Tag Archives: San Francisco

A Fool On Land, In The Air, Anytime, Anywhere.

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Not much really happened today. Well as in there were no movie offers put in front of me, no celebrities hounding me, no producer offering me to make my sitcom, none of that usual stuff. I flew back to L.A, went food shopping, unpacked my bags, had a shower and that was about it. However, in between all that daily stuff, a good few funny incidents occurred. Most of the incidents were down to me being a fool, although I obviously did that on purpose, the day that was in it and all. As I’ve claimed many times before, I’m usually far smarter than it would appear, I swear.

I must say I was sad to leave San Fran in the end. Like any good ex who wanted you back would do, she slowly reminded me of the good times, wore me down and I ended up liking her a bit again in the end. I must thank my cousin and soon to be cousin-in-law for being immense hosts. However, seeing as I was going back to the passionate lover which is L.A, my sadness soon left once I was up in the air and on my way. If only I had fallen asleep for the flight. If only.

For some reason, I was fairly restless on this flight. I was very bored, in fact, and was looking for a distraction. My iPod wasn’t doing it for me, neither was my book. However, the lady in the seat one up and one across from me was, ha, so to speak. From the acute angle I had – mostly back of her head and slightly the side of her face, and body – she looked quite hot, even wearing a dodgy baseball hat. It was then when I noticed something which would annoy me enough to start the ball rolling. The tag of her hat was hanging down out of the hat, by mistake I presume. Not only this, but the tag in her t-shirt was sticking up, poking out of the top and almost touching the tag from the hat. Her hair was parted to each side as well, so it all looked a bit odd and stupid, to me at least. I had too much time and was too restless to bother to think all of this. 

So, I let it go a few minutes. It soon got to me though, it was annoying me too much for some stupid, bizarre reason. Plus it would be a good ice-breaker to kill my boredom, me being so nice and all to tell her. I tap her on the shoulder, she pulls her earphones out of her ears, turns around with a ‘what does this idiot want’ look on her face, and I inform her “Sorry, your tags are out, they’re dangling out, ha, just thought I’d tell you.” I lean back into my chair, wait for her to check the tags, fix them, thank me ever so much, and the conversation was flowing. Instead, I get a look of excuse me?! and her asking me “Excuse me?!” She must not have heard me, or understood my accent, so I just say it louder, not clearer, just louder “Your tags…” pointing to my neck in the front first for some reason, then pointing to the back of my neck, then just pointing at her “… they’re out, looks funny enough, I thought you might want to fix them”. Again, no gratitude, but more dirty looks and questioning comments. I decide to let that horrendous attempt at starting conversation go, her loss and all that, she must be one of those who think I speak Russia when I speak normally.

I throw back on my iPod, put on my sunglasses and try to fall asleep. Half a song in, I get poked in the shoulder. Thinking someone has brushed off me down the aisle, I take no notice. When I get kind of pushed in the shoulder, it dawns someone wants my attention. I take off my sunglasses, and see a guy who looks like a lumber jack standing over me. “What the f**k did you say to my wife a minute ago? What the f**k are you talking to her about her body for? Stand up. Why are you looking at her tattoo?” Oh Jesus. Wife? Is this the husband from Mexico?!!! Oh Jesus.

It’s not, instead he seems to be the husband of the women with the tags dangling out, up and down. I never saw him a minute ago. “Stand up, answer me”. Oh Jesus. Do I stand up so he can knock me back down or what is the protocol here? I splutter out a “Eh, ah, ehhh, ahhh, what, what, what are you on about?” He points to his wife, restates his case, asks me stand up again. I start to stand up, he steps back to give me room, he is slightly smaller than me but he is built like a block of granite. A big block that is. I am trying to tell him “Tags, tags, TAGS!!!” as I stand, pointing to her neck, my neck, his elephant neck “TAAAAGSSS”, not tassive mits, tattoos or whatever else I’m trying to think he might have thought I said.

My final “tag” effort was unknowingly said in my best American accent, and it seems to sink in with him that, yes indeed, I have been speaking English all this time. His anger dies down a little as he recognizes an accent. “Where are you from?” Ireland. “Really, what part?” Cork. “Do you know Tipperary?” I do, Cork is near there (I don’t bother telling him one side of my family being from Tipperary, might you know them sort of thing, it didn’t seem to be the best time really). “My ex wife is from Tipperary, I couldn’t understand her either”. 

Thank funk for that, this little nugget of unexpected information has cleared the air. I re-tell him about the tags, big misunderstanding, apologies, I’ll leave them dangling next time, oh I see your wife actually has a tattoo on her… that’s a lovely dolphin she has swimming through the two mountains, I couldn’t see that from my angle. Apologies, sorry, apologies, did you see Ireland got a draw against the Italians? No? Soccer? No? Doesn’t matter, up Tipp!!! He sees the funny side of it in the end, she still doesn’t but I was only trying to be nice all along. Nothing to do with her looking hot from the side, obviously.

I’ll have to finish off this post in the morning. I’m too wrecked now and half falling asleep. I’m not used to the early 10 o’clock starts. Song of the day is a song for what almost happened… Lights Out by Santigold.

4.4 On The Richter! Shook Me Insides Out!!!

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I had another post from my final day in Meeheeko cleverly lined up to post itself, but as you will see if it ever does appear, I do not do clever so well. Until then, I will tell you about my momentous day today!

My trip to Mexico was a roaring success. As in so far as I’m back in America again, wuu huu. I had to fly back to San Fran, for appearance issues, and I’m heading back to L-Heeeey tomorrow night. I am funking pumped to say the least. My plan is to finish off (start) the writing assignments while I’m in San Fran now and be good to plough on with being more productive this time around in L.A.

So this morning, I set my alarm to get up early, I was focused, pumped, good day of work ahead of me, c’mon the writing flow!!! Alarm was set and good to go, 11.30, nice and early. About 11 o’clock, I am half woken up by the neighbours, in the apartment below, getting it on. Sweet lord they were going at it, I couldn’t believe it. Then again the wind does rattle the windows when it picks up. So seeing as the windows were rattling, walls were shaking and floor was hopping, I thought it must be a normal occurrence whenever they went at it like rabbits. One was dominating the other this morning though!!! I gave the floor two bangs with my runner – I’m sleeping, unless I can join in, it’s a bit early, !!! – and fell back to sleep.

When I get up to have breakfast, my cousin’s fiance mentions that I managed to sleep through it all. “I know!!” I tell her, “They were going at it a lot this morning, must’ve been make-up sex!!” I get a puzzled look in return “I meant you slept through the earthquake, what are you on about?” Oh, the earthquake, thats what I was on about too, obviously. How was I to know?! It was my earthquake, I’m so proud of it. 

For some reason, the earthquake ruined my productive buzz I had saved up. I felt like I had accomplished something by having my first earthquake experience, so my edge was taken off, ha. Looks like it’ll have to be tomorrow before I finish (start) those writing assignments.

Has this ever happened to you? On your way to the gym, you stop off in the little Polish shop around the corner, where everything is dirt cheap, and buy a can of Red Bull. There is one left, not in the fridge, but on the shelf next to the one dusty can of tuna and one tin of Polish soup. It’s only a dollar, who cares if it’s nice and warm, dollar on!!! So as you’re drinking it, en route to the gym, you notice how much it doesn’t taste like Red Bull usually does. This tastes more like the watery beer you had in Mexico. Maybe though, thats what Red Bull tastes like when its not cold.

So you get to the gym and decide to start off with squats, you’re feeling pumped, throw on extra weights! However, on your way down on your first squat, you realise, oh jesus, my stomach, my god, that dodgy Red Bull! Barely able to put the weights back up, you sprint for the toilet, thank funk you get there just in time. You have your own little earthquake, plates move, that dodgy Red Bull is flushed out, leaving you feel pretty shook. You then inspect the can from the bin, sell by date is 12-02-2006, what year is this again?

Yeah, thats never happened to me either.

I must depart now though. I must get down to that Polish shop quick. I saw earlier that they’re having a big sale on lots of items – dirt cheap milk, eggs, chicken and cottage cheese!!! I hope I’m not too late!!!

First, before I go, here’s the apt earthquake/pump me up song that I was not listening to as I did not frantically run looking for the bathroom… You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC

Ha, here’s another song my buddy gave me to play for the earthquake… I Feel The Earth by Carole King

Milky Meh Hee Ko!!!

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Today has just been a really super, super, SUPER day, really super. I watched Milk, in San Francisco, how inspiring. I think I might put on my rainbow t-shirt and run down Castro giving high fives. It is a savage movie though, the acting is unreal. Especially after living in West Hollywood, seeing the gay mannerisms that Sean Penn and Emile Hirsh have are brilliant, funking savage. Sean Penn should’ve won an Oscar for that performance, maybe next year.

Another reason today is so so SO super, is that I am off to Meh hee ko, finally. I am heading there with Andy and Colin Todd in case anyone was wondering. Also known as on my todd. Also quite commonly known as on my own. In fact, I am probably there now as we speak. I found a clever little addition to the blog where I can post them at a set time in the future, so I’ve set the alarm ahead for this one. Hopefully, in the next few days I won’t be online and able to ballyblog on. If I am, take it as a bad sign. I will be leaving spring break down if I find time to be on Spacebook et al.

Although technically I am going there to get some writing done. And I will technically be there from L.A. So, technically I could use the spoof line that I’m a writer down from L.A, taking a break from acting, and working on a project, if any girls happen to ask. Which would also technically mean I will be as bad as that gimp I met on the flight up to San Fran from L.A. It’s all technicalities really. I think I’ll just stick with the truth… I’m a priest from Ireland, trainee priest anyways, this is my last holiday before I get ordained. Honesty is the best policy! Forgive me Father!

Here are two songs of the day before I depart. The first is dedicated to Harvey Milk, super song, don’t give up, fight on Harv… Ali In The Jungle by The Hours

The second one I dedicate to myself before I hit the pool in my thong and covered in baby oil down in Mexico… Golden Cage (Fred Falke Remix) by The Whitest Boy Alive

Did I Do You Yet?

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Out of all the gyms, in all of gay San Francisco, I pick a gym owned by a straight guy, so I now have to pay, like a chump, it’s awful carry on. This gym, however, posed a very important question for me to mull over today – What is gayer: the couple (guy and girl) who both times I have been there have worn identical matching outfits (different matching outfits too, first day mostly made up of blue, I thought it was a strange coincidence, today mostly black and white, confirmed my ape suspicions), who wont stop walking around the gym with their arms around each other’s lower back so they’re waddling in sync, OR; the gay couples in the gym in West Hollywood. Both are pretty, pretty gay. OR, me, seeing as I probably trump them both for noticing and taking the time to write about it. Plus the fact I’ve used OR twice so far and keep saying it out loud as I do. I win.

Moving on, while I am on my week or so away from L.A, I have been given writing assignments to do, to assess and reflect on the time I have been there so far. Different writing and organisation exercises to see if I am serious about writing, can I work in a time frame, how has the acting side of things gone for me, or I am just in L.A to party. I have worked hard all day, procrastinating, thinking about which one I should do first. As of yet, I am still undecided, so I’ll hold off until tomorrow to start. I think I will plough ahead with the one I must write about what I have done so far while in L.A to achieve my goals, and what then is it that I need to do when I go back.

First thing I did to perfection in L.A, was to finely hone the art of procrastination whilst on Craigslist, thinking I was being productive. Craigslist is one of the most helpful, frustrating, useful, annoying, time saving and time consuming websites there is out there. It is a complete paradox. I have had many hits, and double the misses from the website. The good: I found a place to live with cool roommates; the website indirectly got me playing soccer in Robbie Williams’ house. The bad: got me excited about a job that never seemed to really exist (hired at about 3 in the afternoon, company disappeared off the radar about 11 that night); had me walk around the city of L.A to open interview jobs where hundreds of others would also show up before me (might have been handy if I brought a C.V along with me to those interviews, although making out a C.V for myself might be a good starting point too); the whole Bucket fiasco (go read the plentiful posts on that if you need a reminder, I miss her still). I’m sure there have been many more misses, they are just the main ones off the top of my head. I won’t even mention what happens if you try to get free Sigur Ros tickets from someone off the website, lets just say nothing is free in this day and age!

Anyways, for the first few weeks in L.A, I was convincing myself that looking for a job and car on Craigslist, or posting ads offering soccer coaching, website design, accent coaching, translation, pornogr…photography lessons etc, was a way of me being productive. Nay, nay, nay. Complete waste of time, although at least it got me out of the house!

On the acting side, I have probably not done enough, but I have made some sort of progress. I am still agent-less, and my phone has yet to start hopping with calls about auditions. No SAG card or head shots either come to think of it. However, at least now, when an acting teacher asks me “Have you studied Method, or Meisner, or theatre, or E-Business, or whatever before?”, I no longer reply sheepishly “Eh, yeah?”, but instead confidently reply, with a wink, “All of the above really”. Progress has been made! 

My ramblings are being put on paper, so to speak, so at least the writing is flowing. I have Craigslist to thank for a good bit of that, so that is another hit really. And now that I have been given assignments, and even asked to do an article, big time Charlie, hopefully more structure will come to it. Sitcom on!!!

All my galavanting on nights out has led me to make a few contacts, which is a plus. They might not remember me too well, or my many names, but I’m sure they will be delighted to learn that I have put them on my speed dial. Lucky them. Plus I now know who to call if ever I want to get scammed into buying a broken down truck, always handy. It’s all about who you know really, ha.

So, from the gibberish above, I see that I have done a few things ok, to an extent, and the rest, eh…yeah. I haven’t even made out this list or post well, the random ramblings are kicking in. Ok, focus, what’s the first thing on my to do list when I get back to L.A… what to do… to do… to duu… I thought of something! Here’s hoping my hot neighbour wants to do it too!

Here’s a great song to pound the streets of L.A to while on the job hunt, although it has yet to bring me luck in finding a job…Punkrocker by the Teddybears ft Iggy Pop.

Brad, I Feel Your Pain…

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I now know how Brad felt when he left the set of Mr & Mrs Smith and had to leave Angelina to go back to Jennifer. I am in almost the exact, exact same situation. Almost. L.A is my mistress, Angelina, San Fran is my Jennifer. I used to love San Fran, my favourite city in America by far. There are only two people I know that liked San Fran more than I did, a scone and a rink. Now, all I think about is L.A. I wonder what I’m missing out on. Why did I not stay put. Will it be the same when I go back. A lot can change in a week, what have I done?!!!!

I’m walking down the street in San Fran, waiting for someone to pretend to be my friend and con me out of something, or potentially give me a big break. However, unlike L.A, no one glances twice, they don’t look to see if you might be famous, they don’t care. There are no mishaps waiting around the corner, or famous people to bump into. Just boring, regular, sound people, tut tut, for God’s sake, what a crap city. The only people who are off kilter are the millions of homeless people but what good will they do me (the movie I was thinking of has been done, apparently). Where have all the fake smiles and fakes boobs gone to?!!!

The weather in L.A is perfect. Hot during the day so you know you’ll be wearing shorts. At night its cool enough for you to wear a new jacket that you want to show off, as if though you personally hand stitched it and deserve credit for it, or not wear one at all.The weather in San Fran is almost to a tee like the Irish weather. Cold and raining at night, humid and windy during the day. The wind is blowing in all directions here at the moment as well, ruining my well combed hair, what a crap city!

People get my name right in San Fran too, I’m mumbling more than ever now just to bring back the memories of Omar and Merrick. Why doesn’t anyone Google my name here as well by the way?!!! Pardon me, who am I? Thats more like it, oh, you asked how am I? Tut tut, not so good! Tissue anyone? I have a load to spare!

Where have all the perks of a gay neighborhood gone as well? I’m in the gayest city in the world now but there are no free gym perks here. I’m paying like everyone else. There is no Common in the gym for me to chin wag with, only commoners like myself, pink heads and sweaty machines, tut tut, what a crap city!

I presume L.A is struggling to cope just as much as I am since I had to leave, obviously she is. I wonder if she is moping around watching Scrubs and drinking tea all day, not thats what I’m doing or anything. Speaking of which, I no longer even have a Coffee Bean to mosey on up to if my day was going slow, I don’t want a cheap tart like Peet’s Coffee replacing her! I might text L.A, see what she’s up to tonight, see if she’s up for a quick chat on Skype later on.

Here’s the song I have lined up to play once I get to fly back down to L.A, sorry San Fran, its just no longer the same this time around, we’ve grown apart, I’ve found someone else. Apparently Brad played this for Jennifer as well as he drove off…I’m Leaving You Because I Don’t Love You by Jens Lekman.

…With Colin Farrell Playing The Lead!

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For technical reasons, which I shall not get into, I have to leave L.A for a week or so and head to Mexico. Conveniently enough, spring break is on at the same time, actually a total coincidence in timing for me, but, wuu duu. I also have to fly there from San Francisco, I shall not bore you with the details as to why. I was wondering if I would continue on with this wonderful blog while I am gone, but as long as stupid stuff keep happening to me, I say blog on!

Firstly, I would not recommend wearing baggy shorts, which require a belt to keep them from falling off, while going through security check at the airport. The whole point of the trip was to keep it innocuous, up, down to San Fran, in & out of Meeheeko, back to L.A, happy days. Low profile, say nothing. Good plan.

It’s my turn to go through the metal detector when the first beep pops off and ruins my great plan. “Please check your pockets sir and try again.” I pad the outside of each of the 6 pockets in my shorts, nothing in them, go through again…beep, beep. “Please check your pockets sir and try again.” I actually check my pockets this time, metal pen in one, notepad with metal coil in the other, two batteries in one of the back pockets, I should’ve checked first time really. So, through the detector again…beep, beep. The security guy repeats himself again, adds in to take off my belt if I’m wearing one. Ah, the belt. Off with the belt, shorts almost fall down. So, I try again, getting annoyed with the annoying security guy doing his job (instead of with myself for being dumb)…beep beep beep. “Security check on row 5”. 

So another guy comes over with his big beeping wand, takes me to the side for a quick pat down. He asks me to hold my arms out, shorts close to falling off as I do, bend the knees quickly to keep them up. He’s wanding me up and down, asks me to stand up straight, I tell him I cant really, what happened to this being innocuous and low-key?!!! So after seeing his glare and dirty look, I stand up straight, arms held out to the side, shorts slide down, leaving me standing there in my nice orange pair of American Eagle boxers. Like a fool. Turns out the chewing gum pack in my back pocket was the problem. It was an empty pack too, well worth all that.

So on the flight up to San Fran, I met my first random Irish guy since I have been in L.A, so close to getting away with it. He’s sitting next to me on the aisle. While he makes small talk about seeing the incident, I notice that he has an Irish accent masked underneath an annoying American one. When he realizes I too am Irish, out comes the Irish accent in full bloom, one of those gimps. “Alright man, you’re Irish, I didn’t think you were…” and so on, as his American accent fades into an over the top Irish accent.

When he asks what do I do, I tell him I’m here trying to act and write. Trying being the key word. He tells me he lives in L.A, traveling to San Fran to meet his wife’s parents, his wife is sitting next to him, American, hi, how’s it going, all that. So where in Ireland are you from by the way, I ask him. “Dublin man, yeah, I’m an actor”. The job, I think, he might be able to give me some tips… so, are you getting much work? “Yeah, my agent has lined up a good few auditions for me next week, can’t wait, it’s going really well.” Which agency are you with, if you don’t mind me asking, I need an agent myself! “Well, it’s a friend of mine, he’s not an agent as in with an agency, he’s my agent, he’s my buddy.” Oh right, what stuff have you been in so far? “Nothing yet man, good few stuff lined up though” Are you going to acting classes? “No man, you don’t need any of that really though, my buddy was telling me, he knows people.” Your buddy sounds like an ape. And you sound like a gimp. A complete spoof.

I start to change the subject, however, every time I do, and the more he speaks, the bigger kind of spoofing ape he becomes… What part of L.A do you live in? “Well it’s more Santa Barbara than really in L.A man” SB? That’s about 2 hours north of L.A, you spoofing gimp! I ask if he’s in L.A much at all so or what? “Well I will be now, if my buddy can set up the auditions. I’ve gone out there a few times with herself.”

I go off the subjects of acting and L.A, and ask him about his visa situation, how did he sort it out? “I got married, she hooked me up”  – nods to his wife. I know people who do that, good work, at least you’re good to stay here now. But this is when he truely blossoms as a gimp. His wife, technically she is anyways, goes to the bathroom. When she leaves, he swoops in with the comment of how she is usually hotter looking, you should’ve seen her when he first met her, she’s put on a bit of weight since, but she looks so hot when she slims down. What the funk?!!! Why would you say that to me??? Well done, I believe you, good work. When she loses the (good) few pounds, and is looking great, ask her to call me. Until then, she’s all yours.

So I change the subject completely, ask a straight forward question about what part of Dublin he’s from, buddies living up there, and so on… he tells me Kildare!!! What a funking gimp, Kil-funking-dare?!!! Why bother to tell me Dublin so at all first time around??? My laughing at him at this stage throws him off a bit, he tries to change the subject this time by telling me he’s writing a screenplay, it’s going to be great. He then describes his movie which is the exact same as You, Me & Dupree, except in his version, he’d cast Colin Farrell as Dupree. I ask him has he seen You, Me & Dupree, no? Go rent it. He tells me he has more, describes another movie he’s going to write, which is the exact same as School of Rock, except in his version, he’d cast… guess who? I mention School of Rock to him, his bubble bursts, tells me he has more, pity we’re close to landing, we should talk more. I tell him I’ve no American phone yet, so I give him my Irish 088 number, an oldie but a goodie, call me, man. I was looking forward to hearing more about his new screenplay as well. The one about some big ship that crashes into an iceberg, the premise sounded good, and original. Hopefully he’ll call.

So anyways, I’m in San Fran now. I had forgotten how many homeless people there are in San Fran, while I was in my gay neighborhood bubble in West Hollywood. They are everywhere! Although, can’t knock them, they just looking for happiness like the rest of us. In the pursuit of it, you could say. Maybe there’s a good idea for a movie. I can think of a good story line already. Now, if only I could find a black Colin Farrell to play the lead role!

Song of the day is this savage chilling song, Blood Bank by Bon Iver