How to get away with Murder

I didn't take this picture, hence the annoying watermark.

I literally just realized you can't get through life strictly with cockiness and charm. Well you can probably get through, but I imagine a smirk alone doesn't get you far. This is just a jedi mind trick that works with like minded college aged kids. However, in the real world, a devil may care attitude is more likely to dust up repressed emotions of a high school bully or the frat guy a girl regrettably blew in a janitor's closet than to elicit a weak in the knees feeling. Thus I have been trying to modify some of my actions as of late. I am a douche bag, and that much will always be true. Here is an example of my douchiness from TODAY.

I ran down to set to drop something off on set and was greeted by a nervous looking PA.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know, you just make me nervous."

"I have that effect on women." Smirk. Walk off.

Now in my head, I was Jorma Taccone from that episode of Girls where he said that incredibly cocky thing that caused Allison Williams to immediately run into an alley and touch herself. I wanted to drop a metaphorical mic for being so quick thinking on my feet.

But it's not cool. It sounds fucking rapey at worst, creepy at best. "I make women nervous...SMIRK, WINK and then I eat them for dinner!!!!!" It's like I forget that most chicks in LA aren't former Chi Os. They're art school kids that belong to an improv troupe.

Jesus Christ, what a wreck, I promise I'll focus on doing better.

But it doesn't always backfire spectacularly, sometimes not giving a fuck can be your greatest asset (I'm sure that there are essays that prove this point, though instead of calling it "not giving a fuck" they call it Ayn Rand Third Wave Objectivism) case in point, I am exceptionally good at getting into places I do not belong. I almost always figure out a way to get into music festivals for free and I never pay over face for a ticket to other events. So join me as I share with you a tale about The Santa Monica Airport, Alabama Shakes and a bunch of really really bad spiked cider.

All of the following events take place on November 6, 2014.

8pm: I am in one of the few industries where I am told when I have to come to work and when I can leave. It usually doesn't bother me, unless I have something super cool to go to. It's probably for the best though, because if I had any say in things I'm pretty sure I would never show up before 10am and always leave at 4. This is not a recipe for success. I literally sat at my computer from 8pm and did absolutely nothing outside of watch the pilot for 'Mike Tyson Mysteries' and Too Many Cooks (seriously, fucking watch it) I now have a burning desire to turn into a stoner and spend hours a day watching Adult Swim

830pm: I have now been at work for 12 hours today, my boss should be telling me to leave, but I imagine that the exact moment that I am to be excused from work is not the first thing on everyone's mind. They are probably thinking about relationships, what to have for dinner, who really killed JFK. I could speak up and say something but no one wants to get a reputation for someone who... "Dave go home." *Gets up without saying a word and sprints out the back door*

9pm: God dammit, the Santa Monica airport is a fucking nightmare. I don't know what I thought an eventbrite for a FREE Alabama Shakes show with FREE beer in an abandoned hangar was going to be exclusive. Jesus, every white person in LA must be here, ironic since the lead singer of this band is black. Actually maybe not, following the Beyonce theory that white people listen to black music because it makes them feel less racist. But seriously am I ever going to find a parking spot? Oh fuck ya, is that a golf cart spot? My Mini game is TIGHT!

915pm: Ok I have erroneously landed at the VIP parking gate, flashing my shitty E-Ticket in the air. I am dismissed for the chump that I am. But this affords me the first of many opportunities to see the desperate attempts of girls to get in.

"Ma'm we are at capacity, and this is the VIP entrance, you will need to go to the General Admision gate and wait in line like everyone else."

"Oh no, it's fine. I know Allen."

"Who is Allen?"

"Um, he's like the guy that's in charge. He told me to go to the VIP gate and drop his name. So like I said, it's cool."

"I do not know an Allen."

"It's fine, I'll call him."

"Ma'm, I don't give a fuck who Allen is, you are not getting in this gate."

The soul crushing look on her face screams "You just killed my designer Labrodoodle." This could be a plot synopsis for a female driven remake of John Wick, I imagine Paris Hilton starring in this direct to DVD thriller.

930pm: I've made it to the GA. It is not a good scene. The fire marshal has completely shut down the gate and there are a lot of entitled white kids that have opinions on it.

"But my Dad works for Mercedes."

"I am friends with the opener's tour manager."

"But sir, I only came out for a cigarette, and I left my inhaler inside, if you do not let me in right now, you could be an accessory to MURDER." (Go hard or go home I suppose)

You will notice during, I have said nothing. You do not want to stand out when it looks like you may have to enter a venue by suspicious means. Keep a low profile, this way if you have to slip through a gate or grease a roadie no one will remember you.

Just then a group of Hollywood Persians show up...this should be good. My god they took an Uber SUV for 3 of them. What a bunch of ass clowns, they are wearing suits and lots of gold.

"Um excuse me, WE have tickets"

It's as if they thought that everyone else that showed up just heard about the event on Twitter and said, eh what the hell maybe security is lax.

"Sir everyone has tickets. No one is getting in."

(An aside to fellow Persian) "Yo my homey has a VIP ticket he can email us...that will totally get us in."

"I heard that, VIP tickets will also not get you in. All Access passes are the only thing getting through the door right now."

Moments pass...

"Yo my man, we got VIP tickets now. We're good right?"

"Do you think because someone emailed you one VIP ticket I'm just going to say fuck it and let you 3 in ahead of these people who have been waiting for over an hour?"

"But it says VIP"

"Get the fuck out of here."

945pm: My dad used to say "God gave you 2 ears and one mouth for a reason." I used to think it was because he was being a dick. But now I knew he had a point. Instead of wasting my time looking for weaknesses in the fence or a unathletic guard I could run past, I knew I needed a Mercedes Benz All Access lanyard. I had seen a few throughout the night. Mainly the old people, I would imagine this was the client. There was also a short fat guy that kept bringing out "talent" passes to hot chicks. He is probably some manager type, I imagine he had never felt more important in his life.

Who else would need all access to the venue.

Security...Too many people watching, it would never work. Plus I only had 20 bucks, these guys aren't going to risk their job for 20 bucks.

Someone Leaving...My first idea, plus a guy with his chick would probably just give his pass to me upon leaving. Taking the 20 bucks would be a poor person move. That said, if you invite a girl to Alabama Shakes, you aren't leaving after the opener.

So again, I had to think of someone that was working the event, not self righteous enough to give a shit about me getting in, and not in danger of losing their job.

Then I saw him. A parking guy with not one, but two passes around his neck. Why did the valet guys have passes? All these guys were doing was literally opening and closing a gate so that VIP pass vans and Crew trucks could get through a gate. I saw this guy light a cigarette and I immediately knew that he was my guy.

"Hey man, 20 bucks for your VIP pass."

"30"

"Have you gotten a single tip tonight? I have 20 bucks and I want one, AND I just gave you the idea to sell the other one, that's worth an extra 10."

"Ite."

Boom. I held up my VIP pass and the crowd parted for me like I was fucking Moses. The stern door man enthusiastically pulled the rope back for me. It helped that I was dressed like an eccentric dipshit, wearing Salmon pants and a David Beckham jersey, the type of spoiled brat look that Golden Voice producers probably go for. I bypassed a second line and security whisked me backstage to a seat right next to Alabama Shakes' sound mixer. Tonight was going to be awesome.

1015pm: Because Mercedes Benz underestimated how much privileged white kids like to drink, they quickly ran out of all alcohol. Even the VIP bar that I was privy to had only "Whiskey cider" left. I do not know what whiskey cider is, but it is not good. I have never failed to get drunk because I could not take the taste of whatever dreadful spirit I was embibing, last night I got close.

Whiskey cider tastes essentially what I imagine Butter Beer tastes like. This is why no one in the wizarding world of Harry Potter gets turnt. They like the idea of drinking alcohol, but after one or two of these, you have had enough. I soldiered through and knocked down about 8 until I received the requisite buzz to find my friends and dance. I tried to leave, but a security guard stopped me. Perhaps the jig was up.

1030pm: What are you doing back here man?

Oh, I was just...I'm heading inside to the main area, sorry.

Sorry? Man this backstage shit is whack, your all access pass gets you to the green room. Go right through that door, they got top shelf shit.

The green room is in like the air traffic control room of this small private airport and is sponsored by KIND bars. It's covered in them among other things. There are about 10 hot chicks in there, and that short dip shit from earlier. We enjoy a few drinks together before inevitably he tries to size up how I got into the inner circle.

"So what do you do for Mercedes, you're with client right?"

"Um...well actually I'm a writer."

"For like their commercials? Print campaign, I thought they would have an agency."

"Oh no, like on television. I write for the Newsroom (lie! but I've worked on it and know the writers if a further line of questioning starts, always know your fake story thoroughly) and uh...one of our consultants is an attorney for MBUSA. He knows I'm a big fan so he uh...got me this."

"DUDE. I FUCKING LOVE THE NEWSROOM (Uh oh) I manage the Shakes. Want to meet them? (yah kinda) "We watch Newsroom on the bus sometimes, I bet you even wrote one of the episodes." (Probably not)

Exit strategy.

"I think I'm gonna go get lost in the crowd for a bit man, nice to meet you."

"Well let me get your number bro, me, you, these honeys (he legit called the girls next to him 'the honeys') and Shakes...we're going out tonight."

Gave fake number, got the fuck out.

11:00pm: I'm now watching the show with some friends in the main area. There are a lot of people making out. I wouldn't have pegged this as hook-up music. Man I hope I don't see that short shit again, it will be weird if he calls me on my lie.

I make it to the end of the show and for half a moment (the whiskey cider had kicked in at this point) imagined what kind of night I could have if I really dove all in went out with the Shakes, similar to last week at Hard Day of the Dead when a guy offered to buy a ticket off of me entirely in acid and Molly...man 23 year old me would be all over that shit. But at this point in the evening, I just really wanted McDonalds.

1159pm: I take the last bite of my Double Cheeseburger and crawl into my floor fort (still no bed) I saw a killer show, had an adventure and crushed some golden arches, all for the reasonable price of about $23. It was a good night and it probably would have never happened if I wasn't an arrogant dickhead. There is a time for adult behavior and rational thought and a time for reckless abandon. When it comes to sneaking into a show I always advise the latter. Have a nice weekend everyone.