Summer Duu!


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About a month ago I read Zen and the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury. Mighty book, highly recommend it. Two of the best things I got out of it: Continue Reading »

Decisions, Revelations & Confrontations

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Towards the end of last week, I had been running aimlessly around my head, like a headless chicken. It seems I like to have the storm well before the calm, letting stupid thoughts race senselessly through my head, and end up physically not doing too much, but mentally exhausting myself. And probably still not end up coming to a satisfactory conclusion to whatever conundrum was bothering me. It really is an excellent system I have put together for myself.

My conundrum was related to issues such as rent, what will I do with being so broke, visa issues, what will I do next on my quest, am I really doing enough to get where I want to be, where is it I actually do want to be, and so on and so forth. So I did what I usually do – ask everybody and anybody, who will listen long enough, for their advice, putting off making a decision as long as possible. I like to fool myself by thinking that if I ask everyone for their opinion, it is somehow a way of me being productive? With that in mind, I managed to get about an evenly matched amount of exactly opposite and differing advice. Again, an excellent system I have come up with.

Thankfully, I put the decision making process to the back of my mind and ended up having a great weekend. A few revelations were also, eh, revealed to me over the weekend. Such as, when talking to a girl in a bar, and her friend blatantly does not like you and wants you to leave, bringing up herpes, does not really help your cause “Look, I’m sorry, but for you, I’m like a case of herpes. No matter how much you try to get rid of me, I will keep on coming back.” It got a laugh, at least. Off me, in my head. Did not go down to well with the girl’s friend. Led me to believe she may have herpes, ha, only possible conclusion really for her not laughing.

Another revelation confirmed to me was that I start a new DJ job on Thursday, wuu huu, looks like it will be a paying one too, happy days. Not really the gym mix I am used to, however, it should be an easy remedy. My buddy suggested playing the originals of the remixes I play, and, it fits the bill to a tee, 4 hours is long but the healthy bar tab they are throwing in on top of the offer should help me pass away the time.

My mentor/writer friend also revealed a challenge he had for me. Not only should I go to San Francisco for a week or however long and write my sitcom pilot, I should also develop one 3-5 minute scene which would showcase the pilot. With this, I could come back to L.A, and try to use my connections with people I have met, i.e homeless guys and gay gym buddies, to try and get that one scene made. Then, not only would I have a pilot script in my hand for people to read, I would also have a scene for them to watch. Throw that scene up online, hopefully get feedback off people, with even more hope it might be good feedback, and I could have the ball rolling towards the sitcom. Some funking revelation or plan or whatever you want to call it!

Changing the pace, style and tone of the revelations, another was the fact that my buddy in the club at the top of my street, has not cut me loose on his friend’s list. This was found out last night while getting out of the taxi by my house with two buddies. To celebrate this, Jim suggested we should go inside, again, it took a lot to twist our arms. I decided to hold back on the priest line this time around, instead opting for… Oh, in Ireland, the guys dance for the strippers, so if you like, I’ll dance for you. Oddly, I was taken up on the offer a few times. And, even more oddly, I realized it is a great way to make strippers jealous, ha. “No, he is going to dance for me”… “Get away, he is dancing for me now, back off b**ch”. I stumbled onto something strange, where I ended up having two girls trying to drag me off in different directions, to dance for them? If only I could actually dance, ah, deary me (although in some circles, I am a mighty dancer!).

This weekend I have also being having an on-going confrontation with my toilet. A few more randomers than usually have been using it due to a couple of shindigs going on in my house. Today, it started to growl and gargle at me, like a gargoyle (? brutal, I know). Slowly but surely, it started to rise up like a phoenix, clamoring its way to the surface. Me, being at times a bit too smart it turns dumb, decided to just ignore it, the problem would fix itself. Finally, after I flushed the toilet in hope that that might fix it, then deciding maybe one more flush was all it needed, the toilet won our game of chicken and celebrated in unbridled joy, spilling out over the edges. My weekend was capped off wonderfully with one last dance involving a bin bag, my toilet and I, great fun had by all, knee deep and elbow deep in fun really.

Actually, no, that was not how my weekend finished. It actually ended with one last revelation. That being, when the girl who offered me the DJ’ing job in the bar texted me asking if I wanted to come down to the bar for a few free boozes, it may not be the best idea to have replied with the truth. Which was me telling her I couldn’t, I was too busy doing a dance with my toilet. And how I was up to my elbow in, eh, fun. Which obviously got lost in translation, and which I am still in the process of explaining to her exactly what I meant. And how it was not meant in an insulting way. And yes, I still do want to DJ on Thursday. All misunderstood from my honest text? What a load of… fun!

Three songs of the weekend that kind of sum up my weekend, yet, in another light, don’t really sum it up at all, ha… Get On Your Boots (Justice Remix) by U2

Number 2… Too Many Dicks On The Dance Floor by Flight of The Conchords (I couldn’t find the remix I have but anyways)

And finally, the third song of the weekend… After Laughter Comes Tears by Lykke Li ft El Perro Del Mar

Breakdown or Breakthrough?

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I am a tad worried. Today has been my second bad day in a row. Not entirely sure as to why, but usually I might have one, then plough on through it and be fine again. Two in a row leads me to believe that a third one tomorrow, could lead me to having a nervous breakdown, it is unchartered territory that I would be heading into, oh dear Lord.

Being honest, I am not entirely sure why the bugging/fed up/annoyed feeling is coming on all of a sudden. It might have something to do with small things building up, slowly but surely. For example, my iPod froze today out of the blue and has yet to unfreeze. That got my eye twitching and had me counting to ten for a good few bouts of ten seconds. Or the fact that it seems to me that I am the only person in my house who knows where to empty all the bins when they fill up, or that bins even have to be dumped when they are full to the brim. But that is maybe just me being picky. Maybe, for some reason today, the number of blog readers dipped and this annoyed me? Who knows? All trivial. 

However, I don’t think that was it today. Perhaps it has to do with me getting little sleep the past few days. I have it well highlighted and documented within this blog, of how my brain does not seem to work, or want to work for me anyways, during the day. Instead, the past few nights, it has taken up the nightshift, kicking into overdrive the minute I turn off the light and try to go to sleep. A flood of ideas for stand-up, scenes for the sitcom, songs to try out for DJ’ing, and potential websites have being coming to me in the past few nights. Unfortunately, I have taken to writing down every one, just in case one of them could seems good again when I wake up the next morning. In the light of day, meh, perhaps and ehh are my reactions at best, so far. Some sort of compromise will have to be agreed between my brain and I, us working different shifts and seemingly against each other will put an end to the relationship soon.

This morning I got about 10.30, shattered, but determined to be productive throughout the day after the bad day I had (or think I had anyways) yesterday. I made out my daily to-do list, and this is what set me off on the wrong note, I think. This was my actual list for the day…

1. Make out DJ playlist

2. Watch Champions League

3. DJ in the gym (it’s been a while, needed to keep the free buzz tipping over)

4. Do stand-up show

5. Buy birthday card for my Grandad

6. Go to the gym

7. Write the blog

8. Sleep

After re-reading this list, I got highly annoyed. Would you not? To me it was a fine to-do list you might have for a Saturday, or a day-off. However, not really a great one when you’re in L.A on a mission, not a Tuesday-I-must-be-productive to-do list. It is a list of hobbies, the only productive thing really is sending the birthday card home. The rest do not include me working in exchange for money, writing my sitcom pilot, or improving my acting. They are simply a list of things I could do to pass away the day. My view today in my grumpy mood anyways.

Got through the first two things fine, I didn’t really need my brain for them. I then realize I couldn’t squeeze in the actual DJ’ing in the gym part due to a lack of time. Thats ok, it’ll give me more time to get ready for the stand-up. However, my brain takes a nap, and I decide last minute that some toast would be nice before I head off. Already slightly behind schedule somehow, even though I had given myself two extra hours? Then I almost burn my hands on my George Foreman while waiting impatiently for the toast, which I can’t wait for, and end up running down the road with warm bread in my hands. I am sprinting to make the stand-up at this stage, I can’t be late and miss the signing up part.

As I belt across the street to the comedy club, warm bread in hand, shouting and waving the bread at cars to get them to stop and let me cross, it hits me that I have seen people, supposedly crazy, doing this sort of thing around L.A, and particularly in San Francisco. Am I losing my mind? No, no, it’s just an off day, I convince myself. I get to the club, and there is a swarm of people outside, the door is closed, place has yet to open, I made it on time! So I sit down outside the club, and enjoy my warm bread, waiting for the door to open so I can head inside and sign up.

When the door does open, I realize that the person coming out has a sheet of white paper… the list of who has been chosen to go up! The reason everyone was outside was that inside was so packed, it had been open all along, I had just wasted my opportunity by staying outside eating my horrible plain warm bread. Gutted, I head in, decide I’ll try to look for the manager from last week who said he would hook me up with a better time, presuming I would at least have signed up. Found him, gave him my spiel about running late, so sorry, I will be going home to Ireland next week, any hope of getting up one last time? Ok, he said, he’ll put me on first before people notice that I am not on the list, be ready.

I barely had time to get nervous, it was about a minute before I was good to go on. There were a few faces I recognized in the crowd, maybe from their photos being on the wall, but this could be a chance at a breakthrough! Time to focus, whereas last week I was just pumped to go up and in a great mood, today, however, my head was all over the place so needed to get back on track. Name gets called, big enough crowd (as in maybe 50 other comedians? big for my second time) and up I go. Being honest, I get a few cheap, easy laughs to begin – thanks for all coming to see just me, I’m Irish, then more hooting and clapping when I told a white lie and said it was my first time ever doing it (my second time didn’t have the same ring). After that, some jokes were misunderstood and not laughed at, other parts which weren’t meant to be jokes got laughs for some reason, and when I heard one person saying “That’s funny” instead of laughing, I got good mileage out of mocking the comment. 

That was the first two minutes anyways, which flew by, I used up what I had thought would be about 10 minutes of gold, ha, no it was not. I told a joke that turned into more of a rant, and made up a new punch line on the spot when the first one wasn’t recognized, it got a whimper. Finally I finished up with a quick one liner joke, and walked off stage. It was only about half an hour later that I realized the reason nobody had laughed at the joke, or heckled me for it being so bad, was that I had forgotten to give the punch line. I think I said it in my head, then my brain took a quick nap, and it forgot to come out. Mighty work. 

Overall, I could take bits away from the material, and leave the rest of it on stage. When I went up to the manager to thank him for hooking me up, and then to tell him I would see him next week, he cut me off right in the middle of my sentence, right at the “and then” part above. This is when he said “No problem, have a safe trip home, enjoy the next few months back in Ireland.” Balls, my spiel beforehand to ensure I got on had come back to haunt me, so soon! Eh, cheers man, I’ll see you when I’m back, in a few months, just like I said.

At least it’ll give me time to work on material for the next time I come back to this club! After the elation of the stand-up debut, I could tell from my act this week, what parts exactly need a lot more work. Some of the jokes I tried to tell, were ones which needed a lot of background info, situation and location knowledge, or prior reading of the blog to get the laughs which I desire. I shall have to fine tune them, a lot. Still though, the guy I thought was the funniest of the show came up to me afterwards for a high five, wuu.

Numbers 5 and 6 on the list were going to be put off until tomorrow but I managed to get them in tonight. Only number 8 to do now, and I will have had a productive day, list wise at least. Although it is a big holiday here tonight, and the place is rocking! Cinco de Mayo, never really heard of it (my last stand-up joke was related to the name, I’ll save you heckling material, horrendous). I decided I will stay in though, have a quiet one with my brain. We have a few bridges to build. If we don’t, expect a few more bread and traffic stories.

Earlier today I had a break through, mentally at least, I think I know now what I must do next. I’ll see if I still think it tomorrow. Song of the day, not the easy option of a Doors song but… Until We Bleed by Kleerup with Lykke Li

I’ll Have A Diet Coke, A Muppet And… An Orgy?


Friday and Saturday night were full of hits and misses. Friday started off with me being in a “funk the recession, I’m on a session” mood. I had devised a plan for myself… blog -> book -> sitcom -> movie, ha, every man needs a plan! Plus, I was back in my embracing L.A, going with the flow, don’t turn down random invites anymore, frame of mind. Not as clever as I thought it might be.

First club I went to, once again, was full of girls with a thirst for Coca-Cola, Pepsi must be freaked. My new response is to tell them no, but I have some Diet if they want it? This is met by puzzlement and being asked if it is good? Yes, you ape, its lovely. It’s funny as well to watch girls flock over to your table if there are bottles of vodka or the likes on it, not that that they were mine or anything, obviously. The minute the last drop of the last bottle is finished, the girls disperse like gay magicians, poof, disappear. I waited for the girl I was talking to to come back, to give me her number, but she obviously got lost, or found a can of Coke in the toilet to keep her occupied. 

The next bar on the list was the first bar in Hollywood I have seen hit by the recession, it was not on a session, it was funking dead. Cool bar too, but just dead. And there was an absolute ape on the door, an Irish ape as it happens. As I’m stopped at the door, I notice the bouncer, about my age, has a hybrid American/Irish accent, like the gimp I met on the plane. I don’t mean either that he was American with Irish parents. He was fully Irish, putting on an American accent. When he hears my accent, for some reason, he thinks I’m taking the p**s out of him. “Where are you from?” Ireland, you? “Who sent you up to me? You’re not Irish, where are you from?” Cork, you? “Belfast, but you’re not Irish, who sent you up to me to talk like that?” I am Irish, what are you on about? “Say something Irish so…” You’re a muppet, can I go in now? This actually gets me in, but not before he has given me a high five, and told the other bouncers of how we belong to the same clan, he’s Gaelic too, and out comes the Belfast accent. Sure we are, because Irish people often call each other Gaelic, you muppet.

The next day, I decided to give up booze. At least until I start to be productive. So, until I got a definite yes for a job, no more boozing, these are recession times we live in after all. At least when people in L.A hear you’re off the booze, they do not look at you like a freak they don’t want to get stuck talking to for the night, as they might, say, in Ireland on a night out. In L.A, they save those looks for when you tell them you actually don’t drink Coke, so to speak.

So, anyways, I decide to head out on Saturday for a while sober Joe, to a going away party in a bar close to my house. About half one, I get a text asking if I want to go to a house party, which is on in an apartment close by. The text is from a random girl I met before, a European like myself. She lures me to the party by telling me there are lots of “hot European girls here who would love to say hi” How could I resist?!

I get to the apartment, she opens the door looking all bohemian like, tells me to come in, have a seat. The minute I cross the threshold, I get a weird vibe. No music at the party, but that is the least of my worries. There is also a fire on, for some odd reason, so the place was roasting. Again, not a major worry I would find out. The apartment is a sitting room and kitchen in one, plus bathroom and bedroom. I have been fooled with false promises. There is only one other girl here, and four guys. The guys are sitting on the L-shaped couch, the girl is sitting on the floor. The hostess tells me take a seat, there is only room on the floor, so I sit next to the girl, who is French it seems, and quite hot. Just as I sit down, on the floor, and notice I am sitting right with my back to the fire, the job, a guy comes out of the bathroom, the girl next to me stands up, goes over to the guy, they hold hands, and both leave, all in one foul swoop. Ciao, ciao, nice to meet you, eh, where are the other hot European girls?

The hostess comes in, sits between the guys on the couch, and starts smiling at me. I notice the dudes are kind of doing the same. I am on the ground, giving them all a dopey, uncomfortable, what-the-funk-is-this, smile back, feeling like I am being interviewed with the set-up going on, and feeling the heat rip into me from the fire. Then the random questions are thrown at me by the dudes, who I now see are probably, max, bicentennial, max. “Want a beer?” No, thanks. “Are you on anything?” No. “Want to be on something?” No. “Are you single?” No, I’m married to God. “You’re funny. You should relax, this is a good place to be, we’re going to have fun”. Oook, this is not the party I was promised, where are those hot European girls again?

Trying to change the subject, and getting sick of the stares from some German dude, Klaus, I ask the girl where the funk are all the hot European girls she was on about to me. “Hey, chill out Mark, you need to relax on that, it’s not always all about the women you know” What the funk are you on about. What the funk is this. “Yeah, you need to relax, want to be on something?” Klaus, funk off. It is now when I realize I am no longer sweating because of the fire. I think this is lined up to be an orgy. With one girl, four dudes, and, if their plan goes well, me. 

This is the first time I have been in this situation, so I did not really register what exactly was going on at first, it was not something I expected, as a normal person wouldn’t I presume. So, I asked again, are there any women coming, and got the same reply. Why is there no music either? Oh, there’s music in the bedroom, want to come in and help me pick a song? I wasn’t asking you, Klaus, funk off. In reality, I didn’t tell him to funk off at all, I was planning my escape route and trying to play it cool. So, after having sat down only a few long, long minutes earlier, I jumped back up, time for me to leave. “Oh you can’t leave, you just got here, we’re going to have a fun night, you’re not leaving” Of course I’m not, I’m just going outside to make a quick call, I’ll be right back, chill out Klaus. 

For some reason I didn’t want to risk the elevator, so I hurtled down the three flights of stairs and briskly walked (half ran) home. To top it all off, I actually got a text on the way home from the girl asking why I just disappeared like that, some of the guys thought it was very rude, I should be more open, maybe next time? Hopefully, hopefully, she understood my text calling her a muppet. I’ll have to start screening the random invites from now on!

Song of the weekend is Gifted (featuring Kanye West, Santogold and Lykke Li) by N.A.S.A

Who Does A Fool, Fool? Himself, Obviously


I have come a long way my friends, a long, long way. First time I ever flew into LAX, I got a dodgy bus to my destination. Second time, I got taken on a tour of the city in a taxi. The last time I flew in, I rented a car and got nicely lost. However, this time around, I had a buddy pick me up. Yes, you read that correctly, a buddy. I have friends this time around in L.A. And not the kind of friends here that I’ve met once ever in my life (if at all!) and then tell me – Don’t leave L.A! I’ll miss you too much!!! We must hang out when you’re back!!! Sure we will, sure.

On the way back to my house with my buddy, also now my roommate, but who’s splitting hairs, we decide to come up with ways of getting our roommates for April Fools’. Stuck in traffic, surprising for L.A, we have plenty of time. However, I do not have plenty of ideas. No good ones really. And all of mine seem to revolve around me, I am that involved with myself. How about we pretend I got deported? How about we pretend I was mugged? How about, after living in West Hollywood for so long, I’ll tell them I am actually thinking of going gay? I get the same response over and over… “Eh, no, they’ll just say oh right, and not care too much.” Oh right, I tell him, keep thinking.

In the end we decide he will take the keys of our roommate’s car, move her car, pretend like we know nothing, it must be stolen or towed. What a great, original, inspiring idea! We had nothing else. However, when we get home, there is no sign of her or her car. We sit and wait, still nothing. My other roommate has to go to an appointment, can’t wait around much longer. In the end, he gets an elastic band, ties it around the hose part they have in sinks here, plan J is in motion. Basically, whenever you turn on the tap like normal, the hose part was set to spray you all over, and you would be fooled, a great plan!!! I watched him do all of this, this should be noted.

My roommate has to leave, I’m at home on my own, decide to chill and watch t.v for a while, I’ll make a cup of tea first. So, I go back into the kitchen, look for a cup, find the tea bags, fill up the kettle, and soak myself. Ha ha, I thought to myself, I’m quite the ape for forgetting, lucky no one was here, I’ll say nothing, I’m no fool. Strike one.

After chilling for a while, I decide to clean up the house a bit. I dump the rubbish, clean the tables, round up dirty plates, cups, cutlery and all that. I carefully let enough water out of the tap so the spray doesn’t reach me, and do the washing up. When I finish, I notice I forgot to rinse one plate off. I’ll give it a quick, short rinse and I’ll be done. One quick burst of water later, and I am soaked again. Once again, thankfully, no one was there to witness my stupidity. I tell myself, thats it, I won’t be caught again. Surely.

Three soaks and two changes of clothes later, and I feel like a complete and utter fool. I have to mop the floor after the fifth time, the 5th time, of soaking myself. Once while washing a potato, once while cleaning my hands before cutting chicken, and the final time refilling the kettle to make a coffee, ha. I don’t really count the little squirts I got while filling up a bottle of water, twice, they only got me a bit wet so they don’t count. At this stage, I was determined to stay away from the sink, leave the elastic band on, and catch one of my roommates, any of my roommates, anyone, it had to be done.

Eventually a roommate comes home, and she heads into the kitchen with food. I shout in, asking her to get me a glass of water please, make sure its really cold, run the tap, I was so clever, the set-up was in place. She shouts back straight away “Why is there an elastic band around the spray part?” Balls. Around this time my other roommate comes in, gives me a hug to welcome me back, and asks why my t-shirt and jeans are so wet. Balls. I spill the beans, except in my version I pretend that I didn’t know about the elastic band all along. They give me a knowing nod, sure you didn’t, you idiot, and ruffle my hair. I fooled them well!!!

Later that night, my third roommate, my partner in crime earlier in the day, rings asking where his car is, where was it moved to, ha ha, very funny, good April Fools. I got a text actually saying “Dude, where’s my car?”. The girls straight away think its a wind-up, and ignore the cries of wolf, he just wants us to drive out to him for no reason. I have my doubts, but the manner of the text makes me think perhaps they are right. He is told by one the girls, we’re on the way, sit tight, we’ll be straight there, and we all go back to watching American Idol. About an hour later, and many ignored calls and texts, I call him back. Apparently he was not lying, the car is gone. The girl, whose car he was going to move earlier that day, collects him and brings him home. His car was parked in an unused driveway but still got towed. Ha, April Fools!!!

I hope this will teach fellow fools out there, do not leave your room next April Fools’ day, it’s just too dangerous out there for us!

Song of the day is this little mash-up, first person to name all the songs used gets one shiny gold Mexican dollar coin I have left from my trip… In Step by Girl Talk.

And here’s another one I stumbled upon earlier, bohemian on!!! Dance, Dance, Dance  by Lykke Li and Bon Iver.

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.