Regarding Sunlight, feet, alcohol, the color yellow, and ones + zeros
For those of you Not In The Know, my films, The Mook brothers (http://www.themookbrothers.com) is screening today in LA, and to celebrate, I decided to go. Mainly to see my movie, but also to check out how I found living on the Left Coast (dowsing rod).
At the moment, I am typing this entry on the balcony of Orbit: a youth hostel in (usually) sunny Los Angeles. It is 9:40 am PST (12:40 EST) and I am the only one awake (thus, the reason I am cold and on the balcony). I say usually, because my arrival has apparantely heralded the coldest days local LAians can remember in recent times, as well as the rain. One must understand: this is not East Coast rain, where it comes down in a torrent, gets you wet, and is a nuisance at worst.
No. This Rain. A proper noun. Anywhere else, you would call it a "drizzle," or "spitting" or even "a heavy mist." It may be the pollution that gives this Water Falling From The Sky its powers, but it renders driving impossible. Tack an hour on to wherever you're going, expects accidents, and it WILL rape your daughter when your back is turned.
That is what they say, at any rate.
What that long winded paragraph is trying to get at, is that LA is NOT sunny for my trip. It is cold. 50 degrees cold. For someone who packed nothing but t-shirts and a leather jacket, this is a pain. Or, rather, it is a numb, because there are times my stomach froze and I could not feel it.
This is, actually, a blessing in disguise, because food is incredibly expensive. I was shocked to learn I spent 165 dollars in two days WITHOUT MAKING A SINGLE PURCHASE. BY purchase, I mean something I can pick up, shove into a box filled with wrinkled clothes, and later expose to the air of Brooklyn. So a numb stomach to mask the gnawing hunger is a much sought after trait.
The other area all my money has been retreating to is travel. We are staying at a Youth Hostel for two reasons:
One (1): It is $20 a night
Two (2): it is 0/5 miles from the theater where my film is screening.
Those seem like two excellent reasons to stay here, despite a terrible breakfast, the worst coffee I have ever put in my mouth (it should have a six-horned warning label branded onto the crooded pot), and an investation of ants who, while gentle and almost cute, if you go for the six legged variety, are still annoying.
However, we havebeen very foolish. We thought we could get away with not renting a car, being within walking distance of the venue. How wrong we were...
First night we arrive: Peter immedietely gets pick pocketed. Of course, we don't discover this until we arrive at the Hostel. Phone calls ensue, no progress.
We had been on a plane for Six hours (but through the miracles of science, were REALLY on the plane for three hours), but it was preceeded by 90 minutes of subway ride, an hour of security, tickets, baggage, and the like, and was proceeded by the same. And while I love and appreciate the Blue Chips, and was pleasantly surprised by a tub of Havarti Cheese happily provided to me by the Blue Lady, it was certainly not a meal.
Needless to say, we were starving.
The Men, hunter gatherers that we were, decided to go take a short walk to a resturant/bar, and eat/drink. Outside the hostel, I struck up a short conversation with some other occupants, who (after a gay indian man checked out and hit on the Timony Twins, to my amusement) told us that "Oh, yeah,just walk two blocks that way, there are tons of places open!"
Lying. Bastard.
Unlike New York, Los Angeles is The City Who Sleeps, Not All Day, But It Has To Get Up Early Tomorrow Morning And While It Would Really Like To Come Out, It Really Needs To Think About Its Priorities And Get A Good Nights Sleep. Couple this with the fact that nothing exists within 5 miles of something else and a car is not a luxury, or a privlidged item, but an absolute necessity, it is more understandable why we walked for three hours and found NOTHING.
It is then that we realized that the indian kids were lying.
We turned around, walked back (faster this time, and more directly) and walked in the OTHER direction.
I cannot stress enough how you need a car in this city.
The only event I can remember about that walk is that a rather attractive qwoman growled at me, though I still do not know if it was a sexy, attention demanding growl, a disinterested, stay away from me growl, or a rabid, insanity induced growl.
Any way, she was ignored.
Eventually we found some place that looked like a comic book store that was open. We walk in, and I am immediately come face to face with a 12 feet tall Cthulu. This is Cosmic Pizza, and it was not unlike an oasis containing not water, but all five food groups in a tasty dish shaped like a wheel.
After we eat, drink, and pay $20 apiece, we stumble home and sleep.
day 2:
Today was spent on Hollywood's walk of fame. Bobby and Danna needed to take pictures of Shakespeare, the Traveling Pig on some stars, and I just wanted to see how I liked LA during the day.
It's alright.
Houses are beautiful, the weather was beautiful (chillier than I imagined, but this is my fault for coming from NY) and we thought "we don't need to rent a car. we can take the bus!"
While I would love to recount an amazing adventure about how we got on the wrong bus, ended up somewhere alien, and had to fight our way back ala the Warriors, but with less funk, alas, I cannot. We got on one stop and off another.
Overall, the day was uneventful.
That evening, I got Dressed Up. This is of reletively important significance, due to my body shape. I have extremely broad shoulders, a thin waist, and human arms (as opposed to monkey arms that drop past my knees). Shirt manufacturers have decided, almost unanimously, that Clark McCasland Shall Look Ridiculous In All Nice Things. Broad shoulders means someone is big, which means they have a large waist and long arms. Which makes me look like an anorexic pirate, with billowing sails around my navel (naval! Ha!) and poofy sleeves reminding me of Days Of Yore.
I have, however, managed to find a single cut of shirt that fits me. Banana Republic French Cut shirts, with French sleeves. Which means cufflinks as well. This is well outside my usual realm of comfortable dress.
But still, I like the occasions where I can be a bit stylish, not look like the slob I tend to be, and I put a little care into my appearance for once. The event we were going to, and the after party, possessed a "strict dress code." I made the dress code and then some, as our party was by far the most attractive group there.
At the event, I mean. The after party is another story.
When we arrived ($18 cab ride) at the hotel where the Film Festival Opening Night was being held, we expected good things. It is a fancy hotel, lots of shiny surfaces, etc...
But when we went upstairs, it was nearly deserted. This state never really changed.
We chatted with dozens of filmmakers, few of which were really excited about their films. The trailers that were playing were uninteresting and unattractive, and I began to think that perhaps, for the first time in my life, I was the Most Professional Filmmaker in the room.
This is disheartening in a film festival.
But we did meet one woman worth noting: Ranada. she is the party planner for this festival who took an interest in us, and wants to put together a live show in the East village.
But she also knows a Mr. Sal Genna, a good friend of mine, and Ari, the man who I was in close contact with when working for the History Channel.
These two men do not know each other at all, but it just goes to show what a small world it really is.
After we had had enough, we decided to go to the after party. After a $24 dollar cab ride, we pulled up to a Swanky Club. This is a club with a velvet rope, a line down the block, bouncers that look like a kitchen appliance, and sluts a-plenty. We had VIP passes, but it was not terribly effective, as we still had to wait in line. We met one Ben Z., who is Danna's friend from years past, and then decided to investigate. We managed to circumvent the line (at the last moment, some short, plastic person grabbed my arm and pretended to be my date. I do not remember what she looks like, as she ran away as soon as we cleared the velvet rope.
I do not like the nightlife of LA.
We entered the club, and it was Swanky. It had a Moat around one of the bars, appropriate lighting, lots of sluts wearing belts as skirts grinding into any crotch they can smell.
We stayed 5 minutes, then left for a diner.
After a $12 cab ride for 6 blocks, we arrived to the 1 on 1 diner, home to many a producer, writer, and other creative types.
The food was pretty good too.
We met the writer of The Reindeer Monologues and lots of people who were "developing a deal"
After a $20 meal and a $28 cab ride, we passed out back in the hostel.
This entry has gone on long enough. I'll update more later.
At the moment, I am typing this entry on the balcony of Orbit: a youth hostel in (usually) sunny Los Angeles. It is 9:40 am PST (12:40 EST) and I am the only one awake (thus, the reason I am cold and on the balcony). I say usually, because my arrival has apparantely heralded the coldest days local LAians can remember in recent times, as well as the rain. One must understand: this is not East Coast rain, where it comes down in a torrent, gets you wet, and is a nuisance at worst.
No. This Rain. A proper noun. Anywhere else, you would call it a "drizzle," or "spitting" or even "a heavy mist." It may be the pollution that gives this Water Falling From The Sky its powers, but it renders driving impossible. Tack an hour on to wherever you're going, expects accidents, and it WILL rape your daughter when your back is turned.
That is what they say, at any rate.
What that long winded paragraph is trying to get at, is that LA is NOT sunny for my trip. It is cold. 50 degrees cold. For someone who packed nothing but t-shirts and a leather jacket, this is a pain. Or, rather, it is a numb, because there are times my stomach froze and I could not feel it.
This is, actually, a blessing in disguise, because food is incredibly expensive. I was shocked to learn I spent 165 dollars in two days WITHOUT MAKING A SINGLE PURCHASE. BY purchase, I mean something I can pick up, shove into a box filled with wrinkled clothes, and later expose to the air of Brooklyn. So a numb stomach to mask the gnawing hunger is a much sought after trait.
The other area all my money has been retreating to is travel. We are staying at a Youth Hostel for two reasons:
One (1): It is $20 a night
Two (2): it is 0/5 miles from the theater where my film is screening.
Those seem like two excellent reasons to stay here, despite a terrible breakfast, the worst coffee I have ever put in my mouth (it should have a six-horned warning label branded onto the crooded pot), and an investation of ants who, while gentle and almost cute, if you go for the six legged variety, are still annoying.
However, we havebeen very foolish. We thought we could get away with not renting a car, being within walking distance of the venue. How wrong we were...
First night we arrive: Peter immedietely gets pick pocketed. Of course, we don't discover this until we arrive at the Hostel. Phone calls ensue, no progress.
We had been on a plane for Six hours (but through the miracles of science, were REALLY on the plane for three hours), but it was preceeded by 90 minutes of subway ride, an hour of security, tickets, baggage, and the like, and was proceeded by the same. And while I love and appreciate the Blue Chips, and was pleasantly surprised by a tub of Havarti Cheese happily provided to me by the Blue Lady, it was certainly not a meal.
Needless to say, we were starving.
The Men, hunter gatherers that we were, decided to go take a short walk to a resturant/bar, and eat/drink. Outside the hostel, I struck up a short conversation with some other occupants, who (after a gay indian man checked out and hit on the Timony Twins, to my amusement) told us that "Oh, yeah,just walk two blocks that way, there are tons of places open!"
Lying. Bastard.
Unlike New York, Los Angeles is The City Who Sleeps, Not All Day, But It Has To Get Up Early Tomorrow Morning And While It Would Really Like To Come Out, It Really Needs To Think About Its Priorities And Get A Good Nights Sleep. Couple this with the fact that nothing exists within 5 miles of something else and a car is not a luxury, or a privlidged item, but an absolute necessity, it is more understandable why we walked for three hours and found NOTHING.
It is then that we realized that the indian kids were lying.
We turned around, walked back (faster this time, and more directly) and walked in the OTHER direction.
I cannot stress enough how you need a car in this city.
The only event I can remember about that walk is that a rather attractive qwoman growled at me, though I still do not know if it was a sexy, attention demanding growl, a disinterested, stay away from me growl, or a rabid, insanity induced growl.
Any way, she was ignored.
Eventually we found some place that looked like a comic book store that was open. We walk in, and I am immediately come face to face with a 12 feet tall Cthulu. This is Cosmic Pizza, and it was not unlike an oasis containing not water, but all five food groups in a tasty dish shaped like a wheel.
After we eat, drink, and pay $20 apiece, we stumble home and sleep.
day 2:
Today was spent on Hollywood's walk of fame. Bobby and Danna needed to take pictures of Shakespeare, the Traveling Pig on some stars, and I just wanted to see how I liked LA during the day.
It's alright.
Houses are beautiful, the weather was beautiful (chillier than I imagined, but this is my fault for coming from NY) and we thought "we don't need to rent a car. we can take the bus!"
While I would love to recount an amazing adventure about how we got on the wrong bus, ended up somewhere alien, and had to fight our way back ala the Warriors, but with less funk, alas, I cannot. We got on one stop and off another.
Overall, the day was uneventful.
That evening, I got Dressed Up. This is of reletively important significance, due to my body shape. I have extremely broad shoulders, a thin waist, and human arms (as opposed to monkey arms that drop past my knees). Shirt manufacturers have decided, almost unanimously, that Clark McCasland Shall Look Ridiculous In All Nice Things. Broad shoulders means someone is big, which means they have a large waist and long arms. Which makes me look like an anorexic pirate, with billowing sails around my navel (naval! Ha!) and poofy sleeves reminding me of Days Of Yore.
I have, however, managed to find a single cut of shirt that fits me. Banana Republic French Cut shirts, with French sleeves. Which means cufflinks as well. This is well outside my usual realm of comfortable dress.
But still, I like the occasions where I can be a bit stylish, not look like the slob I tend to be, and I put a little care into my appearance for once. The event we were going to, and the after party, possessed a "strict dress code." I made the dress code and then some, as our party was by far the most attractive group there.
At the event, I mean. The after party is another story.
When we arrived ($18 cab ride) at the hotel where the Film Festival Opening Night was being held, we expected good things. It is a fancy hotel, lots of shiny surfaces, etc...
But when we went upstairs, it was nearly deserted. This state never really changed.
We chatted with dozens of filmmakers, few of which were really excited about their films. The trailers that were playing were uninteresting and unattractive, and I began to think that perhaps, for the first time in my life, I was the Most Professional Filmmaker in the room.
This is disheartening in a film festival.
But we did meet one woman worth noting: Ranada. she is the party planner for this festival who took an interest in us, and wants to put together a live show in the East village.
But she also knows a Mr. Sal Genna, a good friend of mine, and Ari, the man who I was in close contact with when working for the History Channel.
These two men do not know each other at all, but it just goes to show what a small world it really is.
After we had had enough, we decided to go to the after party. After a $24 dollar cab ride, we pulled up to a Swanky Club. This is a club with a velvet rope, a line down the block, bouncers that look like a kitchen appliance, and sluts a-plenty. We had VIP passes, but it was not terribly effective, as we still had to wait in line. We met one Ben Z., who is Danna's friend from years past, and then decided to investigate. We managed to circumvent the line (at the last moment, some short, plastic person grabbed my arm and pretended to be my date. I do not remember what she looks like, as she ran away as soon as we cleared the velvet rope.
I do not like the nightlife of LA.
We entered the club, and it was Swanky. It had a Moat around one of the bars, appropriate lighting, lots of sluts wearing belts as skirts grinding into any crotch they can smell.
We stayed 5 minutes, then left for a diner.
After a $12 cab ride for 6 blocks, we arrived to the 1 on 1 diner, home to many a producer, writer, and other creative types.
The food was pretty good too.
We met the writer of The Reindeer Monologues and lots of people who were "developing a deal"
After a $20 meal and a $28 cab ride, we passed out back in the hostel.
This entry has gone on long enough. I'll update more later.