on the subject of my burgeoning la social life, i had a little get together with a new friend earlier this week. mallory, a second-year student at ucla, was sitting at urth caffe in west hollywood a few weeks ago, sipping a cappucino and reading at the table next to me. the reason i noticed her, of course, was the subtle designerly details of her handbag. the first time i noticed such a design was during my european pursuits with mark, while riding the train through the mountains of switzerland. these freitag bags, made from used european truck tarpaulins, are individual pieces of art, the process itself defining the singularity of each unique bag.
i was surprised when, the next morning at the back door bakery in silverlake, one of the east-side neighborhood's favorite breakfast joints (despite the city health department's assigned "b" rating), i noticed the same bag, the same book, and the same girl, alone at her table enjoying the same late summer morning as i was. such chance meeting--or more appropriately, sighting--on two subsequent days, in two distintly different neighborhoods of the sprawling los angeles metropolis, begged me to rise from my table and introduce myself to this person with whom, apparently, my path was intentionally to cross.
mallory is a sweet girl, wth a brilliant smile and beautiful brown hair, tightly curled as if a sign of the cheerfulness that is wildly bound up inside her. after breaching the subject of her much-admired bag (which she had actually purchased from the moca store despite her own recent vacation in european cities), we talked about la eateries, her boyfriend, and the unlikeliness that we should cross paths in such a way. as if to make the world even smaller, mallory told me she grew up in pensacola, a city which is very familiar yet still holds little fondness for me. as any pensacola native is versed in the weird ways of the school i attended, mallory could identify with that unique slice of my life in which i was smothered by weeks of wearing khaki, nights of 11 pm lights out, and moments of watching my back in fear of the authorities. in fact, mallory had her own stories of pensacola christian academy, and how both her father and uncle had been kicked out in high school for matters that the rest of the world would deem insignificant, if even noticeable.
with those commonalities between us, mallory and i met for brunch in venice beach sunday at the french market cafe. we were to spend the day together perusing the booths and bodies at the annual abbot kinney street festival. as we bonded over our experiences living in la, meeting new people and winding through relationships, we encountered a similarity that shocked and excited both of us. while relaying a story about one of her best friends, mallory expained to me the way she and this friend had met years before. "back in high school, i lived in washington, d.c. i was there as part of this thing called the page program..."
that sentence opened the floodgates for us. although years before mallory, i too had been part of the page program, another brief span in my life that, although it has provided an extremely unique context for living the rest of my life, is difficult, if not impossible, to share with friends who have never experienced the minute details of living together with 70 other teenagers for a school year while working in the u.s. captiol, a building in which some of the world's most influential decisions are debated and ascertained. many people experience a period that uniquely defines part of their perception of life, but few are able to encounter others who so intimately understand what that experience means. in a flurry of excitement, mallory and i threw out names of teachers, bosses, and congressmen, each telling dramatic stories of scandal that has since been nearly forgotten. an unbelievable bond and unexpected relationship quickly matured, and we knew that such a rare relationhip would not easily be dissolved.
today i am back on track with the details of my life, crossing city streets in tedious completion of errands, and marking my calendar with potential work dates and social gatherings. and i delightfully think about that warm morning several weeks ago when i looked up from my paper and saw the lovely young girl i would so quickly get to know. all i had to do was smile i say hello.
Sep 27, 2006
Sep 26, 2006
jessie and me
jessie came to visit los angeles. she made me go to the convention center with her to sell towels. actually, we gave away wash cloths hoping the mobs of middle-age women would in turn run home, go online, and purchase big, lush, beautiful towels from jessie's company. that would make jessie rich. at least, her boss would be rich and he would give her a big pat on the back for making him a lot of money.
jessie told me to stand there and look pretty. i hear that a lot.
Sep 23, 2006
i say hello
sunset boulevard, crossing into the heart of silver lake, was buzzing with energy this morning. i walked down the street to inhale a stack of my favorite neighborhood bluebarry pancakes at madame matisse, passing the ever-popular weekend joint millie's on the way. the tiny farmer's market across the street offered plentious avacados and peaches, and this is the time of year that one can find those enormous juicy yellow peaches that are softball-sized flavor wonders, drippy and melty and saisfyingly scrumptious.
drinking at least five cups of coffee, i sat outside pondering the state of my affairs as an angeleno just breaking through his first four months, and the events of the last week flashed through my mind. i had set monday aside to work on pirates of the caribbean, only to be informed a day earlier that the shooting date was pushed back until tuesday. after receiving a few more postponing calls on subsequent days, the shooting date was finally set for wednesday. the fact is, i don't really feel like discussing it, because despite the fact i locked eyes with orlando in all of his british long-haired and moustached glory, none of us soldiers were used in a single shot during the 12-hour workday, and as a result the non-speaking military boys were canned for the following day's shoot. a supposed multi-week shoot had lasted, in fact, a total of a single day.
despite the inherent woes of the movie-making business, my frustrations were countered by reflections on my burgeoning los angeles social life, like monday evening's greet-and-run episode on my vespa as i was hurriedly riding to a show at safari sam's. a short conversation with two screaming and giggling girls in a car next to me at a stop light turned into an evening's worth of hilarious socializing when the girls later showed up at the venue to formally introduce themselves and inform me that our newly-formed friendship would surely be the basis for a life-long bond.
wednesday night was the final evening of my expected midweek summer's night rendezvous with the lit crowd at hollywood's memphis restaurant. the night seemd to be symbol of the closing of my first los angeles season, as i small-talked my way through the glittering crowd on the outdoor steps of the victorian structure that housed the restaurant. my lips brushed a cheek here and there as i moved on to greet another loyal lit patron. even if it seemed some typical superficial or affected gathering, the truth is i had developed many true and lasting relationships with guests among the crowd.
during the height of business traffic on thursday afternoon, i was perched on my vespa speeding down the wide lanes of wilshire boulevard from the west-side neighborhoods of venice and santa monica. i have driven the posh roads of the high-end beverly hills shopping district before, but why would i cruise the elitest streets lined with gucci and prada when i could seek out just as much fashion inspiration in the hipster-filled corners of the grittier silver lake neighborhood in which i lived? granted, i have been known to lust after the season's new offering from prada's hat department or a simple leather sandal on the shelves of gucci's shoe section; however, as a self-condemned bankrupt wanderer, that has not been the case since my move to los angeles, and my current state has, indeed, kept me from wandering the streets of this particular neighborhood. so my suprise was heightened when my eyes made contact with a fellow on the street, waiting for the signal to begin his cross to the district's infamous rodeo drive, and i recognized a familiar smirk on his face as he raised his arm to wave to my helmeted figure speeding by. only moments before, i had thought about mike, thinking he was the one person i knew in the area, but i opted out of a quick hello because i was in a rush to get to the east side of town for acting class. but there he was, waiting at the corner for me to pull up onto the sidewalk, dismount my ride and say a quick hello.
midway through my rushed greeting and goodbye, i was interrupted by a new friend calling to me has he exited the building next to us. my popularity was overwhelming. the un-premeditated stop on the side of the beverly hills thoroughfare turned into a roadside meet-n-greet where the "hello my name is" stickers were unncessary. apparently my friend zak had just left work for the day, was scurrying to make a screeing in the valley, and left me on the street yelling promises of a phone call later in the evening. mike rushed back to his waiting coworkers after the necessary hug and, again, promises to call. i like the idea of speeding across the city atop my vespa with an imminent possibility of running into a good friend. apparently, my local connections are moving in the right directions.
this morning's pancakes were syrupy and delicious, packed with fresh blueberrys. the coffe was black and strong just as i like. the crowd on the street was chipper as they waited for me and my breakfast to stop hogging the two-seater that we had been occupying for the last hour and a half. and my thoughts on this last weeks events were the perfect compliment.
drinking at least five cups of coffee, i sat outside pondering the state of my affairs as an angeleno just breaking through his first four months, and the events of the last week flashed through my mind. i had set monday aside to work on pirates of the caribbean, only to be informed a day earlier that the shooting date was pushed back until tuesday. after receiving a few more postponing calls on subsequent days, the shooting date was finally set for wednesday. the fact is, i don't really feel like discussing it, because despite the fact i locked eyes with orlando in all of his british long-haired and moustached glory, none of us soldiers were used in a single shot during the 12-hour workday, and as a result the non-speaking military boys were canned for the following day's shoot. a supposed multi-week shoot had lasted, in fact, a total of a single day.
despite the inherent woes of the movie-making business, my frustrations were countered by reflections on my burgeoning los angeles social life, like monday evening's greet-and-run episode on my vespa as i was hurriedly riding to a show at safari sam's. a short conversation with two screaming and giggling girls in a car next to me at a stop light turned into an evening's worth of hilarious socializing when the girls later showed up at the venue to formally introduce themselves and inform me that our newly-formed friendship would surely be the basis for a life-long bond.
wednesday night was the final evening of my expected midweek summer's night rendezvous with the lit crowd at hollywood's memphis restaurant. the night seemd to be symbol of the closing of my first los angeles season, as i small-talked my way through the glittering crowd on the outdoor steps of the victorian structure that housed the restaurant. my lips brushed a cheek here and there as i moved on to greet another loyal lit patron. even if it seemed some typical superficial or affected gathering, the truth is i had developed many true and lasting relationships with guests among the crowd.
during the height of business traffic on thursday afternoon, i was perched on my vespa speeding down the wide lanes of wilshire boulevard from the west-side neighborhoods of venice and santa monica. i have driven the posh roads of the high-end beverly hills shopping district before, but why would i cruise the elitest streets lined with gucci and prada when i could seek out just as much fashion inspiration in the hipster-filled corners of the grittier silver lake neighborhood in which i lived? granted, i have been known to lust after the season's new offering from prada's hat department or a simple leather sandal on the shelves of gucci's shoe section; however, as a self-condemned bankrupt wanderer, that has not been the case since my move to los angeles, and my current state has, indeed, kept me from wandering the streets of this particular neighborhood. so my suprise was heightened when my eyes made contact with a fellow on the street, waiting for the signal to begin his cross to the district's infamous rodeo drive, and i recognized a familiar smirk on his face as he raised his arm to wave to my helmeted figure speeding by. only moments before, i had thought about mike, thinking he was the one person i knew in the area, but i opted out of a quick hello because i was in a rush to get to the east side of town for acting class. but there he was, waiting at the corner for me to pull up onto the sidewalk, dismount my ride and say a quick hello.
midway through my rushed greeting and goodbye, i was interrupted by a new friend calling to me has he exited the building next to us. my popularity was overwhelming. the un-premeditated stop on the side of the beverly hills thoroughfare turned into a roadside meet-n-greet where the "hello my name is" stickers were unncessary. apparently my friend zak had just left work for the day, was scurrying to make a screeing in the valley, and left me on the street yelling promises of a phone call later in the evening. mike rushed back to his waiting coworkers after the necessary hug and, again, promises to call. i like the idea of speeding across the city atop my vespa with an imminent possibility of running into a good friend. apparently, my local connections are moving in the right directions.
this morning's pancakes were syrupy and delicious, packed with fresh blueberrys. the coffe was black and strong just as i like. the crowd on the street was chipper as they waited for me and my breakfast to stop hogging the two-seater that we had been occupying for the last hour and a half. and my thoughts on this last weeks events were the perfect compliment.
Sep 12, 2006
a night among the stars
the sun is setting over the la skyline, somewhere past the pier of santa monica and the sand of venice beach. i look around, and the flicker of candles softly illuminate the smiling conversations of many who are settling into their low-slung chairs, cuddling with cozy blankets, and enjoying the delectable eats set on tiny tables. it becomes darker, and i barely notice a small shimmer or a sparkle: a wine glass, raised in a toast as if a harbinger of the cool autum months to come. perhaps it is the reflection from a beaded tablecloth set beneath a sumptuos spread of salads, cheeses, and devilishly delicious desserts.
everyone sits in close quarters, equally warmed by his own blanket as by the neighbors who set up camp only inches away. the sun sets completely, and i feel as though it is a sign of the setting of summer. still, the merriment continues by starlight and candlelight, as lightly pulsing music becomes the backdrop for the chilly night's affair. conversation and laughter echo off the myriad marble monuments, a forshadow of the night's purpose.
hundreds are gathered together on the lush green lawn of hollywood forever cemetery saturday night, celebrating the end of summer and simultaneously commemorating films of the past and the stars who made them great. tonight, we are gathered to watch the billy wilder's 1960 flick the apartment,
a light-hearted romantic comedy that ushered that fabulous groovy decade. although i have attended outdoor screenings before, never have i witnessed outdoor decadence of such casual magnatude. truly, i feel that i have forgotten to call in the catering truck and neglected to bring my cashmere throws.
this is the last month of the summer season of films a the cemetery. hosted by a film society called cinespia, the lineup typically includes classic films that are widely reputable or have been all but forgotten. it is obvous by the crowds attendance and participation, however, that these films have hardly disappeared.
the film offers plenty for audience appreciation. when jack lemmon proclaims he makes $50 a week as an insurance accountant, an angeleno--mired in the web of the entertainment industry, no doubt--shouts out from the crowd "so do i!" the crowd boos at the misfortune of jack lemmon's character, while cheering for the triumphant empowerment of shirley maclaine, as she walks away from her scandalous boss and lover. and nothing could better capture the essence of the night than the erupting cheer as shirley maclaine states "I was jinxed from the word go. The first time I was ever kissed was in a cemetery."
everyone sits in close quarters, equally warmed by his own blanket as by the neighbors who set up camp only inches away. the sun sets completely, and i feel as though it is a sign of the setting of summer. still, the merriment continues by starlight and candlelight, as lightly pulsing music becomes the backdrop for the chilly night's affair. conversation and laughter echo off the myriad marble monuments, a forshadow of the night's purpose.
hundreds are gathered together on the lush green lawn of hollywood forever cemetery saturday night, celebrating the end of summer and simultaneously commemorating films of the past and the stars who made them great. tonight, we are gathered to watch the billy wilder's 1960 flick the apartment,
a light-hearted romantic comedy that ushered that fabulous groovy decade. although i have attended outdoor screenings before, never have i witnessed outdoor decadence of such casual magnatude. truly, i feel that i have forgotten to call in the catering truck and neglected to bring my cashmere throws.
this is the last month of the summer season of films a the cemetery. hosted by a film society called cinespia, the lineup typically includes classic films that are widely reputable or have been all but forgotten. it is obvous by the crowds attendance and participation, however, that these films have hardly disappeared.
the film offers plenty for audience appreciation. when jack lemmon proclaims he makes $50 a week as an insurance accountant, an angeleno--mired in the web of the entertainment industry, no doubt--shouts out from the crowd "so do i!" the crowd boos at the misfortune of jack lemmon's character, while cheering for the triumphant empowerment of shirley maclaine, as she walks away from her scandalous boss and lover. and nothing could better capture the essence of the night than the erupting cheer as shirley maclaine states "I was jinxed from the word go. The first time I was ever kissed was in a cemetery."
Sep 8, 2006
i HEART la
in may, i moved to la. "living the dream." "shooting for the stars." "making it big." those are the starry-eyed sentiments of many like myself who have come to la to pursue a long-time dream of a life in entertainment. stories are varied and endless. some kids get off the proverbial bus only to realize that there are thousands others waiting to be "discovered" for the next wb series or the newest installment of american pie. some people stick around for a few months, get tired of the struggle, and jet back to omaha for some home cooking and a stable corporate job. others stick around for ten or fifteen years--scoring gigs every so often--but still with a job waiting tables waiting for "the big break." one of these kids may find success and move on to marry her favorite childhood movie star and set up shop as the new hollywood starring mom. still others find work as a recurring figure on a somewhat obscure tv series, paying the bills but never becoming a household name. for each of us, the story is very different.
between the auditions, the bartending and waiting tables, however, and woven through the supposed hollywood glamour and partying, is a life that offers each one of us the chance to shine and sparkle, even if not on the big screen or live stage. los angeles offers a weird beauty not found elsewhere, an excitement that hovers just under our noses, and paradoxical ease of life to which california has long been married.
although i have lived in california only three short months, i have encountered high moments of realization and anticipation, but i have also experienced the slow melancholy notes that stir my stomach as the reality of an intense and hard-working career settles in. each moment here i have inhaled a breath that is a tincture of beauty, serenity, restlessness and apprehension. a strange uneasiness mixed with satisfaction and expectation. each breath i take in and let go, moving on to the next.
these are my feelings as i sit in the sunlight on a friday afternoon, anticipating what my life here holds.
between the auditions, the bartending and waiting tables, however, and woven through the supposed hollywood glamour and partying, is a life that offers each one of us the chance to shine and sparkle, even if not on the big screen or live stage. los angeles offers a weird beauty not found elsewhere, an excitement that hovers just under our noses, and paradoxical ease of life to which california has long been married.
although i have lived in california only three short months, i have encountered high moments of realization and anticipation, but i have also experienced the slow melancholy notes that stir my stomach as the reality of an intense and hard-working career settles in. each moment here i have inhaled a breath that is a tincture of beauty, serenity, restlessness and apprehension. a strange uneasiness mixed with satisfaction and expectation. each breath i take in and let go, moving on to the next.
these are my feelings as i sit in the sunlight on a friday afternoon, anticipating what my life here holds.
scooterific
if you know anything about me at all, you know that i have a deep passion and an ever-burning love for the two-wheeled beauty called the scooter. whether tooling around the city that never sleeps, trekking down the east coast, riding the great texas desert, or scantily avoiding the traffic of la, the great scoot is the way to go.
that is why i welcome to my fold the newest members of the i HEART scooter fanclub*. despite the fact that i will only pour out my undying veneration towards that specific vehicle the vespa, i will still give credit to the two-wheeled where credit is due.
marian rides a smallish vino, perfect for her pint-sized petitness, while jon just purchased the no-longer-produced stella, the stylish vespa tribute. may the scootering continue. may you all find this happiness. may you all ride in joy. may you all eventually get a vespa.
*the i-HEART scooter fanclub honorary membership does not necessarily imply that these scooter owners have any knowledge of this organization.
that is why i welcome to my fold the newest members of the i HEART scooter fanclub*. despite the fact that i will only pour out my undying veneration towards that specific vehicle the vespa, i will still give credit to the two-wheeled where credit is due.
marian rides a smallish vino, perfect for her pint-sized petitness, while jon just purchased the no-longer-produced stella, the stylish vespa tribute. may the scootering continue. may you all find this happiness. may you all ride in joy. may you all eventually get a vespa.
*the i-HEART scooter fanclub honorary membership does not necessarily imply that these scooter owners have any knowledge of this organization.
Sep 2, 2006
i HEART karaoke
some fabulous karaoke for your viewing pleasure:
anyone who is a virgin singer at dimples gets a picture and a copy of his first karaoke experience. obviously, mine were incredible.
anyone who is a virgin singer at dimples gets a picture and a copy of his first karaoke experience. obviously, mine were incredible.
still workin' it
at my mom's request, i am recounting to you the story of this week's work on pirates 3. very early monday morning, i received one of those calls on my cell phone that i did not recognize. i answered.
greg was putting out a rush call for 6 soldiers, and he asked if i could make it down to redondo beach soon. i immediately said yes, of course. i looked at the clock, noticed that it was nearly 6 am, and groggily walked to the bathroom. i looked in the mirror. i saw my face. crap, i had forgotten about my ridiculous black eye. obviously i couldn't make the shoot that day. i called greg back.
"greg, i'm sorry, i totally forgot, but i got a huge black shiner this weekend. it's pretty nasty. i don't think i can make it to the shoot."
"hahaha. it's fine, man. you're playng a dead soldier today. make-up is already done."
i trekked down to the black pearl, off the coast of redondo beach. all week, i arrived black and blue at 5 am, ready to play a dead soldier. sag voucher number three.
greg was putting out a rush call for 6 soldiers, and he asked if i could make it down to redondo beach soon. i immediately said yes, of course. i looked at the clock, noticed that it was nearly 6 am, and groggily walked to the bathroom. i looked in the mirror. i saw my face. crap, i had forgotten about my ridiculous black eye. obviously i couldn't make the shoot that day. i called greg back.
"greg, i'm sorry, i totally forgot, but i got a huge black shiner this weekend. it's pretty nasty. i don't think i can make it to the shoot."
"hahaha. it's fine, man. you're playng a dead soldier today. make-up is already done."
i trekked down to the black pearl, off the coast of redondo beach. all week, i arrived black and blue at 5 am, ready to play a dead soldier. sag voucher number three.
Sep 1, 2006
black on blue: bouncers part 2
suffice it to say, i think bouncers are egotistical jackasses.
whereas, i may have had run-ins with the guys due to my own beligerent bullheaded actions, there are also times that bouncers unbiasedly impose their overbearing egos on the weakest victim in their path. such was the case with me and the bouncer at broadway bar last friday night. i don't exactly feel like recounting the story, since every friend or stranger has asked about my very visible black eye this last week, so i'm just going to say that the bouncer shoved me to the ground; i grabbed his leg; he punched me twice in the face and then handcuffed me. the police came an hour and a half later, only to write up a report stating that i was a victim in the case.
that was a week ago. the reason i am writing about this incident 6 days later is because i once again am angry at the testosterone-filled pushy men that work at bars. an incident occurred at a karaoke bar tonight in burbank. the karaoke stage is filled with props, wigs, costumes, and hats. (by the way, the karaoke bar has a live feed online. if you ever want to see me sing karaoke, i can send a little text and you can log on to see the event) during both of the two songs i sang on stage, i donned some sort of silly attire in which to perform. later, as i was dancing on the floor adjacent to the karaoke stage, i was accosted by some lame guy that worked the door, telling me to take off a hat i was wearing (that i had pulled from the costume pile) and that i was not allowed to wear it inside. later in the night, i was wearing a different hat from the pile, and a different man came and yelled at me for wearing that hat. if the first guy had said "you can only wear the costumes when you are singing on stage" i would have understood. but that's not what he said.
i realize this story is missing a few details, but i'm too annoyed to leave the whole story here. basically it amounts to this: bouncers are full of themselves, and i'm pissed off at them. i did not argue with the bouncer tonight only because the cocktail waitress saw the whole incident and apologized to me, noting the guy's power trip.
this is my rant. this is my rave. thank you for reading, and please--if you want to leave a comment critical of my actions, please take a moment to talk to me first for all the gory details. in the meantime, i leave with you a picture i took of myself today. and this looks a lot better than it did saturday.
whereas, i may have had run-ins with the guys due to my own beligerent bullheaded actions, there are also times that bouncers unbiasedly impose their overbearing egos on the weakest victim in their path. such was the case with me and the bouncer at broadway bar last friday night. i don't exactly feel like recounting the story, since every friend or stranger has asked about my very visible black eye this last week, so i'm just going to say that the bouncer shoved me to the ground; i grabbed his leg; he punched me twice in the face and then handcuffed me. the police came an hour and a half later, only to write up a report stating that i was a victim in the case.
that was a week ago. the reason i am writing about this incident 6 days later is because i once again am angry at the testosterone-filled pushy men that work at bars. an incident occurred at a karaoke bar tonight in burbank. the karaoke stage is filled with props, wigs, costumes, and hats. (by the way, the karaoke bar has a live feed online. if you ever want to see me sing karaoke, i can send a little text and you can log on to see the event) during both of the two songs i sang on stage, i donned some sort of silly attire in which to perform. later, as i was dancing on the floor adjacent to the karaoke stage, i was accosted by some lame guy that worked the door, telling me to take off a hat i was wearing (that i had pulled from the costume pile) and that i was not allowed to wear it inside. later in the night, i was wearing a different hat from the pile, and a different man came and yelled at me for wearing that hat. if the first guy had said "you can only wear the costumes when you are singing on stage" i would have understood. but that's not what he said.
i realize this story is missing a few details, but i'm too annoyed to leave the whole story here. basically it amounts to this: bouncers are full of themselves, and i'm pissed off at them. i did not argue with the bouncer tonight only because the cocktail waitress saw the whole incident and apologized to me, noting the guy's power trip.
this is my rant. this is my rave. thank you for reading, and please--if you want to leave a comment critical of my actions, please take a moment to talk to me first for all the gory details. in the meantime, i leave with you a picture i took of myself today. and this looks a lot better than it did saturday.
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