support the figh gnarts

in the tradition of of great i HEART photoshoots, and building from the traditional i HEART mod look, the figh gnarts this weekend took to the urban and gritty landscape of los angeles streets this weekend to promote the premier of their first dance video, to be released on youtube on october 31. new friend hatnim donned her usual accessory, the beloved camera, took some fantastic photos that certainly most everyone will HEART, and even posted an entry on her own blog about the shoot. now please, support the figh gnarts.

i HEART the figh gnarts

while many will be busy this week scrounging up the last scraps of dated clothing from the picked-over racks at thrift stores in preparation for the coming weekend's frightening festivities, i will be hard at work preparing for the debut online performance of my recently formed dance duo, the figh gnarts. inspired by what is only the best musical compilation of the 20th century, the figh gnarts have developed telling dance routines to express the passion and beauty of the thoughtful lyrics and innovative beats of the abba gold album.

debuting october 31st on youtube, the first figh gnarts first single will feature choreography set to the tune of abba's sos in a delightfully ambitous performance somewhere amid the sprawling streets of the los angeles metropolis. as it is the mission of the figh gnarts to bring the love and appreciation of the fine arts to the masses, the preferable venue for this performance art is neither venerable dance hall nor reputable art house; rather, it is a place somewhere among the people with whom our paths cross on the street corners, bus stations, and sidewalks of our lives.

stay tuned for news of the figh gnarts's first video as well as exclusive information about the very first live performance!

busy bussing

i know that, by the time you finish reading this post, you may have serious doubts as to the benefits of riding two wheels and, more specifically, a vehicle in the family known as vespa. in order to mitigate accusations against my beloved ride, i would like to offer this concession: over the last year, i have ridden my vespa, and i have ridden it hard. over mountains, prairies, hills, deserts, and metropolitan streets and freeways, there is little landscape that henry has yet to tread. not only has the little green guy travelled so far, but he has maintained upper speeds of 75 and 80 mph, which isn't necessarily typical of a little scooter. that is to say: if problems persist with the health of the vespa, i may be partially to blame.

henry recently spent a few nights in the hospital. after not being able to get him started earlier this week, i called the scooter shop, the towing company, and other necessary parties to find out the best course of action to get him back into working order in as little time as possible. during the few days this week that i was without a ride, i had no choice but to utilize the vast and utterly inconvenient system of public transportation in the los angeles metropolitan area. the metro, as this city's network of busses and trains is called, is not exactly confusing, but if it were, i think the problem then posed would be of little consequence due to the surplus of time one is left with while waiting for and riding a bus that is at the mercy of crammed and crowded streets that cover the expanse of the city. although the hours it takes to merely run a few errands in several points of the city have become a drag, the first few nights of sitting on the bus, pulling out a book, and actually relaxing during the hour-long traverse were welcome. suddenly, the intimate nature of a city that is so easily bypassed in a speeding ride became imminently visible when i walked a few blocks to the bus stop and used the minutes of waiting to notice the details in just one tiny section of the city. usually, i would miss the names of the 15 shops crammed into the stripmall and not even take notice of the small gallery, shop, or restaurant lining the street in my own neighborhood, let alone the bustling micro-community of another one of the countless intersections in the city.

that's why, yesterday before boarding another rambling bus, i was happy to get to know a little bit about a strip just south of beverly boulevard on la brea, one of central la's most trafficed streets. in only a few moments, i managed to gain a small appreciation for the liveliness of the neighborhood, even if it's name is less recognizable than west hollywood, los feliz, or my own beloved area, silver lake.

last night, i picked up henry, ready to roll and running smoothly. there's no replacement for a vehicle in los angeles (not to mention a two-wheeled beauty!), but it wouldn't be a suprise if i once again find myself boarding the city bus only a few blocks from my house, ready for an excursion to a new part of the city that before was merely a drive-by blur.

(thank you to my new friend hatnim for the use of her lovely photo)

i HEART ugly

although i was riding my vespa somewhere down the coast on the 405 at the time, my nationally syndycated tv debut was—apparently—a raging success. after much fan correspondence via phone calls, emails, myspace comments, blog comments, and blog postings, i am satisfied to know that, despite the lack of any spoken words on my behalf, the general public was receptive to my appearance (co-starring with the plate of hot, steaming empenadas) on ugly betty last thursday.

i would like to thank central casting, my friends at OTR for their support and quick snatch of the above photo, and my mother for growing my fan base by showing the recorded clip to her freshman algebra students. thank you.

east side

upon occasion, i have the chance to leave the raucous halls of hollywood's establishments and head to the east, east side of los angeles for a night with the true hipsters of the la scene. if you think that bearded boys and mulleted young lasses in the dingy clubs of echo park epitomize the ultra-indie scenester look, then try crossing the 5 in an attempt to see gals swigging pbr because they don't know any better, not because their penniless pockets were emptied in thrift store finds and mp3 downloads.

in the well-kept flatlands of la's highland park, near the varoius late-nite taco trucks parked along figueroa, i—along with naomi and family—ventured to see some friends of friends of friends' band play in an inconspicuous ultra-divey bar called mr. t's bowl. the bar/venue is a now-defunct bowling alley, and behind the small haphazard stage was a curtain shielding the crowd from the view of old bowling lane rubbish, piled high with wooden pins and metal railings.

when i went to order a beer at the bar, i asked for a grolsch. the bearded bartender had no idea what i was talking about, so i pointed to his "list of beers," printed on inkjet paper, hanging behind him. he rummaged through his cooler and finally found a grolsch. "i didn't even know i had that" he told me.

it was fantastic.

i say hello: part 2

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

last week

here's what happened last week:

after a hot, grueling ride to vegas to meet up with some friends from austin, henry and i had night out on the town with the texas boys. henry got to ride in the boat that was being pulled by the gorgeously decorated rented rv, the vehicle of choice for the 5 austinites on their western tour of the states. we visited the eerie fundamentalist mormon world of colorado city, where multiple women harmoniously rule the same houshold, and where teenage boys are forced out of town to forget the syructured way of life in the small town. we visited the north rim of the grand canyon, watching thunderstorms break across the south rim as the sun was setting. we spent three days exploring the myriad liquid fingers of lake powell, as the desert sun beat against our chests. for the first time since austin, i set out wakesurfing in the pleasent waters of the lake.

then i received a phonecall. "patrick. we will be doing our final day of training tomorrow down in redondo beach. will you be able to make it?"
"...yeah, of course i can make it. i'll be there at nine a.m."

thus another journey began. lake powell is approximately 600 miles from los angeles, and i had15 hours to get my vespa-riding self back to the coast. i shot down towards flagstaff on a half-gallon tank, thinking i could refuel at the next small town. i did not know that the next 5 small towns were gas station-free, and the next pump was 80 miles away. my gas mileage isn't that good. at the small town of gap, i asked around at a general store for the whereabouts of any gasoline. there was none. i took a chance in asking a lady in a pick-up outside the store if she had any fuel. she merely asked how much i needed, took her freshly filled gas container from the back of the truck, and gave me a gallon of gas. thankfully, i gave her some money and moved on again.

in flagstaff, i drove the streets of old town looking for a suitable dining joint. after choosing a particular diner, i parked my vespa and headed round the corner. i suddenly decided i should park henry closer to the restaurant. as i turned back around the corner, i watched as a big, unmmarked, white van backed into henry--throwing the vespa onto another car--then squeeled its tires and sped off. adrenaline pumping, i ran after the van trying to catch a license number. i did not run fast enough.

two and a half hours later, after a police report, dinner, and waiting around for henry to start because the fuel filter was clogged, i inspected the new scrapes and dent in henry's side and set off once again. this time, straight to la.

a year ago to this day, i had my first all-night vespa ride as i headed toward new jersey through the heart of indiana, ohio, and pennsylvania, so i could catch the rehearsal for the wedding of one of my best friends, jared. again, i experienced the cold, back-aching discomfort through the night, and at times had to fight back the strong urge to close my eyes for only a moment. twice, i stopped off the side of the interstate for a quick nod. through the mountains, through the desert, i made my way mile by mile to the sprawling land of los angeles. navigating my way through endless highways and interstates, i rolled into the redondo beach marina parking lot an hour and a half late, but still eager to get my training on. the other soldiers were taking a break from rowing, so i grabbed a coffee with the bunch, then headed out to the harbor for a grueling day of rowing.

i was tired and i was worn out. i endured the night, and i endured the day of hot sun and rowing. it was worth it. sag voucher number two.

training day

tuesday was spent in san pedro, rowing boats, rigging a sailing vessel called the black pearl, and firing cannons. i gues i'm now officially an english soldier.


meandering up the coast, i stopped for a rest at a park in palos verdes, and ended my day at a pirate ship of another kind.

blonde on blonde

anyone in line to see jessica simpson perform at popstarz last night might have glanced at the venue's entrance, noticed a twenty-something boy being restrained on the ground by two bouncers and thought "grrl, you have to wait in line to see the show."

js made a brief appearance at the venue last night; and despite the club's crowded attendance, her appearance was announced only yesterday on the factory's website. chris asked me to join him and some other friends for night on the town and near jessica simpson.

while giving mitch a piggyback ride up the staris to the dancefloor, a security guy decided it was the right time to tell mitch to get off my back. or rather, pull mitch off my back. excuse me? i certainly understand the necessity for the big boys running the club to keep liabilities down and maintain a supersafe atmosphere. but how does yanking someone off my back while i'm on the staris manage to do that?

for the next half hour, i tried to explain that to anyone who would listen. i was passed from manager, to security, to bouncers at the door, all the while being ignored in my complaint. granted, 12:48 am isn't the best time to sound off or hop on my soap box. but all i wanted was a patient listener. but no one would listen. that's how i ended up on the curb, arguing with the bouncers, 20 feet down the curb being restrained by the bouncers, and finally throwing myself through the stalks of bamboo growing in front of the entrance as i tried to run back into the venue. i was swiftly tackled by both bouncers.

as simpson stepped into the crowd and lost herself and her song amongst the throng, my friends got word i was in trouble at the front. just as my throat was being squeezed, my arms were being twisted, cops were being called, and i was still trying my darndest just to be heard, my friends snatched me from the clutches of the bouncers, up off the ground and led me away yelling things about being my lawyer and promising to take me home. eager, onlooking paparzzi took advantage the altercation to fill time while waiting for sights of simpson.

so my friends listened to my rants, and my irritible anger was quickly assuaged. i didn't get to see the blonde bombshell sing her tunes, but i did get to put on a blonde show of my own.

a job's a job

this is the reason i do not have a real job:

this morning, i was really trying to get up early. i even accounted for the fact that i would definitely hit the snooze a few times. that's why the alarm was set for the insanely early hour of 9 am. i'm really trying to get up early these days and make the morning really productive--like making myself breakfast before noon.

as is usual, i rolled around my bed and hastily hit the snooze while enjoying the luxurious 300 thread-count linens i graciously inherited from the ritz-carlton a year ago. as i became increasingly irritable at the sound of my alarm, it sounded loudly for a third time. wait, no, that wasn't my alarm. that. was. something...else. think, patrick. think. oh, it's so early, it's so. sleep. yes, sleep... but. but... phone! it's the. wait. phone!

in the past, i have opted to shy away from unknown numbers suddenly lighting up the face of my phone. i have not yielded to the eeri--yet tempting--"unkown number" calls that ring occasionaly. but now, my life depends on them. news from an agent, a casting director, a filmmaker who wants me to work in a project. no longer do i prefer listening to a voicemail message minutes later; on the contrary, my livelihood depends on the unknown caller.

that's why i knew i had to answer my phone this morning. a rush call to the disney lot for today's shoot for pirates of the caribbean 3. only nine actors were needed; was it possible for me to drop everything and make it down to the set? "yes" is my answer, of course." immediately, sir! and that is why i don't have a real job. to make room for my "unreal" jobs. and to make room for my very first sag voucher.

ballet and bayonets

"huzzah!" was my cry as i deftly lowered the musket into the cradle of my arms, anticipating the next movement of my gun: a neat, quick stab of the bayonet into my dying enemy's chest. a dying pirate's chest, that is. but today, there was no pirate to offer a quick and painful death. instead, there was a prop master and weapons trainer, telling a bunch of boys how to properly hold the gun. in the sweltering valley heat earlier in the week, the weapons trainer drilled nearly 40 british east india trading company soldiers in military meaneuvers.

after a good bit of training and a few visits to the craft services trailer, i tried my best to prove my merit as a soldier. after all, i need to get that sag card.

after wrapping military training for the day, i drove a few minutes from burbank's disney studio to the streets of hollywood. there, near the intersection of cole & santa monica, is the area's most renowned dance studio. edge is la's premier source for dance classes, ranging from hip hop and belly dancing to ballet and tap. instructors seep out of the entertainment industry's darkest corners, from the likes of madonna concerts or behind-the-scenes american idol choreography. all i'm there for is a little ballet. just as a little musketing and shoot-em-up action is right in its place, so is a well-executed plié or pirouette. although i'm only one class down, i'm hooked. combine that with my biweekly hip hop class, and i will soon be a dance machine to be reckoned with. yeah, so i think i can dance.

and that's what it's all about. as long as i'm pursuing a dream of performing for a living, i might as well get it anywhere i can. so, i'll take bayonets and ballet, please.

so hot right now

today, la is hot.

not "hott" in the paris hilton sense, but "hot" as in the "i could throw down some egg and tofu scramble and flash fry it on my driveway because it's effing 110 degrees outside, but instead i'll just go jump in the pool in my backyard since i have a house with a pool in the middle of la" hot. at least i'm not baking in some oven of a warehouse on a sidestreet in east la, all hot and sweaty at a supposed spring break college bar while filming the same dance scene over and over. that was last weekend.

this weekend, i'm moving on to bigger, better things. monday, i'm going to get fitted for a backround role that actually requires a costume, as opposed to my own personal thinning threads. i'm still a background actor, but i think i found the doorway leading to my own sag card, a recent topic of much discussion. yesterday, i found out that the minute 30 second audition over at the disney studio campus in burbank two weeks ago succeeded. sometime in the near future i may be brandishing a sword in the direction of johnny depp and his gang of unlikely misfits widely known as the pirates of the caribbean. maybe i'll get a pistol. i'm not sure what gentlemen in the british navy would use against those goulish enemies. i have yet to see pirates 2, so i have very little point of reference for this gig.

all i know is that, due to this forthcoming work, i will walk away with sag membership and--just as importantly--a tummy filled only the finest delicacies offered at the sag craft table.