Tag Archives: LA

Spanglish, Si, With A Dash Of Sex Pistol, Eh?

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This weekend epitomized the paradox of living in LA. On one hand, cool, random events occurred. On the other hand, annoying, head wrecking events occurred. It is a weird buzz to be put in random, cool, surreal situations, interlinked with time wasting, money wasting, annoying scenarios. As in how many times will I get to use the line “Oh, I was just up at Robbie Williams’ place playing 5-a-side with Steve Jones, yeah, the dude from the Sex Pistols, Jonesy”. Then how many times will I be selling a bucket and be told by ten different eager people that they are on the way, cash in hand, dying to buy the bucket, hold it for me, I’m driving there now, what’s the address again, Im one street over, and none of them to show up. Cool next to plain weird and annoying. LA all the way.

So Saturday starts well. I woke up to lots of emails and texts about the truck. All of a sudden it is en vogue, people have been queuing up all night to get their hands on it, the must have item for the season. I’m surprised not to see a line of people in sleeping bags outside my door when I check outside. I email/text them all back, return calls to the ones who phoned me, give them the address, first come first serve kind of thing. Queue the lies and time wasting. I get told “I’m literally outside your house” to “I’m coming up from San Diego to buy it, hold it for me”. I think they’re genuine and not flakes, as they say here, so I think I’ll have a little bidding auction when they all come, the Bucket could make me some money. Three hours later and no sign from anyone. I fooled myself, waste of time (Weirdly one guy kept calling saying he was outside my house, could he come in, he could see me, can I see him, look he’s waving, wave back – I didn’t wave back. Well, not after the third time of waving anyways, ha).

Sick of my phone and wasting the day away, I get a text for soccer in Mulholland, English against the French, they’ve an Italian, we’ve an Irish man. So I head up with this sound dude, and on the way up he’s telling me who’s on our team, mentions some guy Jonesy a few times. Not being familiar with him from the other games, I ask who this Jonesy is. Steve Jones, do you know him? No, who is he? The dude from the Sex Pistols. Oh, right, him. I actually thought they were all dead. Seems he is doing a radio show in LA for the past few years.

So we play the match, hottest day yet since I’ve been here, absolutely in bits from carrying Jonesy all game, and he’s a big man, we lose, game over. So our team is just sitting around afterwards, small talk and rambling on as you do. Stories are being told like normal, everyday stories. (Cue some name dropping by me here, so be warned). So, I’m listening to stories about Jason, Rosie, Michelle, Cameron, Jessica, Rachel, Bob and others I can’t remember. You can guess the surnames if you like. And the stories are good, getting more interesting, funny as funk, some “Oh Jesus” moments. So, I ask who is this person in this story, who is that in that story, and get told the surnames. I pretend not to know half of them, or barely seen that movie he/she was in. Playing it cool as you do. Sometimes I let slip an old “No way, she did that, in the kitchen, with the spoon?”. Not being used to hearing revealing stories with famous actors in it that you might otherwise read and think Bob Hope that happened, its pretty cool post match banter. Probably arms and legs added on to the stories but at the time I didn’t care, interesting to hear. Then a plane crashed into the pitch.

When I get dropped off at my house I notice a guy sitting on the front step who I’d never seen before. He has a massive turban on and big long beard. When I walk by him, his accent throws me off, really really American, plus I had heard it before. He asks me if I know a guy Mork, or Eric, who lived in this building. Mark perhaps, or Merrick? Yes, thats me. He was here about the bucket. I spoke to him earlier on the phone so remembered the voice but did not imagine he looked like this. Anyways, he tells me he’s very interested in buying the truck, can we go check it out right now before it got dark. So we get in his car, and I’m back on my way to Mulholland, wrecked, thinking my idea of throwing the keys away was looking appealing now I’m so tired, but it’ll be worth it to sell the junk. We stop en route to get petrol to put in it, and away we go on the 20 minute trip there.

Great small talk ensues. My new buddy laughs at anything I say while Im half way through saying something that isn’t really funny at all (I can speak German, for example, “Oh man, that is too funny”). Its either laughing or saying you Irish must be drunk so much. For 20 long minutes. Every minute, one or the other, interrupting all the interesting, funny things I have to say. So we get to the Bucket, put the petrol in, doesn’t start up again, I’m ready to try and smash the thing apart. Not that I could but its the most head wrecking purchase I’ve ever bought. My new buddy convinces me we’ll get one more tank of petrol and it’ll start up, these things need a lot of gas man, were you drunk driving this man? Oh that is too funny, I know you were, the Irish must be drunk all the time!!! For some reason he wont accept the fact I’m telling him the gas gauge is bust so I tell him what he wants to hear and mention how I drank all the poteen.

At this stage I’m sick to death of everything related to the truck. Don’t care about selling it, don’t care about putting more petrol in, don’t care if I’ve wasted all this time and money on it for nothing, just take me home, my back is killing me from Jonesy!!! However, my new bud convinces me one more tank will do the trick. I don’t have the energy anymore to argue. So we drive all the way to the closest petrol station, which is about a 2 minute drive away from my house. One more tank will do the trick. It doesn’t, obviously, it couldn’t be as easy as that. So I ask him to bring me home, I’ve had enough, its been almost two hours since he picked me up. I’ve been back and forth going on six times today. On the way home it all gets a bit weird. First he keeps dropping hints about how much petrol he’s using up, I should really give him money towards it, I’m only joking, I’m using so much gas though man, did you drink it? Are you drunk on my gas right now? Oh man, that is too funny! If these little sayings are annoying you now, imagine two fun filled hours of it. 

Then my new buddy asks who do I live with, looks like its a nice place, can he come see it? I stupidly tell him I live with two girls, it is a nice place. Oh man, the four of us should go out together tonight. or I should come to yours and we drink with them, see what happens. Emmm, as appealing as it sounds, I’ll pass. As we drive past the Viper Room…we should go there tonight man, would be you be interested? Every bar we drive past is the same, I pretend to be falling asleep and didn’t hear him. There are only so many places I can tell him I’ve been once and never, ever, ever want to go back again. I realize then he must want a friend. He never actually seemed interested in buying the truck looking back at it. Oh Jesus, not even I have stooped this low for a wing man. We get outside my house, I make him pull up two buildings down hoping he wouldn’t notice. He does. Asks could he come back in and wash his hands and face, meet my roommates, perhaps. I throw him a tenner for petrol, car still rolling slowly, tell him he cant, we’ve painters in, painting the whole place, looks awful, wouldn’t want guests around, another time.

The look of dejection was not hard to get over. It was also a nutter look he gave me. Fairly freaked and tired I decided to lay low for the night. I’ve gotten a good few texts and emails since. Can he just have the truck for free? Can he take all the parts he wants off it? Can he call over for a beer? What am I doing tonight? Did I get his voicemail? Sweet Lord, its the cable guy.

Sunday starts more promising. I get woken up by a guy ringing me saying he’s on my street, could I show him the truck. I go outside and he’s actually there, with his wife, its legit. I give a quick look for the cable guy, no sign of him in the bushes. We go back to the truck(I could drive there blindfolded now I’d say), get in, starts up perfectly, the Love Truck is back. We take it for a drive, going well, swing it around in my buddy’s driveway on Mulholland if you like, ha, ape. He says he’ll mull it over, get back to me tomorrow about it. I don’t really mind now, the Bucket is back running, at least I can get it back outside my house. 

When I pull up outside my house, there are two little Mexican chaps waving me down. I pull in, and somehow figure out they’re here to look at the truck. I also figure out quite quickly that they can speak almost no English, one guy can say truck and three, the other can just look at me grumpily, as if he wouldn’t mind shooting me for some reason. Also, I have no Spanish except “Que, si, noo, Rauuuuuul” and some chat up line which I don’t even think makes sense any more. So for the next few minutes the grumpy dude checks the car out while I have a good, free-flowing conversation with the other guy. So do you want to buy the truck? “Si, 3”. Ok, pardon, 3 which? 3 hundred? “Noo, 3”. Ok, 3 what? “Eh” Si? “Eh?” What the funk, and why does the grumpy dude hate me and keep throwing me dagger looks. I try to speak German to him for an unknown, hopeful reason. Nothing. Irish perhaps? A phrase or two of French? My Spanish chat-up line? None of the above work. I tell him I’ll take 300 dollars for it. All I get back is “ehh?”. And then they just walk away, get into their car and drive off. That was the last bit of haggling they did…”Ehh?”. If he had said si I would’ve probably given it to him for 200.

I give up on selling it today, at least people were showing up, still wasting my time, but in the flesh at least. I go to play soccer downtown again then tonight. We’re playing a team of all Mexicans, a few don’t seem to like me either, elbows thrown, 4-1 down, we win 5-4. Horrific game but at least we won. And its clear that the gays might like me, but the Mexicans don’t. 

I get home about 9.30, see I’ve a missed call and a message saying a guy is on his way to look at the truck. And he actually shows up on time. And is sound. And wants to come back in the morning and buy it for $400(wants to bring his wife in the morning so she can drive his car back for him). And he actually seems genuine. But its not sold yet. Close though. And, weirdly enough, I think he was Mexican and not gay. And we got on well. Pretty weird, pre-tty weird.

After writing this horrendously long post Ive realised very few cool things actually happened. A few did. A lot of annoying things happened. And then just weird things too. Unfortunately not one acting related incident. At least now though, I know who I have to sleep with to get a break, just like…did, and like…did for a good while, and who likes a spoon where in the kitchen??!! Ha. Duu.

Here’s a great song for the day…You Only Live Once by The Strokes

Yes, That Is I, Where Do I Sign?

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Thursday started with a tough choice, deciding whether or not I’ll walk to the acting class an hour away that night or walk to 5-a-side in Rob’s house which was a 2 hour walk away(the texts say “Footie in Robs’?” so I’m in the click and call him Rob now too, ha). So, Aaron or Rob, tough call. I decided to go for a walk to clear my head and decide which walk to walk later that night. I walk to the Coffee Bean near me to see what weird head I would encounter up there today.

On a side note, Coffee Bean is the newer, cooler, more hip version of Starbucks it seems. When I first arrived, thinking I was cool and in the know, asked where the nearest Starbucks was, I was scoffed at, and told “I don’t know, Coffee Bean is way” better. I crumbled and now follow the cool, hip, posing flock of sheep there. So far I’ve had a few chats with an actor who I recognized from an episode of Friends, some chick who was in porn apparently, and good old Amadeus.

Amadeus was this guy from New York, mid 40’s maybe, dressed in purple pajamas, long curly hair, rotting teeth, New York accent, kind of reminded me of Gene Wilder now that I think about it and Googled his name, who I met one day and spoke to me for a good hour about the origins of my chain and the origins of hemp. He got very offended when I asked if he was the inspiration for the song below.

Apparently, he knew the chain I was wearing had been in my family for generations(it hasn’t) and was worth a lot of, lot of money(it’s not). He knew all this though. Then he started rambling and rambling on about hemp, and a book about the emperor wearing no clothes, and Amsterdam, and Jack Herer, and his friend putting up money for hemp, and his mystical Irish friends who outdated the Greek mythology, and when he was young, and put Ab Simpson to shame for rambling. All the time speaking in a mix of a Welsh/Jamaican accent, thinking it was an Irish one. He then starting talking about guys from The Who and Led Zeppelin like they were friends. I just presumed it was all complete horse s**t until he starts lashing out $100 tips to the guy cleaning his table. Usually the old nuts ask for money at the end of the ramblings so maybe this guy is different. Or lashing out fake bills. Who knows.

Anyways (his rambling has caught on), none of my coffee buddies are up there so I throw on the I-Pod. After a while I see two guys next to me looking at me a good bit. Turns out they were a gay couple but this is not another gay story!!! So one of them says something but I’m not sure if its to me as I have my I-Pod on and Im busy looking newer, cooler and more hip in Coffee Bean. So, as he is looking straight at me and saying something, I take off my earphones and hear him finish the sentence…”I just love basketball, so does my boyfriend.” What the funk do you say to that!!! I decide on a swift and easy response “Cool, that’s good”. Then he excitedly asks me if I could get him tickets to a game. Kind of a weird request, but no sorry, I can’t. “No problem, how about an autograph?” An autograph? Why? “Emmm, do you not play with the Lakers?” Cue a bit of awkwardness as I mull over spoofing that I am Kobe Bryant or telling him the truth that I don’t. This actually happened before as well in LAX but I didn’t have my spoofing hat on that time either. I have since checked out the Lakers roster and I presume they think that I’m Sun Yue from China. Or else Kobe Bryant. I kind of have the look of both so who knows, ha. You’ll be glad to know I’ve now bought the entire Lakers kit and wear it up there everyday in case it happens again. That is my cool, new, hip Coffee Bean story where I thought I was cool until I realized it was mistaken identity. At least they didn’t think I was Amadeus!

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.