Friday, June 1, 2018

Summer 2018: OK L.A...

I'm a simple man with simple needs:

A trophy wife. A trophy wife with a car. A trophy wife with a good day job.

Is that too much to ask here in L.A.?

Everyone knows. The Cartels are slow payers.

The FBI knows. The CIA knows. Your sweet Grandma knows. God bless her.

Slow-paying is a lifestyle here in Los Angeles. Like earthquakes. Like those hot winds raking across the desert from Coachella.

Yes, I'm still eking out a living.

Vegan demos at Pavillions. Movie background extra work. The two-finger typed blogs I write and sell. Bitcoin and that gigolo caper both went south. The Big South.

OK, fishing through my overflowing Speedos Sunday mornings over an omelet and two cups of Java at Philippe's makes me smile after those late-Saturday Midnight shows on stage @ Magic Mike's.

One dollar notes still work. One dollar notes still pay the rent. Still, put gas in the tank. Still, pay for light catering. Bud Light. Still waiting in the shadows of the Hollywood Sign.

Still waiting for the suits to buy one of our comedy screenplays.

Still waiting to meet the second Miss Right. Maybe an elbow-to-elbow heavy breathing scene as we share an Uber Express Pool. Take one. Take five. Maybe.

Summer 2018:

Hot dates. Cold beer. Restraining orders.
The usual scenarios. The usual suspects.

Fame? Shame? I'm game.

I'll be streaming. Dreaming. Hoping.

Have an awesome summer.

Have a good one...

Thursday, March 9, 2017

How long do I have to carry this town...?

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

That SKYPE prison teacher lady said to type out that sentence. Like over and over. 'Cause it uses all the words in the alphabet. Sorry. Trying to get my brain and fingers working together. 

Was on the dark side of the web last night. Again. I couldn't sleep. The demons came. I'm not talking about those all-night Uber driver dudes that live down the hall and drive by night and sleep by day.

Demons. The dark side. I was only on there for maybe 3 or 4...hours. Lots of weird sites. It was scary and getting scarier. Funny, I started to like myself again. My eyes began to flutter closed.

Eventually, I dozed off reading through my digital book galley proof of my latest book "Confessions...of a Hollywood Movie Extra." It's out now and downloadable via Amazon, Barnes & Noble and on the shelf in discerning prison libraries worldwide.

It's about my Hollywood misadventures in the screen trade. The ups. The downs. The magic. The good. The bad. The ugly.

As I read 'Movie Extra' on my devices, I realize how long I've been carrying this whole town. I've worked with them all. I've made them all look good. 

All of em. Denzel. Hanks. Clooney. Okay, I ain't no matinee idol. But, the audience looks at me and then looks over at them. Next, to me, they look good. How long do I have to carry these guys? 

Scorsese. Lynch. Fincher. Tarantino. I've seen all their movies. 

Hello! I've been carrying these guys too. I've had a gutful.

Looks like I'm going to have to save up some bucks from my background extra acting gigs and now that I've lost a few pounds, those Saturday nights shows @ Magic Mike's, and jump aboard MegaBus and head up to Sundance next January. 

Well, maybe Slamdance if the suits haven't finally pulled the plug by that time. Bastards.

I love La La Land, but with my special 'Look' I may have to go full- bore Indie.

Maybe that Park City, Utah clean air will help clear my head.

How's your community service going?

Good luck with your parole hearing.

Hope your 2017 is kick-derriere. 

See you at the movies...   

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Winter in L.A. Ain't No Picnic...

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Just trying to get my fingers and my brain together so's I can write this blog...

It's a few seconds past Midnight.It's raining in L.A. I can hear the rain dripping off the dumpster, down in the alley. When I stand on the fire escape I watch the rain drops dropping down onto the dumpster and onto the alley. The rain has stopped. It's quiet now.

Now that the stores are closed. Christmas in L.A. Same old; same old. Gridlocked freeways. LAPD car chases. Earthquakes. Broken glass in the streets. Homeless. And more homeless. Not in Beverly Thrills. They sweep up the broken glass there. Most of it. Guy working on a movie set told me so.

I hope so, heading to the DGA for a Hateful Eight screening near Beverly Hills in a couple of days, so's I hope they swept up all that broken glass. I'm looking forward to seeing what Tarantino has been up to. The movies. All part of the lifestyle here in the City of Actors and tarnished Angels. Some good news too.

More movie shoots are coming back to L.A. Was riding a crew shuttle on a TV shoot in North Hollywood yesterday. Sacramento voted and the California tax subsidy incentives are bringing the movie work back to where it should be. California. Means I can pay my bills on time. A nice change. The holidays are here too. 

Been saying my prayers so's God knows what I need. I know she's listening. This Christmas I'm hoping Miss Right walks into my life. Or maybe Miss Right Now. Whatever.

Got's to get back to it. No worries. The usual things; the usual suspects. Looking for work and more work. Searching on line for more acting gigs. Waiting for that 24/7 call: "Can you work tomorrow?" The answer is always the same two words: "Roger that." 

Still working on my next book, hope to have it ready to read in the early Spring of 2016. So save up some ciggie-money so you can download it, with the Warden's permission.

Dropped a few pounds and emailed Maurice at Magic Mike's my new look. It's me in a wife beater, looking baddass.

Hope to get back on board for the Midnight gig, Saturday nights. I miss those Sunday mornings, waking up with all those lipstick smeared dollar bills tucked into my Speedos. Good times.

Let's get together at Larchmont Pizza before/during/after the holidays. Let me know what happens with the Parole Board.

Wishing you an awesome 2016...

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

I'm in the delivery room. Again...

I'm in the delivery room. Again. Waiting on my new baby. I quess youse could call it the delivery room. It's really just my funky just-big-enough-to-swing-a-cat apartment close to the moovie studios. My new baby, my new book is on it's way and I'm like an expectant  dad, pacing up and down.

Just likes when I was at San Quentin. Up and down. Up and down. Hope my little baby arrives soon. Since their ain't no Ultrasound I don't know if it's male or female. What's the diff?  I'm happy that the delivery people, not the usual boring midwife or two or three will be here. I'm trusting that my new baby will arrive in one piece. So I'm having the experts, do the delivery. Fedex. Normally I wouldn't let those losers drive my car, but today's an exception. It's not about me. It's about my new baby.

I call it my baby, but it's my new book: "Confessions of an L.A. Funeral Director." It means a lot to me and that's why it ain't coming by C Section if you catch my drift. Here's how it works.

You write something. A bunch of unsavory types are paid to put it together. Words. Pictures. Photos. Then when all that crud  is said and done, they make delivery of your new book.

It's like Santa Claus is coming to town, if he's clean & sober for the love of God, and is going to drop a bundle, in this case, my book on my doorstep. So now is the hard part. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

You do a lot of waiting here in L.A. So's what's new Holmes?  Same old, same old.

Still it's a new bundle of joy and I'll be eyeballing the whole enchilada when it arrives. Like when you have a real kid arrive and you count their fingers and toes, hoping their not no Zombie. Or look like the cable guy.  Around here, every kid looks like the cable guy. The whole block. Anyway, here's hoping there's no typos, turned around photos and other embarrassing glitches that will make me look like a total pathetic A-hole.

Wait. I just heard a truck stop out by the alley, next to the dumpster, next to the abandoned car.

Wait. I hear the patter of feet. Little feet.

Hopefully it's not those dwarfs on my ex-wife's side of the family. Douche bags. I worship the quick sand they walk on.

KNOCK, KNOCK. Yes, my new baby is here. Thought it might be our blessed event.

My book has come a long way. A long frigging way. It was printed off shore.

Not in my control so's I'm saying the Serenity Prayer to calms myself down.

Off shore. Not like when I tell people I went overseas for the weekend, when I describe my ferry boat ride to Catalina.  I mean off shore.

Third World. Probably collated in a sweat shop with underpaid and underfed little tykes that can hardly read or write. Clothes in tatters.  Haven't eaten in weeks. Still, hope they dotted the i's and crossed the t's. My heart goes out to them. Little bastards.

I open the package. Here it is. My labor of love. My new book. I'm sorry. I need to be alone.

Friday, August 9, 2013

Where we will all end up...

I'm where we are all going to end up. No, not in a pine box. In the bargain bin at Barnes & Noble.

Burbank, CA. Home to the movies. Home to all of us screenwriters, actors and other ne'er-do-wells working our day jobs. Trying to get a gig in the movie industry. God help us. I know she's listening.

Last December my book Riding the Hollywood Glacier 2 was on the Humor shelf at B & N. I proudly pointed out my book to family, friends and total strangers browsing through the store.

Yes, I accosted young and old, male and female, Jew and Gentile, sane and insane: anyone that had a pulse. I proudly pointed out my book. On the shelf. At Barnes & Noble. Months have passed.

The end of summer is here. After spending most of my movie-background extra paycheck on a double-double at In-N-Out Burgers, I head over to Barnes & Noble books.

Their gone. My books have vanished. Hopefully now beach-reads for some hot babes, with discerning taste in comedy writing. In my needy mind, or what's left of it, I imagine them knocking on my doorstep, with heaving breasts,clutching my book and demanding that I perform a Midnight-read to them in their boudoir. You get the picture. My fantasy turns to nightmare when I realize what has actually happened: I've been moved to the bargain bin. 

Soon, I'm on all fours. Searching in the bargain boxes, under the bargain tables. Of the five original books on the shelf, I find four copies of my book. They have large red "Half-Off" stickers glued over my face on the front cover. I'm crushed.

I try to picture that one missing book, is now on the beach at Santa Monica being read by one of those hot babes mentioned earlier. Or maybe amusing another babe, as she rides in her private jet to Paris and realizes that she has just found Mr. Right. Me.

A lady clerk, taps me on the shoulder, bringing me out of my reverie. Her look says two things: I can't claim squatter's rights at B & N Books and it would be a good idea to hit the bricks.

As I rise off the floor, I notice a couple of mystery writer and Best Selling author Michael Connelly's books, now also in the bargain bin. I spoke with him at a book signing at Vroman's Books  last Spring in Pasadena.

He was most cordial and autographed his latest book with a friendly note "Good luck and good writing." I suddenly didn't feel so badly. I guess we all eventually end up in the close-out bargain bin.
Even Michael Connelly.

Monday, January 28, 2013

The quick brown fox...

You know the drill. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. It's what the warden and the preacher lady said in our typing class. Guess it's supposed to keep your fingers and brain together in case youse are in a typing class like I am.
It's hard working all day in the prison laundry and then going to that typing class in the evening. I'm trying to better myself this year. Hope it works out OK.
I figure when I learn my p's and q's then I can ritt a movie and when I gets out of this hell-hole, just shy of another decade, thens I can take the Grey dog down to Hollyweaird and get some bucks for my prison story, like the boidman of Alcatraz did. Figured he made a bundle, just looking at boid droppings. 
Sorry, better get back to my typing class Dogg.
Best, to all my Homies...
Lurch sure enjoyed when I read Riding the Hollywood Glacier 2, on the Warden's Kindle to him. He liked the color pictures of all the movie people on the back.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Heat Wave Still Sears LA

It's hot and getting hotter LA. Only chance to cool off is to go through the cushions behind my thrift-store couch, scrape up some coins, and then head down to the liquor store, down the block, next to the laudromatt.

Don't have the cojones to walk around in my Speedo's, so's I'll have to cool off, like I normally do. I use my loose change to get a couple of cans of ale. 'Bud' at the liquor store sells me the cold cans of suds right out of the freezer. He lets me go inside, so's I can make my selection. 

While I'm in there, I think I'm in brewski heaven, it's wall to wall six-packs of beer from all over the woild. I stay for as long as I can.

Last time the City of Angels and actors, got a heat wave, I was 'browsing' for a couple of cold ones for about two hours. Bud, knows what's up, and so, he's down with me wandering around in his cold room looking to choose a Flat Tire or Heineekans.

Heading off to community service. Hope the 4 Metro buses I have to take have their AC on.

Keep cool today...