Things are Looking Up

Sunlight! Music! Birds singing and puppies jumping and unicorns farting RAINBOWS OF GLORY!!

After an interminable 4 months of joblessness, 4 months of worrying, 4 months of traffic hassles, 4 months of waiting and waiting and waiting, The Reluctant Angeleno finally got a job. On a new show! O, frabjous day, callooh, callay!

And though I leave on Wednesday for parts unknown (OK, Charlottesville, Virginia), I have my first day tomorrow. At 7:00, which sucks, but hey, who am I to complain? I finally found some people who will EMPLOY and PAY me. It's an exciting time, folks. I've resumed my inevitable rise to power and stardom and fiduciary rewards.

And to make matters better, my roommate just walked in and offered to take me out to dinner to celebrate. So, while you poor losers lead your sorry lives in God-knows-where, USA, I'LL be eating it up in FABULOUS WEST HOLLYWOOD ("The Creative City!") on the cheap.

Probably have a couple of beers, too.

IGD

I am chagrined.

I was informed today that I missed an event as important to me as almost anything on the calendar. I'm talking, of course, of International Gigli Day.

This is not some kind of fly-by-night festival. Conceived over a year and a half ago after an ill-fated trip to Amoeba Music, IGD is a day-long celebration of all things Gigli on the anniversary of the international release of, you guessed it, Gigli.

Everyone says that Gigli is one of the worst movies of all time, and my co-organizer and I have no argument with that. However, we're not in the "so bad it's good" camp. This movie transcends "so bad it's good," spins around a full 360 degrees, and lands back on bad. It's not laughable; it's simply boring. And that is the biggest crime of Gigli.

We held our first IGD last year in my old apartment, and we got quite a good attendance. Maybe 15 people which, I believe, is the largest number of people to attend that movie in one sitting ever - including its initial theatrical run. We cooked bad Italian food and wore leather. We went all out.

This year was supposed to be bigger...

But alas, my co-organizer and I let the date (August 1) pass without so much as a mention. We didn't even watch the trailer! And now it's too late to do anything about. Plus, we're too poor right now to throw a real party.

So we're thinking about making this a biennial celebration. Stay tuned till next year. IGD will rise anew, like a phoenix, out of the ashes of Gigli.

Rhymes with really.

IsTranceMusic

EXT: Hollywood, Night

TRA, his ROOMATE, and his Roomate's FRIEND drive eastward in a smooth black Honda Accord. They park and exit the car a la "Entourage". They're that cool.

FRIEND: What is this place again?

ROOMATE: It's a club. A lounge, I think. The description online was pretty cool. Laid back, drinks, dancing. Very Hollywood.

FRIEND: Ok.

TRA: Is this it? There's not a sign or anything.

They stop abruptly at an unmarked door. A large RUSSIAN security guard sits on a stool, talking with a SKINNY, quiet dude. ELECTRONIC MUSIC thumps from the building.

ROOMATE: Is this the Larchmont?

RUSSIAN: Ya, is Larchmont.

Awkward silence. Looks are exchanged.

FRIEND: So. Can we, like, go in?

RUSSIAN: You have IDs?

TRA: Yeah. (TRA begins to pull out his ID)

ROOMATE: Wait a sec. What's it like in there? Is it like a lounge?

RUSSIAN: Is lounge, is bar. Verrrrry cool.

FRIEND: What's it like here on Friday nights?

RUSSIAN: Is different every week. Friday this week is hip hop.

ROOMATE: What's going on tonight?

RUSSIAN: Tonight is trance music. Is eight dollar cover. You want?

RUSSIAN pulls a metal detector out of his back pocket in preparation to scan the trio. Sudden panic. More looks exchanged.

ROOMATE: No thanks!

TRA, ROOMATE, and FRIEND beat a hasty retreat into the Hollywood night.

fin

Tickets

My friends who know me know that I've had a spate of bad luck recently. Between the whole "not having a job since May" thing, and the "getting kicked by a bum" thing, and the "otherwise fucked every which way from Sunday" thing, there seems to be a black cloud hanging over my head.

And it gets worse.

John Law is out to get me, and has been since April. In fact, I can pinpoint the exact date; nay, the exact TIME when the cloud burst and rain began ruining the suede jacket that is my life. April 13, 2006 at 9:48 PM. That's when I got my first ticket. Out of four. In 4 months.

It was stupid, really. My passenger headlight had burnt out a while back, and I had been meaning to get it fixed for a while. But then, on the 11th, a friend notified me that my DRIVER'S side headlight was gone, too. I was going to get them fixed on the 14th. HONEST! I had a day off from work, in which I was going to head to Pep Boys to pick up some lights. But on my way home from Target that night, I got pulled over by the Fuzz.

Fine.

Ticket number two was an actual moving violation. I was in West LA, heading to a friend's house to drop off some books I had borrowed. It was a last minute decision I had made on my way home from my cousins' place. I was traveling west on Idaho, and crossed Barrington...which is, apparently, illegal. And enough people do that to ensure that a cop camps out at the intersection day and night. Another $200.

I was getting annoyed.

Ticket three was AWFUL. I had decided to drive back to my hometown in Louisiana to see my family. It was going to be a full 2 days of driving, over 30 hours in total. But I was ready. I left LA at 5:45 AM to avoid traffic...and got pulled over at 6:10 AM at the county line. Where the speed limit suddenly changed. Yup. I got lured into a speed trap. I think this was my priciest ticket, but I can't be sure because I've had SO GODDAMN MANY.

Flames. On the side of my face.

My most recent was tonight. I wasn't even supposed to drive! I was going out with my roomate and another friend to scope out some bars for an event; an event, mind you, I might not even be going to! And I was suckered into driving them around Los Angeles. Ok. Great. Everything goes well, we find a great place. And then, as we head back home, I APPARENTLY run a stop sign where, again, traffic violations are so frequent that there's a permanent police garrison.

And my friends? The just laugh and laugh. They know how CURSED (two syllables) I've been, and yet they laugh.

*Sigh*

The cop was as nice as can be expected. See, you're supposed to get a California license 10 days after moving. Me? I still have my Louisiana license after living here for 3 years. He said he COULD take my car, but that he was going to let me off easy. So now I DEFINITELY have to get a CA license and register here, too.

I need money, but bad. Gimme, gimme, gimme.

An Ethical dilemma

So, if you've been following this blog lately - and I don't see why you haven't been, bitches, even without daily updates - you probably know I'm a little hard up for cash right now.

"HOW HARD UP ARE YOU?"

I'm so hard up I actually considered shopping at Jon's the other day. Not Von's. Jon's.

What's Jon's?

Jon's is the ripoff Von's. It's across the street from my local Ralph's grocery (AS SEEN IN THE BIG LEBOWSKI!! HOLLYWOOD IS GREAT!!!11!) And it's pretty terrible. The kind of place where raw chicken juice seeps from partially sealed packets into the aisles. The kind of place where the peaches aren't so much chosen from amongst each other, but scooped into a leakproof bag en masse, fruit flies and all. The kind of place that sells candy you've never heard of before.

Anyone feel like some DELICIOUS TAMARIND PULP SWEETIES!?!?!





Luckily, I came to my senses and decided not to go. But the fact that I even THOUGHT about shopping at Jon's is pretty telling of how poor I am.

Which brings us around to where I am now. An excellent friend of mine sent me some information that really piques my interest. It seems NPR is looking for a comedy writer for...well, for something. It doesn't say which show. And, not to toot my own horn, but I'd be pretty excellent. Nerdy NPR, news, and comedy. That's just about my entire life right now.

But it DOES request that applicants have 3 years writing experience and they would prefer experience on air. Which I don't have.

SO.

Do I fudge my resume? I mean, I DID write comedy for 3 years at school - not professionally by any means. And I do write now. And, sure, I've never been on radio, but I do have plenty of performance experience on stage.

America stands ready to vote. Let me know, people, if The Reluctant Angeleno should play that exciting game....

FUDGE....YOUR....RESUME!!!

Raphael, Rubens, and...um...Rubin

Pent up in my apartment, I've been a tortured artist for the past two weeks, laboring away on my magnum opus.

My nekkid ladies 'round a chalkboard.

Actually, it wasn't the painting that took so long; it was the finding and mounting of a chalkboard tray. I mean, sure I did a lot of work on the first version. But it wasn't up to the exacting standars of my PERFECT. LITTLE. ROOMATE. So I had to go BACK to the hardware store and get them to cut ANOTHER piece of crown molding.

Sigh

Anyway, the chalkboard is all done now, and I've attached some pictures. Please notice the supple curve of the waist, the gentle arc of the neck.

And the totally bitchin' titties.