Thursday, November 15, 2012

What are you really thankful for?

It’s that time of year where everyone is going to blog about feel good bullshit they are thankful for (Thought Catalog suggests sending an old friend a handwritten note expressing your feelings to an old friend!) I am thankful for friends and family that love me for me. I love my job, my supportive husband and my beautiful niece.

Are you really thankful for that? Like yes, friends and family are great, but are you really thankful for book club and pretty flowers and the show Revenge? That seems like a pretty half ass list…pretty conducive to the half ass life most people are overeager to settle for, I like to paint a slightly different picture of the things that I am really happy for.

I am really happy for alcohol and all the glorious effects it has on my life. Almost every sexual encounter I have ever been fortuitous enough to engage in has been relating to alcohol. Either I was so bombed that I settled for a 3, a chick was so bombed she settled for me or I drank enough that I was able to muster up the courage to actually talk to a pretty girl. If I was a Mormon I would be a virgin Mormon. What a shitty existence that would be. On the flip side alcohol has led to various downfalls in my life. Infidelity, legal troubles, hangovers, bouts of erectile dysfunction and me just being a shitty human being, but it’s easy to blame the alcohol. We live in a society where you can generally just say, “sorry I was hammered” and all is forgiven. It’s one of the only generally accepted excuses. Much better than saying, “sorry, I was sober I’m just actually a miserable person.”

I’m thankful to live in a world where personality matters. If I had to get by on effort, reliability and ability to follow orders I would be fucked. Like super fucked. I do not play well with others and I do not do the role of subordinate well. I would be the worst soldier ever. Fortunately though, I am extremely outgoing and fairly talented. I can succeed for the most part or at least get by on charm and wit. I will likely leap over deserving people in the long run because I am more fun to hang out with and generally awesome. It’s not that nice guys finish last, it’s just that shy quiet people don’t get noticed and in life you promote people that you like. Remember that whole rumor during pledgeship that the guys that were the best pledges would hold the most respect in the house? It’s bullshit, it’s all about who crushes the most ass and makes road trips more fun.

I’m thankful for dreams. Because without them what’s the fucking point? I could go move into my parent’s basement, get a job selling home security. No fuck that. Sales is the worst. I would go get a job in construction, it would save me a visit to the gym every day. Eventually I would find a decent woman to marry, we would buy a 2 bedroom house south of broad ripple and eventually procreate. The world would go on.  I think I would rather die of a heart attack at 30 before living out that existence. So I slave away collating scripts knowing that one day I’ll get stuck in an elevator with some producer and by the time we get out, we’ll be shopping my pilot to networks together. And if it doesn’t work out, at least I spent my 20’s attempting to do something interesting.

Honorable mention: I’m also thankful for Indiana basketball, Justin Bieber, independent cinema, electronic music, virgin air, giant soft chewy sweet tarts and also for you. Yes you. I know my ramblings are so pretentious and at times hard to read. If I were you I would be rooting for me to fail, but I won’t because I keep it real and apparently that’s a dying art form. Happy Thanksgiving, enjoy the football and the inside of your ex-girlfriend’s snatch.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

The Dilemma

Warning: The following post is a tad more graphic than usual. It in no way reflects an endorsement of how I believe people should behave. However it is an exercise in creative writing. I also wrote it when I was quite intoxicated. It is a work of fiction.

You look to your left. Slight panic. Where am I? A bed. Good start. Have come to in much worse places. This is not a prison or a ditch. Evaluate surroundings. Not my bed. That’s a body. Not attractive. At least she’s female. So I’m at her place. Piece it together. I went out last night. Hard. I blacked out. Jesus. When will I stop doing that. Did I bang this chick? Unlikely. I blacked out. Not 19 anymore. Drunken erections not to be taken for granted. Also that gram of blow I did. At least there is no need to worry about condoms and pregnancies and stds. But wait. What if I went down on her. That’s my move. It’s a classic go to. Fuck. Can vag herpes turn into mouth herpes? I guess I would just call them cold sores. Those are gross though. It hurts when you open your mouth. Whatever. I probably just came here and passed out. Where are my pants. All the way over there? Why do I feel the need to dramatically whip my jeans across the room? Maybe I can lean over and get them. She won’t wake up. Fuck, this bed is high. Is that a thing? Don’t wake up, I’m leaning, I’m reaching. Fuck. No chance. Oh shit, she’s moving. Do not roll over and attempt to cuddle me. Please. Oh shit. Ok so the covers shifted around a bit. I may have undersold her a bit. Nice tits. How am I going to get home. A cab would be 90 bucks. I can’t justify that. Spent like an asshole last night. But she’s not that bad. I;m digging that puffy nipple. Oh shit, I’m hard. Maybe I poke her awake. But maybe she blacked out too and will be weirded out to find a stranger in her bed. Is it wet on her side of the bed? Did she piss herself? Fuck it. I’ll rub it on her thigh until I get a hand job minimum. I can probably get a ride out of her. Unless she makes me take the bus. Or I could abandon this plan and just try to sneak out. That won’t work. Oh shit, my breath. Was I drinking tequila? Why. Quick strategic analysis, sneak out vs. possible hand job and lift home. The dilemma. 

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

When I become showrunner

I think I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. It may have taken a quarter of a century, but I think I've figured it out. Obviously my end game is to be able to write in some capacity, and sure, lots of the glory is in features. Most aspiring writers don't dream of being television hacks, but where there is a lot of glory is that of a tv show runner. This is basically the guy that comes up with the idea for the show, sells it to the network, writes the pilot and then maintains all creative control of the series moving forward. Think of Dan Harmon at Community (before he got axed) Kurt Sutter at Sons of Anarchy, Matthew Weiner at Mad Men, Terrence Winter at Boardwalk Empire. All of these guys are major badasses.

Unfortunately in order to get into the machine you have to start at the bottom where I am now. I have no complaints about my job, I view it as a very necessary evil. I will not get food orders forever, it is a stepping stone to eventual happiness. It's very much akin to being a pledge before you are allowed to join the frat. You are kind of part of the whole scene but not really. Most people don't go out of their way to be a dickhead to you but some will, that and many of my duties are things that I learned to do as a pledge and haven't really done since, such as cleaning up after myself, and others. I'm a fairly cocky, arrogant guy. I am physically superior to almost everyone, well...I'm taller than most people. I'm loud, imposing and I have a lot of fun.

I remember when I was a pledge my general demeanor really rubbed some people the wrong way, it was like "Why aren't you more miserable? You are supposed to fucking hate this." But I didn't really because when I left the frat after cleaning up or getting barfed on, I would shower, get drunk and go have sex with a random chick. My life wasn't that bad. I feel like the hierarchy of tv is very much the same. I am a pledge. The producers are the Seniors. Everyone else on the staff is somewhere between neophyte and Junior. Most of the people are super cool and really don't give a shit what the pledges (PAs) are up to because they have a show to make. (I equate this to frat guys having girls to fuck.) Note that the cool guys in the frat never gave a shit about the pledges, they were too busy finding good houses to party with, going on epic road trips, and generally drinking beer and gunning chicks. Outside the occasional fuck up that directly influenced them (losing a key to the booze fridge) they generally didn't think twice about you at all.

This directly correlates with tv. 99% of the staff is all smiles with me until I fuck up something that either gets them in trouble with their boss or directly impacts their job, making them work longer or harder. But once in a while you encounter that guy that lives in the valley (in a shitty upstairs single) that still remembers getting picked on when he was a pledge (PA) and he doesn't like your fucking arrogance. Wipe that smile off your face underling, go get me a bottled water (beer.) He can't stand the fact that you are going to go out in Venice (Briscoe) tonight and bang some chick (bang some chick) while he wonders why he is still just an assistant editor (Sophomore with no people skills) I'm going to haze the fucking shit out of you because I'm still miserable.

Our assistant editor is the shit actually and so are 99% of the people I work with, it is just something I have picked up on in life. The losers can never let their hardships go. I had to work 14 hour days (14 hour line-ups) so you are going to. People yelled at me, so I'm going to yell at you. Meanwhile the cool guys are just social climbing until they get to work on an HBO show (this is like the equivalent of living in Shingles or super frat)

But now that I'm done with my extended metaphor, what changes would I make to the world of Production? Funny you ask, I have a few thoughts.

First of all, life in production is pretty intense, and I am not cut out for it. The natural route for someone in my position is to become production secretary, assistant production coordinator, production coordinator and then if you're lucky you're a unit production manager getting a lowly co-producer credit by the time you're 50. On my side of the office it is printing scripts, re-printing scripts on different colored paper, collecting release forms, dealing with insurance, budgeting camera rental equipment...fuck that. I need to take a hard right to the end of the hall where the creative staff hangs out. Writers meetings, nerf guns, writer's block beers, that's the shit I'm talking about. I don't even know if any of that stuff exists, but I fantasize what the week would look like if I were the show runner. I imagine there would be considerably more youth and exuberance and fewer vegan options on the lunch menu. In fact you would think that television shows that are trying so depserately for that 18-49 demo would skew young. In fact they do not. I don't know if my show has a single writer in their 20's, even the writers assistants appear to be in their 30s.

Maybe it's been tried before and it became a production nightmare. If the writers are just casually drinking all day and the tv show adopts a laissez faire attitude it must be a nightmare to get things done. But maybe that fun atmosphere on a television show transcends the television waves? Well hopefully we'll find out, because if the Glowfest show gets the greenlight and I'm a writing producer I can't imagine that I'll spend more than 5 hours and 3 four lokos on an episode outline before I say "fuck it, let's shoot it and see what happens." Television needs more of that.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

When I think about you I touch myself

If you would have told me that at age 25, I would have a tv show in development at Red Bull, work on the Fox lot and have a BYOB Chinese restaurant and a beach less than a mile from my house I would probably have been quite thrilled with that outcome.

Yes look at me kids, a true American success story, proof that you can do whatever the fuck you want in life and if you're awesome enough you will get away with it.

OK so I'm a PA on a Friday night tv show, my tv series may or may not air on the web. And there is a 15% chance of getting stabbed on my particular beach if I go there after dark. That said, there is no knock on Mao's Kitchen, it is simply the best and if you pay your non-English speaking waitress 5 dollars she will turn the other way when you try to take shots (they are licensed for beer and wine only)

So tomorrow I take the next step in my journey to the top. Full of 6 am call times, petty cash and hopefully lots of meal penalties (you get extra money if you aren't fed in the first 6 hours of your shift, heyooo) the flip side of this is the blog will suffer. As people that have been reading me for a while you can probably make a direct correlation with how often I am writing and how little I give a shit about what I'm up to professionally. Now that I am actually a real boy in the entertainment industry the days of blogging about banging fat chicks and doing bathroom key bumps might be coming to an end (not to say I'm going to stop, but I likely won't have time to actually carry on my double life AND tell you about it)

But that's good, it used to be that when I needed to find a creative outlet I would vent about everything different in the world that I didn't understand. I couldn't fathom the idea of getting married or staying in. When Indy got lame, I jumped to Chicago, when I lost all my friends in Chicago to relationships and maturity I jumped to LA, fortunately there are 40 year olds here who behave the same way that I do, so I might get to stay a while. In fact, when I think of many of the people that swept me under the rug as they settled for a life of middle management and this I realize that my constant bitching about it will never change the way other people react.

Believe it or not, mediocrity is enough for some people. Some people don't have the desire to go for it.

Whatever it is I guess. I guess dreaming big for some people is "having 4 kids." Some people want to make a lot of money. I for one, want to make something that will be here forever. Even if I write the shittiest movie ever made, or am a low level producer on a really bad reality tv show. It will exist because of me, and there will never be anything anyone can do to take it away. Even if our society reverts to that of high morals and everything that I ever wrote is deemed obscene. Somewhere on a hard drive or a web address it will always exist. That is my motivation for doing what I do.

Again, the blog will never make me famous, so I've been scaling back my activity on here and diverting it to actual screenplays, television specs and basic pitches for things that I find interesting. As much fun it is to bitch and moan and create this megalomaniac of a character on this blog and try to once and a while show you a hint of humanity and intelligence that I as a person really have, it was generally created as an exercise for me to find my voice.

And I've found it. I hope lots of you continue to follow my writing career, and I will still check in here from time to time, it's just hard to work a 60 hour week, write a 100 page screenplay and still find the time to come on here and ask what the fuck those vuvuzella things are that hang on a Jewish person's door.

To any aspiring writers or people that just thought maybe it would be fun to give a shot once, lots of people will give you advice along the way. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. Do your thing, don't read any books, just start writing and see what happens. Even if you don't achieve a desired result, you'll know that you did things your way and that's got to be better than being a fucking hack.

So that's that. Not the end of a book, but the beginning of a new chapter for me. All you peeps better set your dvr's to Fox on Friday nights this January, not to tune in would be to intentionally destroy my master plan. (Season 3 writer's PA, Season 4 Writer's assistant, Season 5 promoted to staff writer. Show gets cancelled after season 5 but I have a WGA card and an agent and at the age of 28 my coming of age indie film wins Sundance and I get to go on a date with Jennifer Lawrence.)

Didn't someone say that if you write down your goals they are ten times more likely to come true?

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Short term memory loss

I haven't found the time to blog this week because I've been working the early shift at Fox. I've been waking up at 5 am every day, coming home and falling asleep. Usually I come home at 5 am and fall asleep, so this has been a bit backward for me. By the way, I had an epiphany the other day while driving. The new last call song has to be "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles, except instead of some weird Eastern influenced metaphor about what George Harrison was going through at the time of Abbey Road, it's like, "oh fuck, the sun is rising, better take this slam home before I can see what she actually looks like."

But seriously, I haven't woken up at 5am since I think Little 5 my senior year, and that was to drink. I've been drinking these K cups called rocket fuel (which would be a great name for a street drug) they are like the double IPAs of coffee. I literally take two hits (sips) and I want to ride an elephant into battle.

I did want to take 30 seconds though today and discuss society's short term memory loss. 3 things happened in the last 48 hours that I found interesting.

1. Romney won the debate last night. I am not very political, nor is this blog, but just a week after he complained about not being Mexican and how poor people won't vote for him, every apathetic, upper middle class, candyflipping white kid is supporting him on Facebook now. (Or they are making a point to tell everyone how little they care) It just goes to show how little stock we put in things that happened yesterday. It's all about the now.

2. American hero Miguel Cabrera has a long history of getting thoroughly housed. As a fellow degenerate I completely support this behavior. However, unlike me, instead of playing house music and lowering his sexual standards a full 2 standard deviations from the mean, when Miguel gets drunk he beats women and drives around. Not to say I haven't driven sauced once or twice, but the only bruises I give women are to their inner thighs. (*Single handed snap*) But Miguel Cabrera won a triple crown for the first time since 1967. So...fuck it, he rocks!

3. The St. Louis Cardinals clinched a playoff spot. (This is in no way related to my overall thesis, it is just something that I find interesting because I am a fan)

To recap, you can be a major fuck up in this country, but if the last thing you did was positive, society has about as good a memory as I do after 5 flatlines...and that's good, because so far I've done a lot of bad, but some day I plan on turning it around. Everyone loves a comeback story.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012


You may be cruising Facebook today and noticing that lots of your Jewish friends are making ironic comedic posts on their Facebook walls (Sorry for partying LOLZ) and that all of that person's Jewish friends are liking that post. I did a bit of research into it and it turns out that Tuesday at sundown to Wednesday at sundown is the Jewish day of Atonement. Now I know what you're thinking, that sounds pretty rad, take a Wednesday off paid and watch that sick James McAvoy film that got snubbed for best picture.

Unfortunately that is not the case, it's a day to apologize. Now if you are Jewish and work a full time job, you're having a pretty solid fortnight. Last week you got to take Monday off for Rosh Hashana aka your New Year and now you are taking a midweek sabbatical the following week. You guys have it figured out. And not only do you benefit from your own double whammy, you will gladly take the Christmas/New Years break too. And we wonder why Jewish people run the world, it's because they are smart enough to demand an additional handful of days off each year. Well played.

So I thought about it and I realized now is as good a time as any to think about what I'm sorry for. I've had a really hard time toeing the line lately between living as recklessly as possible, but remaining a productive member of society. But in that logic my life seems to be a living contradiction.

Let me explain.

Last week I was made full time at work. Instead of just being a PA for this production company I am now straight up this dude's assistant. What does that mean? Not much, a $25 bump in my day rate and I get to work in between projects if he can afford it. Regardless, it was an event worth celebrating in my eyes, so to celebrate establishing myself as just a tad bit more grown up than I was before, I immediately went on a 5 day bender culminating with me swimming in the Pacific Ocean in my jeans Saturday morning at 10AM drinking a bottle of wine. That is not how someone my age is supposed to live, even if they are celebrating something.

Furthermore, Friday night I accosted my neighbors for not staying up later than 4am to party with me and I took a Craigslist ad out Saturday afternoon when I couldn't convince anyone to go to beerfest with me. I become with myself Sunday evening and deleted it, but it went something like this:

Bros of Craigslist. I come to you in my hour of need, I am seeking a fun group of debaucherous kids that are down for whatever. I'm 25 and I like to drink...a lot. I give zero fucks in almost any situation. I exist for the soul purpose of having fun. As I have grown up my friends from the frat and girls that I went to school with have become disgusted with my eroding morals. I have similarly grown disgusted with their notions of maturity and responsibility. I look at babies and wedding rings and I want to vomit a four loko on them. I want a group that can commit to going out every weekend night, hard. Day drinking and rallying, Hitting on chicks without any dignity or regard for others. My current friends are great, but we're just slowly starting to drift in different directions. I want to be worse than I was in college, not this hybrid of yuppie America that society deems the hip twentysomething. Please respond to me with a picture of what is in your fridge right now and a crazy story from last night. I will respond if interested.

It was the most pathetic thing ever written. I would honestly have had better luck cabbing it to campus and buying a bunch of under grads a round of shots. It was a low moment for me. And I think that's what I'm most sorry for. Sure I have said inappropriate things to people in the past, but whatever, I'm a writer, I believe in freedom of speech and the freedom to react to that any way you chose. People have the right to be offended, but that's on you, not the offender. People are offended by the way I live my life, I'm offended by 3rd trimester belly photos on Facebook.

However what I am truly sorry for, is expecting people to conform to my standards. In college I was a leader, not so much because I was smarter or more anything than people, I was just the loudest and maybe the tallest and most outspoken so people conformed to my will. As I have grown older I have lost that power and it causes me to be super angry and insecure sometimes. The people around me that I care about have told me I am intimidating and brash, like I'm scary or something. And that really bothers me, so what I intend to do in this coming year is to live my life exactly how I would like to live it. If that involves raging until the next day, so be it. But I won't drag anyone else down with me unless they want to come along for the ride. I can't expect my peers to feel the same way I do anymore. Different strokes for different folks. I live a manic lifestyle, I've become quite bipolar, it's almost as if I'm devolving into one of those insane writers. I stay up for 42 hours writing something, decide it's shit and delete it. Not that I think that in order to be creative one must behave like Hunter S Thompson, but it kind of seems that's the road I've chosen.

In closing, I apologize to all the people I have hurt and offended over the years. I don't intend to be rude, that's just who I am. I am no longer going to bitch and moan about your lameness, I will not drag you to the dark side, but on the flip side, let me be me and reserve your judgment for someone who gives a fuck.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Sticking it to the man: The Incredible true story of how I told the Bloomington Police Department to suck it

You like it when I sprinkle in the deep shit once in a while ya? Well this is not that. Let's celebrate the first day of fall with a little story time. Throw another log on the fire because this one is a bit long.

The day was September 30, 2008. I forgot to call my dad and wish him a happy birthday, I was generally in a shitty mood because some girl I liked didn't like me back. It was nothing serious, we were basically friends that had hooked up once or twice but I wanted something more and got shut down. Hard. So I did the only sensible thing and walked to Big Red to buy a fifth of vodka. I promptly returned home, locked myself in my room and drank the whole thing while watching an old episode of The OC.

Now I have drank when I was upset before, but never like that. Like that is the most depressing thing I have ever done. So pathetic. It was a Tuesday night so I'm sure not everyone in Shingles was raging, but I'm sure I could have convinced someone to hang out with to make me feel better. But no. I literally locked myself in my room and drank an entire fifth with the soul goal of getting blind drunk so I wouldn't think about this chick.

After I finished the bottle I sprang up and walked to Kilroy's. Some time during that tenuous 50 meter walk I realized how drunk I was. I looked like hell, I may have even been crying. So I walk into Kilroy's and the first person I see is this girl from Freshman year that I used to hook up with. I immediately walked up to her and propositioned her for sex at which she quickly denied my request.

So a quick denial, Kilroy's was otherwise dead, I said fuck it got a slice from Uncle D's and decided to go home and collapse. I go home, go to bed, the end...or is it...

I come to and I'm in handcuffs on my front porch. Apparently I had been sleepwalking and took a piss off of the Shingles balcony to which a Bloomington Police Officer took offense and arrested me for public intoxication. I am in nothing but a t shirt and boxers mind you. I honestly thought that the arrest was some sort of prank, it wasn't until I got locked in the drunk tank with various scourge of Bloomington, IN that I realized it was for real. I could go on for hours about the crack heads that were in there, or the guy that chose jail time over probation because he just couldn't stop doing meth, but we'll save that for another day.

So you know how it goes, you wait in there for fucking 20 hours or so until your BAC drops below .05 and then you go to an initial court hearing a few days later, pay your fine and sign up for diversion. I did all that and it was all good, every interesting person should spend a night in the tank. Yay me, scratch it off the list.

But then there came that little issue of doing my alcohol bullshit classes. I signed up for a weekend course. UGH, but like whatever. The thought of missing an entire weekend gave me such extreme anxiety that I wanted to die, but I committed to getting it over with.

Then my frat scheduled our Christmas formal on that exact fucking weekend, and god forbid was I going to miss out on that, and the idea of going to it sober was out of the question, so I did the only rational thing. I wrote on a naked pledge "Will you go to the formal with me?" and sent him streaking through Gamma Phi and blew off my alcohol classes like a fucking boss. No big deal, I have a whole year to deal with this shit.

I'm sure you can see where this is going, instead of dealing with the legal matter at hand, I went on living my life. Flying around the country interviewing, drinking and completely dominating the social scene (This is documented I was actually ranked number 1 for 2 weeks in March as the most socially relevant person at IU. Granted I did the rankings myself, but I doubt you would find many that would dispute this.) More or less I forgot all about that alcohol class.

Flash forward to January of 2010. I'm ripping sake bombs at Nobu in the Bahamas. At that exact moment there is a knock on the door at Shingles. It is a squadron of police officers ready to conduct a raid of the house to serve me a warrant and arrest me. The Sigma Chis increduously respond to the cops, "he graduated, he lives in Chicago. Go away." They search the house and find nothing. Said Sigma Chis call my friend in Milwaukee, who in turn calls my friend in the Bahamas to tell him that there is a warrant out for my arrest. "I'll tell him in the morning, I think he just took ecstacy, was the response." Again more indicative behavior of my "zero fucks given" lifestyle.

We all agree that I'll just deal with it when I get back to Chicago because it's highly unlikely that the Bloomington Police Department has the resources to send a squad car to the Chicago Executive Airport and arrest me as I step off a private jet. That would be a bad ass way to get arrested though, very Pablo Escobar.

Then comes the whole "getting back into America" thing. I was held at the Bahamanian border for an hour while they customs agent pondered what to do with me. I was a wanted man and they had me. But thanks to an AWESOME law that states that no one can be detained for a warrant that is more than 350 miles from their current location, I walked free. Suck it.

So you probably think that the first thing I did when I got back to Chicago was hire a lawyer and deal with this right? After all Chicago is within 350 miles of Bloomington, if I even got stopped for a traffic ticket I would be held in a fucking Chicago prison for up to a week until Bloomington could come claim me.

But oh no. I play with fire bitches. I said fuck it, and did nothing. I kept living my life. They called, I pressed ignore. They sent threatening letters, I set them aflame. In many ways it was like dealing with an annoying creditor. And you may think I altered my lifestyle a little bit. Drove slower, stayed out of Indiana, at least avoided Bloomington.

Ya fucking right. I hated the real world so much that I was down there every weekend my first year out. My best friend lived there and there were still chicks down there that remembered how cool I was (note you get chicks based on coolness in college, in the real world it's based on practical matters such as income and job stability.) But even further more you would think, well at least he was careful in Bloomington. Doubtful, I blacked out, woke up in parking lots, got in bar fights, I was on a crash course with disaster.

For 2 years I was right under their fucking nose. Not being able to find a dead girl who was purposely hidden by sketchy drug dealers is one thing, but I was throwing a very public party in plain view. Every several months the warrant would expire and they would issue a new one with a fresh failure to appear charge. What started out as a couple afternoons learning about liver damage alcoholism blah blah blah I'd rather be doing backflips off of a boat turned into serious charges and thousands of dollars in fines and possible jail time.

But they never showed up. Every time I saw a cop car drive down Burling I would think to myself, "This is it. Today is the day I go down." But then I thought, I just won't answer the door. I'll go hide out at a different apartment for a few days. They will never fucking catch me, I'm Frank Abignale Jr. Or there was this past Little 5 when I literally was so drunk that my legs stopped working and I fell on my face in the police parking lot and then crawled behind a dumpster to give myself a pep talk. You are a fucking man. YOU CAN WALK. Surely someone in the station saw that? Nope.

So I move to California and I am officially out of the danger zone. But every time I fly home or want to go back to college and bang chicks my brothers age, it will always be looming. If I ever get a job that does a background check, I'm likely fucked right...

So I thought. One day my mom sends me a letter. It is basically a big fucking white flag. They gave up. They dropped the charges. They knew they were never going to catch me, and besides I was just a kid drinking away his sorrows because some girl didn't want to give me consistent blowjobs. They have meth labs to shut down.

I am a free man. I felt like Walter White in the season 5 finale of Breaking Bad. So what happened with that whole legal situation in Bloomington? "I won."

Let this be a life lesson to every one of you, that if you hold out long enough, you will win the war of attrition. And you know I hope next time I'm in Bloomington I get pulled over for running a stop sign or something. "License and registration please...holy fuck, it's you." Yah motherfucker, it's me...and I beat you, so suck it.

Have a nice weekend everyone.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

If I knew then...

If I knew then: An open letter to my former self.

Dear 21 year old me,
I can't believe you fucking thought about flying home to Bloomington for little 5 when you were abroad. Do you realize that you just got back from a vacation of a vacation of a vacation? College is a vacation, studying abroad is a vacation, and when you would jet set every weekend to some new European nation that was a vacation from abroad. You were basically in the 3rd level of some crazy Inception party? Never mind, you'll understand that reference in a few years.

So here is the thing. I'm writing you this letter because I know things now, that you didn't or don't. You are entering your senior year of college and you think that you are probably going to straight into the strategy department of Proctor and Gamble (spoiler alert: You are going to fuck around in Chicago all summer and your internship will go mediocre at best, it's cool, when you don't get the offer just tell people you weren't into selling cancer sticks, they'll totally support you) Not going to happen. What about an agency? No. Buyer at some major retail conglomorate? No, the economy is about to collapse and none of those fun jobs are going to exist. In fact none of those cool "marketing" jobs you think you are going for happen without an MBA. If you want to you could probably switch your major to ops and get a few interviews with big 4 consulting firms in Chicago, but that will really cut back on the amount of partying you are going to be able to do in the next 4 years.

Yes that's right, believe it or not life continues after college. You have a little bit of money, but unfortunately because of that you have a little bit of responsibility. That whole thing where you just went out every night and threw everything on the family credit card? Ya, that shit is about to end, really quick. When you get your first call from Chase and realize your mom didn't cover your last month's payment, shred that shit immediately.

So this is what's up. You are going to get a shitty job in Chicago, start raging a lot to make up for your apathy towards this whole life transition, but at some point you are going to have to man up and grow up at least a little bit. People are going to change, not everyone will hop on board with your hedonistic lifestyle, I'm not telling you that you have to change or adapt to the people around you, just don't be surprised when certain people stop answering your texts on Friday nights. Believe it or not, there is a faction of people out there who don't subscribe to the "flatlines until 6 in the morning" lifestyle.

You're early 20's are fucking weird, you are going to still have random one night stands with chicks you meet at bars, but you will also have to lie to coworkers about drugs and why you're late. Your boss won't be impressed by the fact that you had to kick a girl out of bed after going on a "purple drink" binge. Road trips are still fun, you can actually pay for a vacation or two and you're still living with your college friends most likely. It's just that now you have to cram a week's worth of fun into 2 nights instead of 6. It grows tiresome.

People will eventually drop off the band wagon, maybe they'll move in with a significant other or they'll just see the value of staying in on a Saturday night and watching a movie. It doesn't mean that everyone else is lame or that you are a psycho, it's just that people start valuing different things. Things will be strange, you may even find yourself falling in love for the first time, but eventually you are going to start realizing that Chicago isn't the place for you.

And then one day you'll sack up and decide to move west, leaving everything you care about, everything that means the world to you back in the midwest...but you just go because you know it's where you need to go to chase your dreams (that and you may or may not get fired because of a blog very similar to this.) You'll realize when you get there..."well what the fuck, why did I bust my ass getting a Kelley degree for only to make 25k at a dead end sales job and then move to Los Angeles where I want nothing to do with business." Little tip pal, there is NO money in being a struggling writer. Well maybe if you fucking sell something but good luck. You are going to be super broke. The people in LA will be nothing like you and it will be frustrating. There will be high school drop outs that are infinitely more successful than you. People won't know where Indiana is.

But every day could be the day you break. So for the next 4 years, just don't worry about trivial things, job, friends, money. Don't worry about a fucking thing, because some day you'll be sitting here in LA one day away from catching a star.

25 year old you.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Clock Punchers

99% of my readers live in the midwest. The reason being is that 99% of my friends live in the midwest. I haven't really caught on here, it's not so much that being extremely fratty rubs people the wrong way out here. I might intimidate some people because I am large and imposing and most the people here are Jewish and frail, but I think the issue is deeply rooted in that I haven't had a coworker since I moved here and my best friend in LA also has no coworkers.

Thus I hang out with my 6 college buddies in LA And that's fine, we rip it up and we live on the beach, but I tell you this because I primarily write this blog for people that live thousands of miles away from me. Once in a while I like to give you a little peek behind the curtain. One because I think it's interesting, two because I am secretly recruiting you for my LA takeover.

The first thing I want to address is clock punching. None of you pretentious fucks in Chicago like your job. You work for a bank or some PR firm, you have a nice view, but at the end of the day, it would be better to sleep in until noon and then go to the Cubs game. Actually, scratch that. Not even getting drunk at a Cubs game is fun anymore. But you could perhaps go see a movie or visit the zoo and this would be vastly more enjoyable than balancing a quarterly budget.

Lots of your friends from college went to college to become teachers, mainly because they didn't want to have a real job and they figured they would marry into money eventually. But neither of those answers are socially acceptable so most people went with the "I want my summers off" excuse. That's fine, because working fucking sucks.

But did you know...most people in Los Angeles don't work full time?

Tada....the secret is out, you can live in LA comfortably and take a week off every month.

There are 2 sides to the entertainment industry. There is the development side. That would be like the people that work at studios, networks even talent and management agencies to a certain extent are on that side of the glass I suppose. Then there is physical production. These are the people that actually make the movie. This includes directors, actors, gaffers, best boy, propmaster, on set pa (ME) and all the other fucks that make a movie happen.

What's interesting is most of these people are all independent contractors. They are hired on a one off basis to work on a project, they get a ridiculous daily rate and probably work on average every other day. Sure there are gaffers (they handle set electrical work) out there that work a full schedule, but regardless they make $700 a day. So if you feel the need to work a week and live off your post tax 3 grand for the next 30 days you can do that. Or you could work a month straight and then go to Tahiti with a pile of cash.

There are no rules. Lots of these people get into unions and what not so they can get health care and all that good stuff, but really unions exist only to fuck producers into giving the members more money. If a meal is served more than 6 hours after a call time (when you have to arrive to work) BOOM meal penalty, more money in your pocket. Work more than 8 hours? Time and a half. Work more than 12 hours? Double time. Work 16 hours in a day? TRIPLE FUCKING TIME.

Fuck salary. So a gaffer with a $700/12 day rate can easily walk away from one day of work with a thousand dollars after a long day of shooting...and he's a glorified fucking electrician.

You want to make it in LA? Learn about lighting? Drive a truck, buy a camera. Learn final cut pro and hang out in an editing bay. $400 a day to grip. To fucking GRIP! Do you know what a grip does? He literally moves the lighting fixtures around and takes naps in between takes. Sound guys, that hold the fucking boom mic can make $500 a day.

Sure there is no job security, and there can be a lot of time in between jobs. Bogus right?
False! Every motherfucker in CA is collecting unemployment. Production companies will even work out shady under the table agreements with people to pay them for "production supplies" or "kit rentals" instead of paying them for work so the prod co can save on payroll tax and the employee can stay on unemployment.

It's a crooked machine, but this is how to survive.

I'm not saying that everyone should aspire to hang shit in the art department or join the teamster union, I'm just saying that if you enjoy movies and have a serious appreciation of 5 day weekends, you don't have to be a 6th grade math teacher.

And if you think that you may get bored in between jobs I suggest acquiring a musical instrument, a surfboard and a netflix account...and maybe even paying for premium porn because those days off are fucking great.

Monday, September 10, 2012

More like Bro Fest

The spin-off is already in development. It focuses on me traveling around the country visiting my pals and burning down whatever city we go to. It's like Real Housewives but we never fight and we solve all of our differences by drinking more and turning the music up louder.

Ok so that's not a real tv show, nor would it be entertaining to more than like my 8 single friends who still act like they are in college. But this is a real tv show/concert tour. It's amazing how you can make something spectacular when you put your mind to it. Anyway, if any of you have heard me drunkenly blabbering about this tv show over the past 6 months, this is it. And if you have wondered who Sydney and Vender are, well now you know. It's funny that the bulk of the trailer focuses on them, it's as if they don't think an upper middle class white bro is the most interesting character. I demand a re-cut that features more American flag tank tops and flat lines. No? Maybe episode 2 we'll do a more bro-centric take on things.

Until then enjoy Sydney's tits and Vender's Asperger's. (Kidding) Thanks for your continuing support of Glowfest and electronic music. See you all in West Virginia.

Yes, I know how to embed video. Be impressed.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Single Dude defines...Killin' It

I've had this blog for a few years now and I'm not the best at having any sort of continuity or recurring theme. Much of what I write is unjustified ranting that I try to squeeze in the genre of social satire, but truth be told I don't even do a very good job of staying within the lines of that. I guess I'm like a bro-y Andy Rooney, I just get on this thing and spit what's on my mind for 30 minutes and hope people like it, or at least read it and have an opinion. Even if your opinion is that I'm a self centered egomaniacal fuck face, I'm glad I've got you thinking, it's better than trying to reach that diner at the end of the sky in Dolphin Olympics 2. The shit you read here will not enlighten you, it is not going to get a bunch of reblogs or your friends might not email it to you on a bad day, this isn't Thought Catalog, but I am going to try to become a bit more consistent in my format, even if it is filth, it should be filth with a center thesis. This blog is life in the fast lane. It's not as snarky as Betches, it's not as over the top as Bros like This and it's not as commercial as TFM. This is me, my thoughts on us. Enjoy.

"Bro, fucking killed it last night."

Killed what, like went full Bateman and stabbed a homeless man? Did you perchance feed an ATM a stray cat, did you get charged fees on that my man?

What the fuck does it mean when someone says "killing it" these days. You hear it all the time anymore. This weekend was so sick, we killed it. Or come over man we're killing it.

I'm going to take a moment and try to whip out my 8th grade sentence diagraming skills. Let's take a look at that first sentence.

This weekend was so sick, we killed it.

Right off the bat, I can tell you that this is going to be fucking difficult. That's one of those sneaky compound sentences (not to be confused with a complex my non-AP class friends) A compound sentence contains to completes subjects and predicates (read noun and verb) In the first half of the sentence, the subject is WEEKEND. The predicate WAS. So is an adverb or some shit and sick is like a indirect modifier....oh fuck it. This isn't working. Let's try synonyms. We killed this weekend. We murdered this weekend. We assassinated this weekend.

So it's basically a phrase that people that rage use so you know how hard they raged. Saying this weekend was cool, WOULDN'T EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN HOW AWESOME IT WAS.

Now I get it, telling people you had a swell weekend is fairly vague. It's what you tell a co-worker after you fucked a hooker and paid her in meth and decide you don't wish to divulge that information. But telling people you killed it is approximately the opposite. It implies that you did a bunch of meth, punched a cop and had sex with a prostitute without even being charged.

Now there is nothing wrong with alluding to mischief, that's what this blog is all about, and I have nothing against people that like to use euphemisms to be succinct in how they choose to express themselves, but I'm calling the bluff. "Killin' it" no longer an acceptable response. You can use the phrase, but I won't nod as if I know that "killin it" is code for the fact that you burned your unemployment check on a gram and a new pair of jeans and then charged your meal at Boa to your Cal Advantage card (food stamps.) Shit, that's a Tuesday son, I need details.

This generation has become so obsessed with this ragey irresponsible lifestyle the whole art of communication has been lost. I have friends that run around and say nothing but "see ya" like they are a fucking Pokemon and don't know any other words. I'm fairly sure the people that throw this phrase "Killed it" they're kind of hung up on the phrase as a lifestyle. So what is the perception of the killing it lifestyle...I'll give it a go and see if you agree.

People that are "killing it" perceive that they are going 100% all the time. Things are going their way, they are doing just awesome things. Naked women, fast cars, drugs, alcohol...the elements of an R rated action movie, that's fucking us man. WE ARE ROCKSTARS. We go to bars and spend MONEY. Ya we're going to pay our rent a week late because of it but fuck our land lord, he's a dick. He made me uninstall the outdoor speaker and said the fog machine was a fire hazard, and he talks like a bitch, I don't have time for him, I'm going out tonight with my boys! We're finding some sluts, popping some bottles and STRAIGHT KILLING IT. Staying up absurdly late, playing music so loud that my ears literally start to bleed. Fuck the neighbors too, they're all fucking gay. I'm going to break something...WHY? So I can INSTAGRAM IT AND SHOW ALL MY FOLLOWERS HOW HARD I'M FUCKING KILLING IT! Oh fuck ya I invent shots, with weird names that are super gross and have like AMF levels of alcohol in them, PUT THE FUCKING SKRILLEX BACK ON.

Ok, that was starting to sound like a mixture between a blacked out me on steroids that was just a blacked out me on steroids looking for a crack fix probably. But just keep in mind, next time you're at a concert and you see 2 little 16 year olds pop hits of acid, high five and scream "killing it" think, are they really? Or are they just celebrating their own mediocrity. Now I'm off to the pier to go have a swell evening.

Ya right, I'm fucking killin' it.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

North Coast Wrap Up

I'm in the midst of day 2 of what will presumably be a 3 day hangover. I treated my body like a 10 dollar whore all weekend and now that I have stopped putting controlled substances in myself, key components of my body are shutting down. I spent my Labor Day laboring in pain as debilitating stomach aches claimed any attempt to relax. It's ok though, it was all worth it. 3 years from now I won't remember how terrible my hangover/withdrawal symptoms were, I'll simply remember the awesome times I had with awesome people.

So what was so great about this weekend? North Coast is the real deal. The North Coast Music Festival (NCMF) is a perfect example of how music promoters have adapted to a change in musical tastes. 3 years ago when I first heard of the NCMF it was a shitty festival no one really cared about, living in the shadow of Lollapalooza which is just a month earlier. The line up consisted of aspiring dj's, indie rock bands and tier 2 rappers. Groupon would practically give tickets away to get people to go and I would typically travel somewhere for Labor Day weekend, most likely a lake.

In 2 years NCMF has transformed into arguably the most enjoyable summer festival in Chicago. Sure Lollapalooza still has 200,000 people flood Grant park each year but everything that sucks about Lollapalooza seems to be lost at North Coast, a smaller more intimate version of what has become an increasingly electronic music festival. What are the problems with Lolla? $300 tickets, stages miles apart and heat in the upper 90's.

Conversely, I got to North Coast about 6pm both Friday and Sunday. Friday I paid $30 for a ticket, Sunday I jumped the fence, because I am still a bad ass. Several $6 beers later I had a somewhat reasonable weekend. I was able to see about 8 acts and I raged my face off. What happened after 10 pm each night was a total black out but I know for a fact that I spent one night sleeping outside my old place in Chicago. Friday I believe I went to Gamekeepers, not sure what happened on Sunday, it was a certified bender.

Pretty Lights, Steve Aoki, Axwell, Mord Fustang, Paul Oakenfold, Steve Angello all gave me an hour of their best most rave-worthy hits and my body still hasn't correctly re-adjusted to a normal equilibrium, I expect bass drop and progressive chords to surround my daily life. What this weekend really opened my eyes up to though was the type of person is attending these festivals. It's funny there has long been a big gap in the level of raging between men and women.

I don't see it anymore.

I think maybe even 5 years ago it was viewed as trashy for a girl to get super wasted and go to a show like this. Since the rise of this magical pill called Molly that gap has shrank considerably. Bombs, rolls, ex, whatever you want to call them, I'm fairly confident that at least 40% of the crowd there was on some type of hallucinogen or upper....and that doesn't even take into account other psychadelics or even pot.

Look, I don't advocate drug use. Anyone that wants to get theirs, I will never judge, but it is kind of mind blowing how popular it has become amongst a generation. Especially interesting is the rise amongst women. I know plenty of people who would maybe get drunk and occasionally get high but that's it. I think that's where most rational people draw the line. The prospect of jamming something up your nose is after all, gross. But now these magical pills that make you feel good, see vibrant colors, enhance a musical experience, well it's taken over the 20something crowd. For every beer I saw at Union Park I saw 10 bottles of water, proving kids aren't even getting drunk anymore, they're just trying to get a roll going and have a good time. I see a decreased presence of violence, I see an increase in general good will amongst strangers. Even if you checked your Instagram stream you could feel the good vibes, these shows are sweet.

Not trying to be preachy, just wanted to point out a trend I saw. Will EDM be the next disco? Is the bubble going to pop? I'm starting to think maybe not. The people that go to these shows really love it. I was a non-believer. I used to be the guy complaining about the tracks sounding like Transformer battles. But now I get it, it's fun to take your shirt off, get sweaty and dance around with your friends.

Chicago never ceases to amaze, I will not soon forget the Labor Day weekend of 2012. Well I've already forgotten a big chunk of it, but I managed not to lose my phone or wallet and I'm going to make it back to LA with almost all of the clothes that I packed. Now I think I'm going to take a nice long walk along the Lake front before my flight home tomorrow morning and say one last farewell to the midwest summer.

Sunday, August 26, 2012


Aren't people that tweet that the fucking worst? It's like, "Hey, look at me, I'm going somewhere! My life is more exciting than yours! Look I'm a double douche I use the airplane emotes instead of arrows now you know I have an iPhone too!" It isn't enough that people tell you where they are going, but they even use the airport codes just to make sure you know they're flying...because you wouldn't want to get confused and think that someone is traveling by the all so popular overnight train.

I'm one of those people and I realize I am the worst. I send tweets like that to upset people. I get a kick out of causing others jealousy. I'm going to Chicago (and flying Virgin) on Tuesday and you fucking aren't. But if you are let's party. I also send those warning tweets out to give all my midwest slam pieces a heads up, it's a courtesy thing.

So there you have it, those are my Labor Day weekend plans. One week to terrorize the midwest, sample the new Broad Ripple Kilroys and wear white. Then I return to perpetual summer in Venice and I can throw as many fucking footballs on the beach as I want (the football beach ban only goes Memorial Day - Labor Day)

But what does one do on a trip home? Slip back into old habits? Round up the old gang? It's funny a year is both a very short and a very long time. Do people still party at North Ave beach all day, go to Social 25 and then end the night at Beaumont? Do all my old friends still routinely wake up hungover on Sunday, accidentally black out and end up at Stanley's for live band karaoke? One would hope, but I wouldn't know because I am so brutally terrible at keeping in touch.

When I left Chicago I had a core group of about 10 people I kicked it with at least once a week, more often times closer to 5 times a week, the door to Burling was never locked and we would routinely stay up drinking playing ping pong until 8 in the morning. Of that roughly 10 person crew, I have talked to maybe 2 of them in the past 6 months, because I am awful (see first paragraph) Sure there are circumstances, you don't talk to someone as much when you live thousands of miles away, everyone has their own shit going on with work, girlfriends, etc but even if it does sound a little lame, I shouldn't be afraid to pick up the phone once in a while.

I think I've had good buds get engaged and what not and I found out via accidentally stumbling upon their Facebook wall. In fact there are probably people that I will hope to see next week and then I will find out they moved to Denver or something but in my self absorbed world west of Lincoln in Los Angeles, I didn't get the memo. My time in Chicago will ultimately go down as my lost years. I had a dead end job, I got into some questionable things and basically wasted years 22, 23 and 24. But I fucking raged, and had the time of my life. Now that I live in LA, I have gotten into some more noble pursuits, writing, producing and surfing (Jesus that sentence makes me seem like an Aaron Sorkinesque ass hat) and I have my Los Angeles crew here but that's not to say the years 2009-2011 didn't kick some serious ass. I mean I was flying on G5's to the Bahamas on the reg, I lived in a multimillion dollar condo with a steam room, and oh yah, I was the fucking man. If I throw parties in LA I'm lucky to get 10 people to show, some of the Halloween parties at Burling and the 4th of July 2010 will go into the Hall of Fame (but not quite on the level of Shingles Snow Day)

This is a brutally self serving blog post, but the point I'm getting at is, I am getting the fucking band back together. People of Chicago you are all on notice. I know that most of you are like 26, and you may even live with a person of the opposite sex. It's quite possible many of you have been promoted twice and have a director or vp somewhere in your title. I write shitty coming of age scripts and test actors' grapes, but we have one week to celebrate the dog days of summer and a more reckless time. Yes we will go to Trivia Tuesday night at State, of course there will be Wednesday karaoke at Kincade's. Thursday I'm megabusing to Indy and I will probably open to close Kilroys on Friday. Saturday, it's back to Chicago for some rolling at North Coast and Sunday we'll throw back some bourbons on the roof of the Wit. Join me.

Next Tuesday, summer for all intents and purposes adjourns. Chicago will start to get a bit colder, football will dominate weekends and bro tanks will be exchanged for sweaters, swimsuits for jeans. But fuck next Tuesday. You're not going to get another 3 day weekend until the end of November and most of that weekend you'll be forced to hang out with your family. We are all laborers this weekend is for us, whether you have a 9 to 5 where you punch the clock or you hustle people to name drop you at the door for 5 bucks a head I invite you to join me on one last summer bender. If we haven't hung out in a while, I assure you, nothing has changed be that a good or a bad thing. The sun is setting on party season, let's have a tall night cap before we call it a day.

Monday, August 20, 2012

The PA diaries

What a Monday. I wake up after a 12 hour food poisoning battle to learn that Tony Scott has swiftly told his brain cancer to go fuck itself via danger zoning off of a San Pedro bridge and that gashes are now allowed to join Augusta. Some quick thoughts on both: Tony Scott was the man, I was trying to get a job to read his scripts, clearly that is not going to come to fruition now, but needless to say his movies were shamelessly awesome. He is responsible for Cole Trickle and Maverick (two pre-gay Tom Cruise roles) and basically everything good Denzel Washington has ever done. He was working on a remake to The Warriors, one of my favorite movies ever and I am shitty that it will probably never be made now. Also I can't imagine a better way to go out, brain cancer surely would suck, so I think to go ocean base jumping sans a parachute is a pretty rad way to go.

Next, chicks at is the thing, I am not for the discrimination of women, but why would a woman want to join a boy's club. I don't try to join women's clubs. Men at Augusta want to talk about fucking their mistresses while their wives vacation in France, liberally use the word cunt, talk about masturbating to the leaked photos of Carly Rae Jepsen's massive nipples (Side note: I almost constantly use nude photo leaks as a selling point when I try to get girls to send me pictures of their tits. But Blake Lively and Scarlett Johansson did it! Are you better than them? They almost always reply, yah and look what happened to them. Fair point, but no one is trying to hack a PA's phone. I figure if I go through all of the chicks in my phone and ask everyone I'll get about 5% if I haven't asked you yet, don't worry I'm only on the letter B.) Bringing women into this environment effectively squashes this locker room talk. I don't give a shit about the integrity of golf, but there is something to be said about letting some grown ass CEO's bro out a little bit. Now onward to the post!

I've been MIA lately because I have been working on a movie. Now most of my life I haven't worked very hard at all. I get by on my intelligence, wit and the fact that I am cooler than everyone. It's ok, we can admit it..I'm fucking sweet. But unfortunately a solid chill to pull ratio only takes you so far. At some point you have to find something you are half way decent at and at least put up the appearance of giving a shit. So this past week, I was on set doing normal PA stuff, namely trying to fuck the art coordinator. But also managing craft services driving all over California and other menial tasks that an indentured servant would perform. But it's cool, I am better at most at doing random tasks and lifting heavy stuff. The problem is though, that most of the crew is either gay or vegan, or even worse a gay vegan.

Now I know I give them lots of shit, but I have no problem with the gays. But by being gay you are going to take some shit, it's like being a Mets fan, that's probably considered an appalling and ignorant statement, but whatever, people that are different occasionally get ripped on this blog. So I am cool with the gays, but the vegans...I have no tolerance for them. I was in charge of something called craft services, basically this is the guy that runs the snack table. Immediately, I celebrated my post. I thought I would thrive in such an environment. My snacks consisted of Pringles, Cheez-its, beef jerkey, kettle cooked potato chips, Gushers, Rockstar, Red Bull, Five Hour Energy and a shit ton of Pepsi Throwback. Sounds like a video game marathon in a 12 year old's basement. I was in heaven.

I come back to set bearing gifts, thinking I will be celebrated as a hero. As I stood at attention at the table ready to receive my compliments and possible tips a strapping young bro walked up, I expected an immediate high five. Instead I was greeted with, "Where's the fruit man?"

Fruit? This motherfucker wants fruit? What followed was 45 minutes of sharp critiques at the lack of healthy food. Fruit, veggies, sugar free sodas and dry nuts. Apparently people in this state, especially in the film industry are super health conscious  (Read: gay vegans.) No one even appreciated my supersize pack of triple stuffed golden Oreos. Nope, it was "Hey thanks for playing you Btown hick, now go get me some Diet Vernor's and a fiber bar AND TEST THE GRAPES PLEASE.

Add that to the list of responsibilities for a PA, grape tester. It's funny because I come from a world where the taller and more athletic you are usually leads to popularity, power and a plethora of disposable vagina. Such is not the case in Hollywood. In fact my boss thinks that barely straight Bradley has a better chance with art girl than I do. He is dainty and talks like a chick and crosses his legs to the point where he cannot possibly have balls, but he has perfectly quaffed hair and skinnier jeans than me and that's what matters in tinsel town. But aside from the point that my suggestion to order 1000 wings from B dubbs what else does a PA do?

Well I'm a glorified pledge, but much like when I was an actual pledge, I get away with more than your typical PA because I am physically imposing and I make people laugh. Petty cash is probably my biggest responsibility. Unlike a regular work environment, no one on a movie set is allowed to leave except for me. They sit there acting or video taping for 12 hours and in 12 hours people need stuff: Cigs, food, props, waters whatever. I am that guy. I saw a Dennis Quaid interview (if you jumped off the Quaid train after The Parent Trap remake, you need to get back on, he's a fucking bro) a few years back about how he was a raging coke head in the 80's because all of the petty cash spent on drugs. I am sad to report that that is no longer the case, as cocaine dealers hardly give receipts (there is a market for a dealer with square!) but that's the thing, you can literally buy anything with a receipt and then bill it to the studio. I went to a sex shop and bought a purple vibrator (second time I've done this) to make the camera shake. I bought like $100 of beer every night for the director and the crew. That's not really a big deal, but the idea of it is awesome. It was my responsibility to go out and buy beer for the crew. Needless to say, it was a hoppy affair. And fortunately, our director was a g so he would let the PA's drink with him every night after the wrap. We would watch shitty horror movies and have hypothetical debates about which slasher icon would win in a royal rumble style one is fucking touching Michael Meyers.

Another thing that rocks about being a PA is mileage. For every mile you drive on various errands, you get 56 cents. I averaged about 200 miles a day, so that's an extra $112 tax free per day in addition to my day rate and any over time I incur. Do you know how much money that is? That could finance a Chicago drug habit for 3 no problem. And going on runs is fucking great because you aren't being bossed around by 30 different producers/directors/department heads. It's just you, a Rockstar and Skrillex driving around for hours. Sometimes I would throw on a little NPR so I could learn something. Off topic: I seriously think if someone just listened to NPR 2 hours a day for 4 years they would be more knowledgable than most college grads.

So ya, I mean that's pretty much it. Drive around, carry shit, ask the script girl if she wants to give you an otphj in the pool during lunch. Oh yes, the set. We were shooting in this little forsaken pocket of Los Angeles county named Santa Clarita. It is located in the Antelope Valley about 20 miles north of Los Angeles, temperatures averaged about 112 degrees. It was hot as fuck but at least I had a reasonable excuse to wear nothing but bro tanks the entire shoot. But the reason people build houses in Santa Clarita is because you can get land about as cheap as the homes in Detroit. The particular house we shot at had a pool, basketball court, tennis court and batting cage. In fact one night after a few pops I took some bp and lined a rocket up the middle breaking our director of photography's nose. Apparently he didn't get the memo that I was the clean up hitter for the Skiles Test All stars when I was 12. I'm happy to report that I've still fucking got it.

Pretty much the only downside of working on a film is your days go 1pm-2am and you shoot Monday-Saturday effectively ruining your weekend. We were welcome to stay at the house and drink every night, but when it's 5 sweaty guys all gunning for art girl it's probably best to drive home google Carly Rae Jepsen leaked nudes and call it a night. (Call back! Dear aspiring writers, just throw like 1 or 2 call backs per blog post and you'll kill it)

So ya, that's basically it, I spent the better part of a week standing by the snack table crushing everything in sight because all the health conscious fags wouldn't touch my bro snacks. Just as I planned it. Now I'm well versed in film production, I know what a gaffer is and a best boy and a grip. They all make way more money than you. $1000 a day to hang some lights. Dear aspiring writers, quit, learn how to rig electrics. Profit.

I would love to make the PA diaries a consistent section. You know, peel back the curtain for my friends back home and let them know what it's all about. Unfortunately, it looks like my reality show (I'm not the creator, just a character and associate producer) looks like it's going to sell, so I'll be casting some PA's of my own (my cockiness must be nauseating, why do people read this) It's not illegal to make girls give you blow jobs on a casting couch in order to get a job right? People always joke about that in this town but it has to be based in fact? But if said reality show fails to gain traction, or some producer decides that I am a douche (fact) and feels the need to kill me off or something, I think I'll be happy being a PA for now, as long as the gay vegans keep their distance.