tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58565961736142884052024-03-18T18:55:57.774-07:00The Apocalypse is upon us...denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-20458725629093420232024-03-18T18:55:00.000-07:002024-03-18T18:55:19.357-07:002024: 26 Grueling Miles to Glory...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">Yes, I did it. I did the 26 Miles. It was an ordeal. A nightmare. But, I did it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It was hard to sleep the night before. Those weird dreams started again. You know, the dreams where nobody knows or wants to know your name. And you are naked. It's dark. Just after Midnight. In a word, bleak. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">You manage to find some clown clothes in a Hollywood dumpster. You run down an alley and find an abandoned old car that someone forgot to lock. You crawl in the back seat. Suddenly, you realize you're in a Film Noir 40's cable black and white movie and things are grime and getting grimmer. Then you wake up and realize that today's the day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">The day when you are going to go 26 miles. Not for money. Not for glory. Just because you can. I guess I broke training, but I did a quick breakfast at Philippe's in Chinatown.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Carb up is what they say. An obscene Cheddar-Cheese omelette and Sourdough toast. A couple of cups of Java. As I left, I dropped a couple of scarred quarters on the scarred counter and picked up two grease rings some would call plain donuts. Fuel for those last few miles.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">The Main Event was ready. Was I?</span><span style="font-family: courier;"> Was I fit enough? Could I go the extra mile? Or should we say any extra miles?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Yes, I don't normally drive 26 miles but I did. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It was a heck of a ride. Pasadena to Culver City and back. The 110 South and then the 10 West. Sunday traffic was lighter than light. On the way back to my man cave, I stopped at a 7-11 and snagged a pizza that tasted like cardboard from a long abandoned land-fill Monopoly game, but it calmed my gut, as I knew it would.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But enough about me...</span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-50308010677589570692023-12-03T19:20:00.000-08:002023-12-03T19:20:37.978-08:00All I want for Christmas is...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's exciting. The man dressed in red, the man with that white beard, is on his way. On his way, back to prison. Such a relief. Good riddance guy. Maybe I was dreaming. Whatever. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I just know that when I awakened from my not-long-enough REM sleep this morning, I heard some Christmas songs via Spotify and I knew for sure that the holidays were on their way. It's what the season is all about. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Christmas is all about corny songs, too-long religious services, too much sugary food, and most holidays, my brother-in-law, and his alcohol-fueled antics. But let's cut to the chase. Christmas is really about presents.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">This year I'm sending out gift suggestions with a capital G. OK, let's be candid, my G is all about Greed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">As Michael Douglas lectured us in <i>Wall Street</i> "Greed is Good." I'll be remembering that awesome flick this Christmas if I can get those thrift-store binoculars to stay in focus. This December 25th, I'll be waiting for the guy in the apartment across the way to stream my favorite flick. <i>Wall Street</i>. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">My neighbor thinks Michael Douglas walks on water. With the curtains wide open, I'll be able to see the movie like a house on fire. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It'll be like a scene from <i>Rear Window</i>, that 50's Hitchcock movie with Grace Kelly providing the eye candy. I know my neighbor is a big Michael Douglas fan, so it should be an awesome Christmas.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I might have to send a few gifts out myself, so I hope to pick up a few bucks by caroling in Pasadena. Just to fatten up the sound I'll have to invite some of the local shelter people, once again, to join in the singing as we walk house to house and apartment to apartment.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I'll be doing lead vocals, so I know we ain't gonna win any Grammy but we should be able to pick up a few bucks and hopefully a Zelle or two or three. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I hope to be able to download some Taylor Swift tracks, as a present to myself. What a voice. What a talent. Hopefully, soon she'll grow tired of watching football games. I wonder what she thinks of Pasadena? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Let's stay in touch over the holidays. Good luck with that parole hearing next week. Try to borrow a decent suit and tie and try to crack a smile once in a while. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Happy Holidays Dog...</span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-82812297244904099392023-08-20T17:13:00.002-07:002023-08-21T07:42:37.762-07:00The Rain in Spain Stays Mainly in Pasadena...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's Sunday afternoon and I'm devoting a moment or two to what the authorities say is something that I do best. I'm sleeping. For a precious number of minutes, the demons are gone. REM time is my best time.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">My rationale for catching a quick nap, is that after working all week,and putting up with all the urban chaos that is Los Angeles: Dog Days Heat. Rising gas prices. Galloping Inflation, forcing me to dial back on my life-long subscription to </span><span style="font-family: courier;"><i>The Police Gazette,</i></span><span style="font-family: courier;"><i> </i>and as I'm putting my working-man ration of gas into my car, coping with the relentless harassment by the Homeless, asking me for money.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Most of them look healthier than I am and they're asking me for money?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Can't they get a job like everyone else? Maybe I need a vacation or a dial-up on my medication? It's getting scary. All the Homeless are starting to look like my brother-in-law. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">His alter-egos usually appear in the shadows and are usually lecturing me on how to get a better job, how to live a more meaningful life, and offering to text me their Zelle number.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I figured with the specter of Hurricane Hilary heading into LA, I could avoid worries about the rain and the wind by catching a few Zzzs. I was wrong. Again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">As I was enjoying my unconscious staycation, I was rattled awake by the earthquake in Ventura County. As if all the Monsoon rain and wind wasn't enough, now an earthquake. Welcome to LA! I'm still happy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Happy and smiling again, like a Death Row inmate granted a Midnight parole. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Happy because a dear lady I know finally has an abundance of rain for her home garden. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Mother California now has some rain to help grow her flowers and trees and home-garden plants.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">No worries. All in all, it's been a great Sunday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> </span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-56903131650451140092023-05-28T17:27:00.001-07:002023-05-28T17:38:06.677-07:00Memorial Day 23: I Forgot to Remember to Forget...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">Sometimes at Midnight when I toss and turn, the demons come. And I'm not talking about those cretins that live in the apartment above me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I don't need to give those losers free publicity by mentioning them here. I'll let the man upstairs take care of those idiots. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I'm not talking about God. The man upstairs is supposed to live next door to those guys, but he tells everyone, that he lives "Upstairs" but I suspect he lives on the roof. Whatever. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do. But, it's Memorial Day so let's not even talk about those pathetic other tenants. It's a day to remember.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Yes, we are remembering with reverence all our Brothers and Sisters in Arms that gave the ultimate sacrifice. They bought the farm or went home early as they used to say, when I served. I mean was Drafted. God bless them all. But in anticipation of Memorial Day, I did dream about demons last night and those demons looked weirdly like some of the Socipaths that I served with in the military.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I was in a mixed command. That means Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines all serving together. Normally that would mean one for all and all for one. Wrong. Don't think The Three Musketeers. Think the wrong side of the tracks. Think the Back of Beyond. Think,that trailer park in Cleveland. Not a pretty picture. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I'd relate some of our official and unofficial legal and illegal adventures and misadventures, but being from different states, I really can't be sure what respective statutes of limitations have expired. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">We lost touch over the years. And over the beers, but, I still see them in my waking schemes and late-night dreams. Especially around Memorial Day. I miss you guys. I salute you. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me... </span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-18932540081440565472023-02-19T20:36:00.001-08:002023-02-19T20:39:01.847-08:00I'm Rescued by The Future Moms of America...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's Saturday afternoon and I'm schlepping to Von's to pick up some basic staples: Beer and maybe some more beer. God forbid there's an earthquake and I need to hydrate. Praying now for those poor souls in Turkey and Syria. The Big One here in Los Angeles! It could happen. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Stella Artois and I will be ready for whatever the San Andreas fault line has in store for our weekend in L.A. Stella and I go way back. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">As I negotiate my way out of my vehicle, raking through the back gnarled copies of <i>The Police Gazette</i>, crumpled Restaining Orders, and pizza cardboards, a young woman's voice cries out for help.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">No, not the voice of the homeless. It's the voice of America's future. It's the voice of America's heartbeat. It's a couple of Girl Scouts pitching girl scout cookies. I stop walking. I stop thinking about myself. Tears come to my eyes. I'm thinking of yours truly, as always, and the future of American entrepreneurship is calling. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">The future of American Capitalism is calling. Two little sweethearts are in uniform, seated behind a pyramid of Girl Scout cookie boxes. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I stop and do a 180 to the ATM about two minutes away. The ATM coughs up a 20-Spot. I march back to the card table where our American Girl Scouts are sitting. I ask for my annual favorite: The Mint cookies in the annual green box. Last time it was $5.00. This time it's $6.00. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">No worries. I'm helping teach the daughters of America, how to add, how to subtract, and how to be responsible Moms, CEOs and God forbid, maybe movie actresses of the future. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I hand over my twenty bucks. The closest little sweetheart takes my money as I volunteer "I'll have one green Mint please." She and her co-pilot fumble through their bag of cash looking for my change. OMG. Whoa.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Overwhelmed, they try to add up my change. They sigh. They struggle. Math was never my thing either. I smile. I do my Dad thing. I volunteer "I'll take two boxes." They seem relieved. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, we're still not out of the woods. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">America's sweethearts are still struggling. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Math was never, ever, my thing. America's sweethearts are beside themselves. I do my Grand Dad thing. "I'll have three boxes" I declare. They smile. They hand me my $2 in change. I smile.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Saturday night. My date, Stella Artois and I are watching a semi-intelligent flick on Youtube. It's <i>Death Warrant starring </i>Jean-Claude Van Damme. The Muscles from Brussels. A chop-socky karate revenge movie that's seen better days. Not exactly Shakespeare. But, something keeps me going. Something special.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Something makes me believe, that the best is yet to come. It's those Girl Scout cookies. The Mint ones. In the green box. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> </span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-22594716997797642562023-01-19T19:53:00.001-08:002023-01-22T12:46:09.846-08:00Riding the Dog...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">The money arrived yesterday. They did what they said, they would do. Southwest coughed up the bucks it took me to ride the dog to San Jose.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Christmas 22. The days leading up to the holidays. Southwest Airlines stranded thousands. Software glitches. The nasty weather didn't help. I had advance tickets to visit the family to usher in 2023, but I didn't want to arrive on the morning of the day and have my flight canceled. I did what I had to do. I rode the dog. Greyhound.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">A flight is about 52 quick minutes. Burbank to San Jose. Just enough time to inhale a cup of Java, click to Spotify and read a couple of sordid stories from my gnarled copy of <i>The Police Gazette</i>, and scarf down those almost edible pretzels they toss to you from a basket that's seen better days. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Riding the bus took seven grueling hours. No worries. Some days and sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">A journey not for the squeamish. Saturday morning. Rain. And more rain. Up early. 430am. Metro rail to Chinatown. Breakfast at Philippe's. Walking now in the rain. Union Station. A lady with a badge, wearing a raincoat tells me to go down the back ramp and cross the street. 720am. A small crowd boards the bus. I pulled my iPhone from my jeans and flashed my QR Code. I lucked out. A window seat. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Rolling North. The 101. Hollywood Blvd. In the cloudy shadows of the Roosevelt Hotel, we pick up a few of the rainswept disenchanted. No one is smiling. But, I am. My gut tells me most of these fellow passengers weren't bumped off any flights. Overweight. Plastic bag luggage. Crying babies. Think <i>Grapes of Wrath</i>. My kind of people. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">A stop at San Fernando. Back on the road. Heading up the grapevine. I'm following my iPhone GPS as I-5 twists and turns, heading North. A pit stop in the middle of nowhere. A burrito in a bag. Back on the bus.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Finally. San Jose. Still raining. I collapse my umbrella and crawl into our son Michael's warm car. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Hanging with family for New Year's. Christmas presents. Hugs. Movies. Breakfast waffles. Lunch from Jersey Mike's. Dinner pizza. Petting family dogs. Telling family stories. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Riding the Dog took seven hours. It was more than an awesome holiday with the family. I'd do it again. In a New York heartbeat. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But enough about me... </span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-24269663507048109752022-12-18T17:11:00.000-08:002022-12-18T17:11:32.739-08:00"...and God bless us, everyone."<p><span style="font-family: courier;">He's on his way. Yes, he's on his way. No, not the guy from the North Pole. Not the guy with the reindeer. The guy from God knows where. I know it's him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">He dresses in red. He has a large black belt. Not like in Tae Know Do. Like in overweight. Like in Grossly Obese. OK. Judge not, lest ye be judged says the Good Book. Nobody is perfect, and that includes me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I guess he lives around here. He's old. And Old Town Pasadena is a three-minute walk from here. Restaurants. Shopping. Police on bicycles. Police with dogs. I usually keep a stash of doggy treats in my back pockets just in case, I'm ever stopped for jay-walking. It's happened once or twice. OK, more than once or twice. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Being frisked in public by yapping German Shepards is not my idea of Nirvana, especially during this festive season. Makes me feel like I'm in some type of Quentin Tarantino W.W.II B-movie. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Not much is happening for Christmas. Will stream my fave holiday flicks: "A Christmas Story" and "Love, Actually." After breakfast at The Mission and lunch at The Shelter, and late in the evening, after the Demons come, I'll probably eventually pass out from my usual holiday fare, those crinkly gas-station packages of Twinkies I bought back when <i>Dexter</i> was still in Season Two, washed down by a couple of cold ones. Coors Light. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I'll say hi if I run into my buddy that dresses in red. The guy with the large black belt. I think he works and might actually live in that shelter down by the LA river.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I hope all your before-Christmas dreams have come true. I hope all your after-Christmas misdemeanors and felonies have been expunged. Once again. There is a God. And She's always looking out for us.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Happy Holidays. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Big plans for 2023: A new Headshot. More auditions. More dance classes. Meeting the second Miss Right. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me... </span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-18233287481082680802022-10-24T18:52:00.003-07:002022-10-26T07:39:55.165-07:00That Special Day is almost here...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">That special day is almost upon us. No, not November 8th. No, not Voting Day. The special day falls on a Monday this year. It's Halloween.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Halloween. The only day I can appear normal. No big deal. You are who you are. A chronic rash. Acne that lingered for decades. Nobody's perfect. Times were tough.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Growing up in that trailer park. Later, living in that van down by the river. Nasty neighbors. Inbreeding, I suspected. Scenes from <i>Deliverance</i>. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Nightmares. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Nights. Most days. Times were tough.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Junior High School was no picnic. I was kept back a year or two. I was the first in my class to shave. I was proud of that. I walked tall. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">High School. Best seven years of my life. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Then the military. Yes, I served. People depended on me. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">I had bills to pay. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">OK, so I was on the other side. Nobody's perfect. Times were tough. </span><span style="font-family: courier;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Now living moments from Hollywood. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Moments from when my ship comes in. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Ready for my new Headshot. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Ready now for my Close Up. OK, so maybe I need a small Hollywood Nick & Tuck. Don't we all. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Nowadays, things are looking up. I don't mind being a character actor. I am who I am. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Hope to see you at the next SAG meeting in Studio City. Hope to see you on the voting line. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Vote Early; Vote Often.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me...</span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-32874260925556120342022-08-07T15:45:00.001-07:002022-08-14T11:02:27.426-07:00The Whales and Wedgies of August 2022...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">I can hear them downstairs. I can hear the splashing. And more splashing. This is Summer 2022 in LA, and that's what people do. They beat the heat by swimming. Hey, this is L.A. I'd like to join them in the water. Maybe I will. Nice to finally have a pool to swim in.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">In the last apartment, the only way to cool off was to run through the automatic sprinkler in the guy next door's backyard. He worked nights, and I spent quite a few moments chasing my water bliss, letting that H2O wash over me. Things are looking up now here in Pasadena. Good to be here. No more Midnight Dances with Water to cool off. But I'll wait.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Wait until late tonight, once the hot California sun goes down and the families have gone to bed. Don't want them to see me in my current condition. Some people would call it Fat. I'll call it slightly Overweight. Embalmers, I know, would call it, Morbidly Obese. I'm blaming it all on Co-Vid. Being cooped up like a scalded dog in a cage was no picnic. I ate too much. We all ate too much. Now it's time.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Time for action. Tonight's the night. I'll do a few laps and begin my journey back to my fighting weight, you know when I was married. I'll wear those faded Mick Jagger Union-Jack Speedos, and my only worries will be The Whales and Wedgies of August. I'm sorry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Sorry to refer to those twin sisters that live behind the laundromat downstairs as two Whales. But, every time they jump in the pool, it's a 6 Point 5 on the Richter Scale. Forgive me. Instant Tsunami. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">As if stressing out about taking a private late-night swim and having Twin Whales show up, there's that never-ending challenge of a rash of swim-suit Wedgies that have plagued me since before Bill Gates gave his first Ted Talk. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me. How's your summer going?</span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-73240707643853742262022-06-14T20:43:00.000-07:002022-06-14T20:43:09.000-07:00Summer 2022: Taking my Lumps at the Pumps...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">I took a hard look in the mirror this morning. It wasn't a pretty sight. It was life-changing. It was simple. It was easy. I need more money in my life. Not entirely my fault.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">OK, the Cartels are slow-paying. Again. OK, those gigolo gigs have been going South lately, like the rear-end of Seabiscuit heading North at Santa Anita. OK, those Sunday-at-dawn cellophane-wrapped 134 off-ramp flower sales at Forest Lawn have been lately, wilting. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Without more money coming in, I'll have to make a command decision: Do I keep ordering that low-rent Viagra from Canada or do I pay His Majesty, my Landlord, on time? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Forgive me. Last night I sat down in the shower. On that ancient Ikea yellow stool. Mother California's citrus and salad crops are caught in a drought and I just sat in my faded Union-Jack Speedos and let gallons of precious crop-growing H2O pour over me. Gallons. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I looked into the deep and dark recesses of my tortured soul and found the answer to all my financial woes. I found the real answer. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">I found Nirvana. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Why I'm living on the financial edge.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">The price of gas is now $6.48 per gallon. That's where all my legal and illegal cash income is going to! To the local gas station. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">To the same place where a working man has to pay $10 for a crinkly pack of breakfast Twinkies. To the same place where nobody speaks English as a first language. To the same place where the public restrooms have been welded shut since Ronald</span><span style="font-family: courier;"> Reagan was president of SAG. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I'm praying for a President Biden-led full-throttle wider opening of those OPEC pipelines to ease my pain at the pump. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I'm praying the employment resume I emailed for that all-night kitchen-hand side gig at that Woman's Prison in Tehachapi finds a sympathetic eye and ear. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">How's your summer going?</span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-86892066163672702362022-03-22T20:46:00.001-07:002022-03-23T07:26:29.254-07:00Moving Apartments in LA Ain't No Picnic...<p> <span style="font-family: courier;">It's over. Well almost. I'm still stepping over the cardboard boxes. Still raking the pizza cardboards and brewski bottles into the corner. Getting to know the neighbors. Well some of them. Don't think I want to know those dudes down the street living on the edge of that Homeless Encampment. But, I'm here. Still here. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Years back it was simple. As an actor, to keep overheads low, I shared a two-bedroom in Glendale fairly close to The Studios. My roommate, Larry, was heading back to Oklahoma. He said he was heading home. I suspect it was a bit more complicated. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">I never asked. He never said. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">I suspected Extradition. Whatever. I needed new digs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Craigslist to the rescue. It wasn't the Taj Mahal. It wasn't Shakespeare. It was off-street parking and in Burbank, closer than ever to The Studios. I had to share a kitchen. And a bath. No worries. You gotta do whatcha gotta do. The rent was about a third of what people were paying just a mile away, and really close to Warner Bros. It was Ok. I thought. Then the dry-rot slowly crept in. It wasn't pretty.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I don't mind living close to Serial Killers or an occasional Socio-Path. To each his own. Live and let live. This is L.A! I suspect the flotsam that passed through my shared kitchen and mostly never-flushed bathroom were only borderline. Borderline Felons. Hey, I'm an actor.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I had to keep my eye on the Prize. A SAG card. An Oscar. A trophy wife. An ocean view at Malibu. So far I have a SAG card. Oscar is an almost-there mirage. The trophy wife never returned my texts. Sitting on the beach in Malibu is not a problem. The Metro 180 bus stops in Hollywood and after a short snooze, you reach Malibu. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Yes, I survived. In spite of <i>Mr. America</i> the bodybuilder that never said hello. In spite of <i>Mr. Feces</i> a guy who had chronic bowel problems at Midnight. In spite of <i>Miss America,</i> an Armenian woman who banged on the door during my 6am four-minute shower, begging to use the restroom. It was a good six-year run. Then my latest Slumlord asked me to leave. Wanted to make some major renovations. No worries. Craigslist to the rescue once again. I thought. It wasn't pretty.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Three phony apartment no-shows. Combed through a myriad of rent-a-room websites. Finally, I lucked out. A guy that does stand-up. Now in my new digs in Pasadena. Close to my day job. Close to my Argentine Dance Studio. There is a God. She was looking after me once again. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me... </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-89447462673730310712021-12-29T20:51:00.000-08:002021-12-29T20:51:07.392-08:00 CA Rain Washes Memories From The Sidewalks of Life...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">The rains came. We all know that Mother California needed her rain and now it's raining. I'm happy for her. I'm happy that soon flowers will bloom. Trees will bloom. And hopefully, I will bloom. Some would say "It's about time!" I worship the quicksand they walk on. Bastards. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">How was I to know, smiling at the falling rain on the dumpster, that soon I would be in pain from all things, a holiday Wedgie. It all started with a twisting and turning dream on Christmas Eve.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It was more of a nightmare than a dream. Maybe it was that chocolate cake I ate while I streamed "A Christmas Carol" that awesome flick that never grows old. Maybe it was the Heineken cold one that I washed the cake down with while watching the movie. As the story reached the final "Ghost of Christmas Past" I nodded off. And then, that nightmare. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I was in Starbucks. Everyone was glued to their laptops. Behind the counter was a fuzzy-thinking clerk that looked like President Biden. Another clerk arrived. He looked like Santa Claus. I think he was homeless. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">There was no place to sit. What else is new? They kept raising the coffee prices. Biden and Santa Claus kept taunting each other with insults that bordered on the obscene. I think Santa had been drinking. He smelled of weed. Then Santa Claus clawed his way over the counter and in front of God and Country, gave me a Wedgie. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">I'm no stranger to Wedgies. I've had a few. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">A few too many. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">That first Wedgie in grade school. Some PE Instructors have a funny way of teaching. That first Wedgie in high school. Some Guidance Counselors have a funny way of guiding. High School. Best eight years of my life. That Wedgie in college. Some Coeds need to get a life. That Wedgie in the military. I learned Drafted; meant Shafted. That Wedgie at my wedding. A funny way for a Bride to say 'I love you.'</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">As Starbucks posted yet another price bump on their Keopectate Latte I slowly awoke from that chocolate-induced coma masquerading as a nightmare, masquerading as a dream. It was over. Like Scrooge in Charles Dickens' story, I vowed to live a more optimistic life. To face 2022 with a positive attitude.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I vowed to lose those Co-Vid pounds I had gained. I vowed to become a more awesome dance lead in my Argentine Tango class. I vowed to be all I could be. But, enough about me. Happy New Year...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-34690175756236042492021-10-24T21:20:00.005-07:002021-10-26T21:05:04.014-07:00No More Wire Coat-Hangers; No More Stinking Badges...<span style="font-family: courier;">I need to call it like it is. I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a home in the country. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">I needed a vacation,</span><span style="font-family: courier;"> I needed a break from the maddening LA crowd. Due to Co-Vid, I had to take a Stay-Vacation. Of sorts. As you know "Stay-Cation" means you stay at home. Sort of. Actually, it wasn't my idea. It started with a knock at the door.</span><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">Some dude with a badge tells me to pack my bags. His buddies all chime in the same "Pack your bags" command. Like I'm so kind of felon or something. So I've made a mistake or two. Who hasn't? Is nothing sacred? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">To awaken a working man out of his beauty sleep at 2pm is cruel and unusual punishment in my book. And on my devices. For the love of God.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">I forgot to pay a couple of parking tickets and now I'm Jeffrey Dahmer?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">Turns out these dudes wearing badges are from Fish & Game and are on my case for something I can't even remember. Fish & game? What did I do? Start an illegal forest fire? Did I do No. 2 in the woods? When nature calls, a man's got to do what a man's got to do. I crack a joke. "We don't need no stinking badges."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">The famous line from that Humphrey Go-Kart movie "Treasure of the Sierra Madre." No one laughs. Losers. Those Neanderthals wouldn't know a joke if it bit them in the behind. How long do I have to carry this town?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">Those ankle bracelets chaffed my legs on that long ride up to the Los Angeles Forest. Some log cabin with "Sheriff Headquarters" stenciled on the door. I'm forced to watch some poorly filmed documentary that was shot back when Hitler was painting houses. Black and white. Grainy. Sound warbling in and out. OMG. This is Hollywood, people. Can't we at least get some shots in focus?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">The film is all about Mother Nature and how we shouldn't empty our bowels in the woods. Easy for them to say. No brains prevail here. I could have watched this Online. Saved some time. I have things to do: Shopping at the 99 Cent Store. Community Service obligations. That Waxing I promised myself. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">Just a hint for you. You don't want to text Uber any ride requests from jail. Those transportation-wielding Gestapos will cross-index the address and will discover that the call is from a lock-up at Fish & Game. Bastards. I found out the hard way. It was a long walk back down to L.A. You live and you learn.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">It was more like being back on Medication than on a relaxing Stay-Vacation. Too short. It was OK, but nothing to email home about. Hope your day is going well.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">Mother of God, there's someone knocking on my door. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></div>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-71598135719520076982021-08-01T14:34:00.005-07:002021-08-02T07:12:16.141-07:00The Dog Daze of August 21...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">Summertime and the living is easy, so says the song. Fish are jumping and the cotton is high.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Your Daddy's rich and your Mother's good-looking, so hush now little baby don't you cry. An awesome nod to <i>Porgy & Bess</i>. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I read these words to myself every August. Sometimes I read them every couple of hours. I know those <i>Dog Days of Summer</i> are close and getting closer. On top of the usual heat, one has to worry about the Pandemic and all those choices about "To Mask or Not to Mask." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Sounds like a Shakespearean tragedy. I want to share how I will cope. It won't be easy. It won't be a cakewalk. Trust me. Thousands wouldn't. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Just down the street is my salvation. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's a small out of the way place that is just big enough to swing a cat, but still big enough for a few of my closest friends. A place to sit. A place to share. A place to commiserate. A place to reboot.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's down the street next to the 24/7 laundromat and next to the liquor store. Matter of fact, it's in the back of the liquor store. It's inside the beer cooler. It's where Jake, a recently disbarred entertainment lawyer, and close buddy holds court. Usually at night. Always at night. Always when the country club owner, the guy that wears those Trader Joe's Hawaiian shirts, is still telling stories on the 19th hole. It's after hours. Always after hours. It's Heaven.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's Heaven to have an evening out with the boys. My closest friends:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Bud Light, Sam Adams, Fat Tire, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Blue Moon, Harry Heineken, Hombre Tecate, Stella Artois. My Aussie mate, Foster's. With these guys, it's always Miller Time. Always time for an icy cold Corona. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Always a moment to remember especially with that awesome storyteller, an ice-cold Coors, Nectar of the gods. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">That's how I will cope with the August heat. You're most welcome to join us. Always.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-92017703052703721972021-06-17T20:31:00.001-07:002021-06-18T07:00:55.387-07:00Living & Streaming: The Summer of 2021...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's early morning. The summer is almost here. I can hear it in the voices of the birds chirping on the fire escape outside my window. I can hear it in the voices of the homeless rummaging through the dumpster down below. Summer! Yes, life is good. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Yes, life is good and God is good and I know she has a great summer planned for me. Receding into the distance like the South end of Seabiscuit running North at Santa Anita is Co-Vid and all the accoutrement of Six Foot distancing, Masks du jour, and those nasty glares at the laundromat most Saturdays when my mask slipped down beneath my panting nostrils. Time to move on.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Time to reboot my life. It won't be easy. Not with my 5th book coming out. Not that I'm Shakespeare. Or Stephen King. But when the glow of another book hits Amazon and Barnes & Noble, it's on for young and old. They come out of the woodwork. Like cockroaches. Like poor relations. They think it means Big Bucks. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">The residuals I make off my writing won't give me a down payment at Malibu. Maybe a down payment on an icy Six-Pack of Non-Alcoholic Heineken green. On these hot days, that's all I need. It's all good.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">What's all bad is that when the new book arrives, those poor relations think it's Christmas. They think they can show up at all hours and ask for a loan. And then to add insult to injury, they have the consummate bad taste to ask me to give them a ride back to the trailer park. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">By the gods, can't they take the 94 bus down San Fernando Road into Chinatown and save me some time, not to mention some gas money. Do they think I'm Mr. Moneybags or something? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Do they think I'm Jeff Bezos? Give me a break. I'm a working man. Working like a coolie is the elbow-to-elbow sweatshop called Hollywood. Eking out a living. Waiting to sell a comedy screenplay. Waiting for <i>The Onion</i> to buy one of my Headlines. Waiting for the gravy train. Waiting for my ship to come in. Respect that people!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Respect that, you malcontents that show up on my doorstep at all hours, asking for a couple of bucks! Claiming that we're related. Well, at least summer, finally is here. But, it won't be a cakewalk. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Another summer of dodging restraining orders, avoiding jury duty summons, coping with heatwaves, riding those Southern California earthquakes, and other realities. I know I can make it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I've done it before. I'll do it again. Hoping the Cartels reconnect. Hoping to meet Miss Right. Or her sister, Miss Right Now. It's all good. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">My community service is going well. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me... </span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-28811111427267124852021-04-01T20:04:00.003-07:002021-04-12T17:28:53.555-07:00Echo Park Hues; Echo Park Blues...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">I have the solution. It won't be easy. It's taken some sleepless nights. Some tossing and turning. A few "Ah-Ha" defining moments, that came to me, gridlocked in LA's moan and groan traffic. A solution to our biggest challenge. Not Co-Vid. It's simple. It's profound. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">I have a way to end the homeless crisis.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">We need to eat them. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I know the road ahead will be a long and winding road with many culinary and non-culinary twists and turns. Stay with me. The idea to cure homelessness came to me when I saw an LA landmark being trashed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">A landmark close to my heart and a landmark close to the heart of every movie fan, here in LA and to every movie fan across the world. This landmark location is our beloved beautiful timeless LA Woman. Our sweetheart. Her name is Echo Park. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">In <i>Chinatown</i>, LA Noir gumshoe J.J. Gittes, played by Jack Nicholson snaps those incriminating photos of Water & Power's Mr. Mulray and his alleged girlfriend, as his private detective buddy, rows the boat across the water at Echo Park. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I binge-watched <i>Bosch</i> last week. Echo Park played a background role as a Walk & Talk scene rolled before the cameras. It was awesome. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">In so many movies, Echo Park has played and will always play a vital character in LA storytelling. When I saw those self-righteous idiots being run out of Echo Park a few nights ago, I slept easier. It was REM nirvana. I slept the sleep of the just. It won't be easy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It won't be easy to eat the homeless. I hope that with your help and with the advice from some of those <i>Craig's List</i> pre-CoVid food workers we'll be able to make it work. Wake up. Cannibalism isn't new to America. Google that Donner-Pass scenario. You get the picture. It's a sick, twisted and yet, hungry picture. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">As an entree, we need to create a restaurant menu. Like at Clint's Hog's Breath Inn in Carmel. Instead of the "Dirty Harry Burger" maybe we should see something like the breakfast recipe for Irish Scrambled Eggs. "First, steal 12 eggs." You get the picture.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">We can do this America. All we need to do; is to work together. To create together. To eat together. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Bon Appetit.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-83699448941265274272021-01-05T07:18:00.002-08:002021-01-10T21:22:59.375-08:00 Potential Unlimited: 2021: Soaring the Heights...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's come and gone. The celebration of New Year's 2021.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I wasn't out in some sordid back-alley, super-spreader event. Once again, I was holed up in my sleeping bag, cell-phone flashlight in my hand reading a knarled copy of The Police Gazette Annual Edition, 1985. I nodded off and when I opened my eyes, it was 2021.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's so awesome that it's now 2021. Thank God, in all her glory, that the memory of 2020 is receding faster than the South end of Seabiscuit running North at Santa Anita. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">We ain't out of the woods just yet but the light at the end of the 3rd Street Tunnel is finally in sight. (That's in L.A. for those reading this from behind bars.) That light is the maelstrom of vaccines that are pouring in from the drug companies. Vaccines to die for, so to speak.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I'm ready, willing and Uber ready to get a healing shot in the arm. It'll be nice to have a new healing drug in my system. It gets old when your only drug of choice is a steady stream of Kaopectate.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">A New Year has dawned and my goal is quite simple: A needy Trophy-wife girlfriend. An adventurous lady with an insatiable libido and longing for a Threesome: Her. Me. And her American Express Card. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's the New Year with the promise of Spring. The promise of new movie roles. The promise of meeting new personalities, many of whom will be early-release felons that share my twisted sense of humor, and have robust and still-active connections with the Cartels. The promise of expunging those unflattering court records in L.A. County. The promise of becoming a great Argentine Tango dance-lead and learning some new moves for 2021. The promise of ordering those always-on-sale wife-beater T-shirts on Amazon.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I want to soar the heights. I want to be all I can be. I want to...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Well, maybe not.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me...</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-29389756001041895402020-11-03T18:29:00.000-08:002020-11-03T18:29:51.127-08:00I Accept Your Presidency...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">Yes, I accept the presidency. The Presidency of the newly-formed <i>Dancing Actors of Burbank and Beyond</i>. All rights reserved. Once those recently disbarred entertainment lawyers, now acting as our legal clerks complete the official Sacramento paperwork. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">We know that working in the shadows has been a tough gig. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Thank you for your devoted endless hours campaigning on my behalf. The endless days. The dusk till dawn footwork. The in-and-out series of never-ending court appearances that helped bring me this honor.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I know I'll be busy promoting us both as dancers, and as actors, but my door will always be open for my constituency and any questions that may come to mind. 24/7. As always. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Read that: My tent flap will always be open. (It might have something to do with living under the 5 Freeway viaduct in that Army surplus tent) next to the van, down by the river. Let me reiterate: My Flap will always be open. Come one. Come all. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Actors. Non-Actors. Dancers. Non-Dancers. Homeowners. Homeless. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Speaking of the homeless. Would the motley crew of malcontents that keep texting me that we are related, please bother somebody else.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">OK, I knew you guys in the trailer park and we partied hard, and one of your sisters and I spent that unbridled heavy-breathing weekend in Yosemite but that was months...okay, weeks, okay, days ago. That doesn't mean we're engaged. I have my own life to live now. Writing comedy. Uber. Dancing. </span><span style="font-family: courier;">Thanks for your understanding. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">By the way, that family heirloom photo album you mailed me was much appreciated. That picture of our neighbor Jeffrey Dahmer helping me blow out the candles at my 4th birthday party brought tears to my eyes. Growing up in Wisconsin was beyond awesome. Jeff showed me my first dance steps and I like to think, helped me pave the way to this honor of becoming President. He was a great dancer with some badass moves and gave some back-yard barbeques to die for. Sure miss those days. Good times.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I'll be in touch with the <i>Dancing Actors</i> details as to future meetings, locations, and any updates that you need to know. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Be Safe.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me...</span></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-50217570933471169232020-09-04T19:04:00.001-07:002020-09-04T19:04:34.538-07:00It's not a pretty sight...<p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's not a pretty sight. I'm sitting in my birthday suit. Well almost. I'm wearing those Speedos. The one with the faded Union Jack flag. Mick Jagger probably wore these decades before I did. How they ended up in a thrift store in Hollyweird is anyone's guess. Another L.A. Heat Wave. Another Labor Day long weekend. Another day to dodge the pandemic bullet.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Dodging the bullet in L.A. What else is new? Slumlords. Grand Jury Subpoenas. I've dodged them all. In this heat, I'm doing what I gotta do with my new best friend. We're snuggling up real close.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Wish I could say my new best friend is that lady I met in Tango class in South Pasadena. My new best friend coughs and hacks like a senior citizen at 5am. My new best friend is that R2-D2 sized AC floor unit I bought off Craigs List for sixty bucks and change way back when. Back when Hitler was painting houses. It's still pumping out those BTUs. Still cool. Still Miles Davis cool. So far, so good. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">My AC unit and I are getting closer each time the temperature rises. I'm hydrating as well. I'm surviving and actually thriving, primarily on light catering. Bud Light. After a cold brewski or two, I start to forget all about the heat. I do have a Plan B. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's down the street next to the 24/7 laundromat. It's that 'Circus' liquor store and my buddy, Jake, a disbarred entertainment lawyer works there most nights. If my AC gives up the ghost during this heatwave, Plan B will go into effect.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">My Plan B could stand for Brewski. Jake will pretend I'm a customer and let me walk through the icy cold beer locker. Domestic. Imports. Heineken. Fat Tires. Brewski heaven. We did this caper last summer and the owner, that country club guy, never knew the difference. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Nothing planned for Labor Day. Not really. Keeping cool. Hand washing my cleanest pair of dirty jeans. Maybe hand-washing my Speedos. Maybe buy some new masks. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">But, enough about me...</span></p><p><br /></p>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-43460811052093718292020-08-02T18:03:00.000-07:002020-08-02T18:03:39.641-07:00Another Hollywood Player Has Passed...<font face="courier">My heart is broken. Hearts across Los Angeles are broken. Hearts across Hollywood will never be the same.</font><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">Life will never be the same I'm sorry to say. When you've worked with someone special for a number of years on a number of shows it's tough </font><span style="font-family: courier;">to know you'll never see them again.</span></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">We were first introduced on my first feature movie "Dead Women in Lingerie." Broadway's Jerry Orbach, the father from <i>Dirty Dancing</i> was the star. I played an LAPD rookie, dressed in Hill Street Blues, standing by the dumpster. It was my first gig as Background, aka an Extra. At this time of industry-wide grieving, please forgive me, but I carried that movie.</font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">Inches away from the dumpster, a new friend was waiting to enrich my life. Thank you, movie gods. Little did I know that many shoots and many missed Oscar nominations in the future, my new friend would be dead. As dead as my in-minus-numbers ancient SAT score. As dead as last week's 400th unrequited text to Jennifer Lawrence, pledging my future love and devotion. As dead as Julius Caesar. </font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">Now, passed, I'll always remember the good times. We were a team. On more sets than you've had hot lunches. <i>Seabiscuit. The Grifters.Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. 24. Grey's Anatomy. Mad Men. Scandal. Jersey Boys. Bosch. Curb Your Enthusiasm. Indiana Jones-Crystal Skull. Vice. Sharknado. </i>The heartbreaking list goes on and on. </font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">The virus caused the death of my near and dear lifelong movie-loving friend: Craft Service. </font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">'Crafty' as she was known was most generous. Sometimes in your face. But always there. Always there. Flaunting her womanly wares for Cast & Crew. Hot coffee. LAPD-style 4am Call Time donuts. You name it. Cheese sandwiches with tomato soup on those winter all-nighters in Downtown LA with the team from Snow Business, making it look like Christmas in Chi-Town.</font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><span style="font-family: courier;">We all have good days. We all have bad days. But s</span><font face="courier">he always wore a smile. Always there for all of us: Directors. Producers. DP's. Actors. Wardrobe. Crew. Hair. Make-Up. Background. Teamsters. The Whole Enchilada. </font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">I heard through the grapevine that the spirit of Crafty is slowing returning. Returning as those most-welcome Call Sheet emails have begun arriving again, as the virus slowly but surely, heads South.</font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">As Crafty's spirit reinvents herself, in this LA LA Land of reinvention, I'm stopping for 4am Java at Starbuck's. Stashing a few Cliff power bars in the pockets of the costumes and business suits I wear in front of the cameras.</font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">Wardrobe. Hair. Make-up. Thanks for making me look good. Look after yourself. Mask. Social Distance. Washing hands. I'll join you. </font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier">But, </font><span style="font-family: courier;">enough about me...</span></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier"> </font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><font face="courier"><br /></font></div><div><br /></div>denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-21038326388300925332020-05-17T14:20:00.000-07:002020-05-17T15:25:24.643-07:00I'm sick. I mean really sick...<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I'm sick. More than sick. Sick of it all. No, not the virus. Not the mask-wearing. I'm sick to death...of carrying this town. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Why do I have to answer every email? Every text? I'm starting on my 5th book. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Now people are asking me to teach writing. Get a life, people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I'm carrying this town and waiting. Waiting on two of my speaking line roles to wiggle out of post-production and get to the big screen. Talk about development hell. Thanks to that freaking virus, I'm in post-production hell. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Can't wait. Can't wait till they see me on the Big Screen. Ex-professors. Ex-wardens. Ex-parole officers. Ex-1st ADs. Ex-Lovers and other strangers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I pray to God every day. I know she's listening. I ask for her guidance. Help me cope. </span><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Help me cope with the Cretins in Hollywood. Divine Ma'am, Why do I have to carry this town?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I'm sorry. I 'm sorry. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Sorry that my good looks (a debatable proposition) questionable talents both on and off the dance floor and my never-say-die hustle have catapulted me to fame and most likely shame, as a Hollywood icon. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Okay, maybe being a Hollywood background movie extra ain't your cup of Green Tea. Still, it's almost a living. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Fellow actors, disgruntled directors, and recently disbarred entertainment lawyers, I'm still walking tall and an occasional muffled communication from a small, disgustingly oily but loyal fan base keeps me going (usually from within prison walls on stolen devices)and is enough to keep me living the dream.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">And back to auditioning, once this virus thing is dead and buried. Whatever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">A lot of people out there are jealous of my performances. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I've worked with the Best: Cruise. Walken. Pitt. Clooney.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">So have they. Me. How long do I have to carry this town? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">But, enough about me...</span><br />
<br />
<br />denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-90390179535049612142020-03-19T18:38:00.000-07:002020-03-19T18:38:41.950-07:00There's not much time left...<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There's not much time left. Not much time left to do what I gotta do. What I gotta do, is what I shoulda done, way back when. Woulda. Coulda. Shouda. Time to man up. May God help me. I know she'll be there for me. It's time. Time for my...plastic surgery.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The virus crisis is on. I know that's important. But this is more important. This is my career. This is Hollywood. This is my life. This is my face. My face is my fortune. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I have fans. They buy tickets. The little people. Fans. Not those dwarfs that live down the street. My fans. I don't want to disappoint either one of them. Enuff said. A couple of inches. A couple of pounds. A little Nick. A little Tuck. I owe it to myself. Forgive my candor. I owe it to the world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I've gone the extra mile here in the City of Actors & Angels. I've worked in the mud and rain on War of the Worlds. I've danced in a Tuxedo for 17 hours going into Golden Time on Atlas Shrugged at the Biltmore Hotel. I've worked Non-Union. Some would call Non-Human.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was used. I was abused. Even with a SAG card, times were tough and getting tougher. Acting is no cake-walk. Lately, I've been doing more acting out, than acting. But, now it's time to shine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Now it's time to go under the knife. Wish me well. I'll Uber over to that private doctor in Chinatown. He doesn't speak the King's English, but I heard he's good with a knife. Disbarred by Sacramento, but nobody's perfect. Hopefully, I'll see you on the other side. A new face; a new career. But, enough about me...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-74750533496845748252019-12-25T21:22:00.000-08:002019-12-25T21:22:28.674-08:00Christmas Eve in L.A...<br />
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;">Christmas
Eve in L.A. </span></b></span></span><b style="font-family: "Kingthings Trypewriter Pro", monospace; font-size: x-large;">Christmas
Eve in Hollywood. Time to go home. As they say in MovieSpeak: Wrapped.</b></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><i><b>Free
at last,</b></i></span> <span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><i><b>free
at last, thank God Almighty I'm free at last</b></i></span> <span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><b>I
murmur loudly to my fellow employees. I head home. </b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Had
a few stops to make. Took a couple of side streets. A right turn. A
left turn. Siri, speaking with an Aussie voice steers me wrong.
Right. Left. Two U-turns. No big deal.</b></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The
dance studio. Closing down for Christmas eve. I drop off a check for
my Argentine Tango lessons. The clerk at the desk, I've danced with
before in a Waltz class. She couldn't hold a dance frame if her life
depended on it. No worries. She tucks my check into her push-up bra
and gives me a half-smile.</b></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Another
turn. Another street. Had to pick up some drugs. Drugs to help me
make it through the night. Kaopectate. Enuff said. It was dark and
rainy. A dark and rainy December 24</b></span></span><sup><span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>th</b></span></span></sup><span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>.
</b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Christmas
eve in L.A. Traffic. Clogged freeways. Spotify Algorithms sing a song
of Christmas. Christmas Songs. Songs to soothe. To soothe the savage
beast. Me. Home now. Parking now. </b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A
homeless dude in handcuffs, dressed in red, with a white beard,
wearing some bad-ass black boots gives me a wink and a thumbs-up as
he and two LAPD cops walk by. Nothing I haven't seen before. This is
L.A. </b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>As
I grapple with a small Amazon box that contains my book
“Confessions...of a Hollywood Movie Extra” that apparently eluded
local Porch Pirates, I hear voices. Again. <i>What are you doing with
your</i> <i>life?</i> a little raspy voice keeps whispering in my
ear. </b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I
start to stream <i>Love Actually</i>, the Christmas flick that has
replaced <i>It's a</i> <i>Wonderful Life</i> as my December 25<sup>th</sup>
go-to movie. Hard to concentrate. I couldn't shake that VM from
earlier this morning. Casting. Wants me for the lead in “Laundromat
Gigolo 2.” Is nothing sacred? OMG. I said no today. I said no last
week. I'll say no tomorrow.</b></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>30
Minutes into <i>Love Actually</i></b></span></span><span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> I hit the pause button. I need to sleep. REM sleep. Out of the
question. I toss and turn all night, like ping pong balls in an
overheated tumble dryer. </b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>In
spite of all the twisting and turning events of the day and in spite
of the Christmas music ringing in my ears, I eventually succumb and I
dream a dream of Peace on Earth and Good Will to Men.</b></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then
the demons came again.</b></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Kingthings Trypewriter Pro, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>But,
enough about me...</b></span></span></div>
<br />denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-83816384530647341052019-06-03T19:01:00.000-07:002019-06-05T18:01:31.339-07:00<h2>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">OMG.
Sunday morning. I should be going to church. I am going to church. My
special church. The movies. A church filled with art. Art that will
remind me of my humanity. The ups. The downs. The magic. The movies.
AMC Theatres. Burbank. I'm just clearing the stairs to Rocketman.</span></span></h2>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<b style="color: #222222; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro", monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="color: #222222; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro", monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly.
I see it and it's not pretty. A small version of Godzilla is dancing
along the theatre entrance. They've hired some dwarf or midget to
crawl into a costume of Godzilla and bump and grind and grope into my
fellow mouth-breathing malcontents going to the movies. Characters
from a Saturday morning laundromat. Bless their hearts.</span></b></div>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="color: #222222; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro", monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dwarfs.
Midgets. “Little People” my derriere. Bastards. They get all the
work.</span></b></div>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>As
I negotiate around Leaping Lizards, some iPhone babe is filming his
every move as he imitates Godzilla, a revered cinema hero in my life
and in the life of most movie fans from San Quentin to San Diego.
From Nagasaki to North Hollywood.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Is
nothing sacred?</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>How
dare they burlesque Godzilla? Maybe the dude or dudette doing their
impression of Godzilla is a college student with tuition to pay.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="color: #222222; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro", monospace; font-size: x-large;">Or
more probably, another early-release felon with bills to pay. I'll
let God sort it out.</b></div>
<div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>She's
good at that</b>.</span></span></span></div>
<br />denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856596173614288405.post-77593091080844892322019-03-29T07:38:00.000-07:002019-03-30T15:58:41.601-07:00Spring-ing Forward: 2019<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="color: black; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro", monospace; font-size: large;">It's gone now. That REM destroying nightmare. You know the one. The giant frogs are chasing me down Magnolia Blvd.in Burbank. Again.</b><br />
<b style="color: black; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro", monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></b></div>
<h2 style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</h2>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The movie crews scarfing down burgers & fries & brewskis inside Tinhorn Flats peer through the swinging doors and watch in horror as I'm run over by Frogs R Us. The slimy frogs set fire to my SAG card. I wake up in a cold sweat. The same scenario. Every night. It's over. I hope.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>I'm out of breath as I wake up mornings in my just-big-enough-to-swing-a-cat humble apartment. My commode and abode. Close to the studios. Still pitching our comedy screenplays around town. Still doing the Hollywood Hustle.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>That Indie film lead in <i>Laundromat Gigolo</i> was a non-starter. Still working funeral gigs to help pay the bills. Still keeping Hope alive. I'm still here. Still here. Sounds like lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. Still waters run deep. Still dancing too.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Figure the Salsa moves are good Cardio moves too. Dancing with Hot Babes works for me. Eye-Candy City. Most classes. No worries. Guess I'm becoming a dancer. </b></span></span></span><b style="color: black; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro", monospace; font-size: large;">Wake up every morning with sore legs. </b><b style="color: black; font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro", monospace; font-size: large;">My new heroes: Bob Fosse. Michael Kidd. Jerome Robbins.</b></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Started my dance lessons years ago. Argentine Tango. Waltz. Delta Blues. Day Room. San Quentin. Good times.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en"><b>Looking forward to Tarantino's beyond awesome new flick </b></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en"><i><b>Once Upon a Time in Hollywood.</b></i></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "kingthings trypewriter pro" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Enough about me. What's up with you?</b></span></span></span></div>
denny dormodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387251573075285803noreply@blogger.com0