing me down. Smart choice. Surely. 

After I falsely presumed that I knew where I was going, without ever having been there before, and could not find my destination, I decided to make the smart choice and ask for directions. Outside a coffee shop, I had two choices. Homeless bum dude, or a hot girl. I would’ve went homeless dude but the last one I interacted with swung a punch at me, so hot girl it was, tut.

Hubbula hubbula, do you know where this place is that I cannot find? “Oh my gaaaawd, where are you from? Russia?” Ha, no, that was English, I am from Ireland. “Maryland?” I R Land. “Oh my gawd, I R Land, that is so cool.” The usual spiel I get. So, she didn’t know where the building was, sorry. But she did invite me in for a coffee and maybe they would know inside. Sure thing, sounds good, my round… actually, I can’t. I remembered now that I had forgotten my wallet and had no money on me. Instead of telling her this when she asked why I couldn’t come in and have a coffee with her, I just blurted out – I have no money. I meant on me, not in life terms, although not too far off. She informs me that they’ll accept credit cards, I respond by telling her I don’t have one. Again, I meant on me. Not in the global sense.

Telling her this, and then trying to explain what I meant, while standing next to a homeless guy, just led to a nice bit of awkward silence. Awkward enough for her to remember she had to be somewhere else anyways. I did not mind too much, I was out to be productive, I had to find the place. Eventually, and with a bit of help from the homeless dude, ha, sound guy, I found the building I was looking for, the BAFTA building!

You might think I am quite dumb for not going to this place before. It has been on my list of 19 things to do, but I had emailed them, so kind of thought that was enough. Why did I not call down earlier?! In I go, get a load of information, possibility of help with a visa, contacts, names, numbers, the works. I am also advised to go to the Irish Film Board Office as well, which I then find out it is literally around the corner from where I live, as in a 2 minute walk from my house, why have I not been already?! I come out a bit pumped, but still wondering why I had not been there before, dumb old me. 

All the help I was given was from an Irish girl who worked there, the first Irish person I have met in L.A. No need to tune out my words with her, she’s actually Irish like myself. Worryingly, when she asked me my name again as I walked out, she thought I said Eric, then Mack. Not a good sign from an Irish person. As I walked home, with my iPod on, I decided to practice honing out my accent, beginning with my name. So, I began saying Mark, Mork, Moaark, Maaark, Mooork, More Ark, Mork, Mark, all the way home to the tune of the song I was listening to. When the song finished up, I could hear some foot-steps behind me. Turn around, a girl is about 2 yards behind me. Didn’t I see her just as I turned the corner onto this long straight street? Indeed I did, she has been behind me all along. Listening to me saying my name over and over.

We both stop at the light to wait and cross the road. I look at her, wondering if she heard me talking to myself the whole time. She looks back, I give her a how’s it going nod, and I see she did hear me the whole time. Seeing as she asks “Who’s Mork? You must really like him, or his name.” Yeah, Mork is actually me, I love myself. This gets a laugh from her, bit of small talk, walking along, chatter chatter chatter, and we come to another junction, where I am swinging a right. I have already told her that I am going out boozing later, heading to My House, and been told she is going there too. So, when she asks me to text her later, take her number, I don’t for two reasons. Well, I don’t put it in my phone, instead I pretend to memorize it. 

I have realized that it means absolutely nothing, when a girl gives you her number in L.A. As in nothing. She would’ve given it to the homeless dude if he had an accent. Whereas in Ireland, if a girl gives you her number, it probably means she wants to take advantage of you, ha. Here, however, it just means now instead of asking you to your face “Who are you and what do you?”, they can do it by text. And then be confused and disappointed with the reply “I am homeless and unemployed, call over if you like” text. So I have given up taking numbers unless I think it actually might be worth it. Hot girls can be seen at every corner and walking the streets of L.A everyday, there is not a shortage here. Pity they’re whures though. Still hot.

Second reason that I pretended to remember the number, was that she had already told me that she was going to the same club that night, without me prompting her. If she was there, happy days, if not, the club is fully equipped with an abundance of good looking girls. So before I headed there, went to the karaoke bar, beer bong on, free shots because I am Irish on, pitcher on. Headed to the club, and, lo and behold, I bumped into the girl. Who then introduced me to her boyfriend! See, funking stupid, delighted I didn’t take her number now, I knew I was being smart! Being honest, I can’t remember much after that, they bought me a round of whiskey shots for being Irish and off I went.

However, and this was the whole point of the post, to highlight the dumbness, I do remember this. Got a cab home, with Andy and Colin Todd, and dropped off at the top of my street. Usually this is fine, 30 second walk and I am home. Things have changed though. Here is why…

Strip Club

The strip club at the top of my street re-opening would do that, especially seeing as it is opened until the wee hours of the morning. So the cab drops me off, I see the flashing lights of the club, mosey on over. It is $20 to get in, bob hope I have that left on me at this stage of the night. Banter with the bouncer, for a change I convince him that he is actually Irish, and get let in for free.

Being a tad drunk, all I remember is walking into the club, around the club once for a lap, then leaving, not sure why to be honest, I think I realized I was twisted and should head home. I am getting a few flashbacks writing this alone, so maybe I did sit down somewhere for a while in there. I also just got a flashback of having banter with the guy who used to be in ‘N Sync. Not Justin Timberlake, or the fat guy, or the gay guy, the other main guy? I can’t really remember.

I do know that as I was walking back out the door, having banter with the bouncer, asking if they need a DJ, sorry, slurring if they needed a DJ, a girl working had followed me out, and tried to drag me back in for a dance. Not a slow dance on the dance floor though, or a dance where I could show off my “Timmy the Rabbit” dance. I was presuming she wanted me to give her money to “dance” for me. I told her no, had to go home, I live just over there, I am sure I’ll be back again (I was lying, I swear). Again “Oh my gawd, where are you from, that accent is so cool.” The bouncer answered enthusiastically on my behalf “Irish, this f**ker is I R ish!!!”… “Oh my gawd, you must come back again, we should hang out, thats so cool” I was feeling tremendously twisted at this stage, so told her I had to go home, now, ciao ciao. “Ok, but you better come back, what’s your number, I want to hang out.” So, seeing as I had wasted my 3 minutes of being smart on blagging my way in for free, I dumbly, yet funnily in my book, replied with the answer “4, sometimes it’s 7 though depends what jersey I get.”

Ha, that line is priceless, but it left the girl confused. At least the bouncer laughed. Then, once the girl went back inside, he asked me why I didn’t give her my number, she had just broken up with her boyfriend, plus did I not see what she looked like?!!! I could make out the outline of her in my twisted state, but the real reason I did not give her my real number, the real reason… I can be quite dumb at times.

Here’s the song I think I was listening to in the strip club, not fully sure though so it might have just being playing over in my head… I Want You So Hard by Eagles Of Death Metal