A Southern Boy's Adventures in LA: Ben vs. Ed Harris

So this story is about two weeks overdue.  Out here in Hollywood, they have a chain of movie theaters (2 locations actually, not sure if that really constitutes a chain, but anyways...) called Arclight theaters.  When you go see a movie at Arclight, you're going to see a movie in the best conditions possible.  For example, they have "black-box" presentations, which basically means that every single light source other than the screen in front of you is blacked out completely, which in turn totally sucks you into the movie.  The screen seems brighter because there are no exit signs, aisle lights, etc to give you any sense of being in a typical movie theater (some day I'm sure I'll blog about the dangerous side of this... like what if you suddenly really DO need to find an emergency exit???)  They also use Kinoton projectors (just trust me, it's as impressive as it sounds) and custom JBL sound systems with Academy Award winning technology engineered to exceed THX standards, especially for sound isolation.  Seats are wider, armrests are double wide, there is assigned seating, no in-theater advertising, no late seating (like 5 minutes after a film starts they don't allow anyone else in...), they have cozy cafes and bars in their main lobbies, gift shops with film memorabilia on sale, exhibits on display to correlate with current movies that displays costumes, artwork, photographs, and posters, etc, etc, etc.... it's like, there's going to the movies, and then there's GOING to the movies... Arclight is the latter.  Seriously probably the best theater going experience you're ever going to have.  They also constantly have special screenings of classic films (saw The Godfather there last week... and it was awesome) and also do a lot of special events where they host the director of a film for a unique Q&A after the movie is over.  This is one of those events I'm about to tell you about... 

As some of you know, I went to go see the new western film Appaloosa two weeks ago, which I liked very much, you can read my full review on my other blog where I actually review films by clicking here.  Anyway, so I'm excited to see the film, and my roommate and wingman J.P. is with me as well, and we're off to Sherman Oaks to see the directors screening at the Arclight there.  It's kinda a shame really, the Arclight in Hollywood is much closer to us (like 4 miles) while the other Arclight, the Sherman Oaks location, is like 16 miles away.  Well we left our place in Echo Park around 6:45 to see a 7:30 movie, thinking 45 minutes is plenty of time to drive to Sherman Oaks on a Thursday night.  Wrong.  We got to the parking garage at 7:30, and I'm freaking out because I know they don't let you in 5 minutes after the film starts screening.  It takes us like 10 minutes to find a parking spot, then another 5 just to walk the length of the mall (seriously, it's like the worst designed thing in the world: have to walk around the exterior of the main building, passing all these outdoor food court hangouts, then through a P.F. Changs and Cheesecake Factory, up three escalators, and then finally, you're at the front door of the Arclight).  We had bought tickets a week early, which was to our benefit, because the film was sold out when we got there.  It was also to our benefit, because then the ticket guy wasn't gonna let us in, the manager walked by, saw that we had bought tickets early, and after we groveled a little and made up a laundry list of excuses (we're new to the area, we're not familiar with L.A. traffic, here's a 20, etc) he graciously let us in.  We fumbled around in the dark to find out seats on the third row (which really wasn't as bad as it sounded) and tried to enjoy the movie.  I'm still not sure what the first ten minutes were about, we missed that part (whereas any other theater in America we would have walked in right when the advertising ended and the previews started for another 15 minutes before the actual film began).  

To make a long story a little shorter, there were two seats to my right separating me from the aisle, and while the seat immediately next to me was vacant the whole film, the aisle seat itself had an elderly gentleman sitting in it.  Well about 30 minutes before the movie ends, the gentleman gets up and leaves.  Then like 5 minutes later a theater employee comes over and tapes me on the shoulder, asking if the two seats next to me are open.  I say yes without considering that our elderly friend may return, and when I look back to my left J.P. reminds me of that, saying "hey, wasn't there a guy sitting right ---" and he stops mid-sentence.  His eyes get real big.  I look back to my right again to see what caused my friend to fall silent and am greeted with an eye-full of Ed Harris himself.  Wearing blue jeans, a sport jacket over a T-Shirt, glasses, and a baseball cap pulled down low over his face, Mr. Harris slides into the aisle seat.  I'm sitting less than 3 feet from the director and star of Appaloosa, which I'm also nervously trying to watch on the big screen in front of me.  I glance up at the screen, see Harris in character as Virgil Cole deliver a tough line about upholding the law in the old west, then glance back to my right and see the man himself sitting next to me.  It's kinda a surreal experience.  I didn't know if I was supposed to laugh out loud at some parts (the film does have quite a bit of humor) and suddenly became very conscious of the fact that Ed Harris may very well be monitoring my level of enjoyment towards his film, curious to see how an audience reacts to certain parts.  About 15 minutes later, right before the end of the film, another gentleman sits down in the open seat that separates me and Ed.  I later learned that this man was Robert Knott, who produced and co-wrote the film with Ed Harris.  Anyway, right before the end credits rolled, the final shot is of one of the characters riding off into the sunset (classic western motif, gotta love it...) and as the closing lines of voice over narration are given, suddenly Mr. Harris raises his hands to about shoulder level, palms upward, sort-of in one of those poses that communicates "what the heck just happened?" and "I'm waiting...." all at the same time.  Mr. Knott also raises his hands in a quizzical gesture, and they both freeze and hold this pose for about 2 minutes.... JP and I are still trying to figure out what just happened... haha.  It was like they were either a) waiting for the audience to applaud or something, b) confused by the ending and unsatisfied with the presentation, or c) randomly just decided to strike a pose.  It turned out that the gesture was produced on the spot because the film we saw wasn't the final version.  Ed was raising his hands because he was waiting for more voice over narration, they actually had one or two more paragraphs of narration they had recorded late in the post-production period to tack onto the ending, and the screener we saw didn't have this last tidbit of dialogue included.  Pity.  But it was funny sitting next to him and watching his body language and seeming puzzlement over the ending to his own movie.  

Well the director's Q&A rolls around, they turn on the lights in the theater and bring out some of those classic fold out wooden directors seats for Ed and Robert to sit in.  Then out comes this dorky little guy from Arclight to ask some questions.  And boy was he terrible.  One of the first things he asked was what Ed thought of a recent review that ran for the film in the New York times that morning which called it a "sex comedy" because of the love triangle created by the three main characters and the humorous dialogue exchanged between them.  Ed looked completely taken aback at this description, much like everyone else in the theater (I can assure you this film is anything but a "sex comedy" dear reader!) and slowly raises the microphone to growl into it "you see, that's why I don't read reviews... because of what you just told me.  Now I'm gonna have that idiot's description stuck in my f---ing head- I mean.... sex comedy?  SEX COMEDY?  What the hell man!???"  The audience approves his anger at this claim with laughter and the nervous interviewer moves on... "um, don't you think that you and Viggo had some unique comedic chemistry in this film, kinda like Laurel and Hardy?"... blank death stares from Harris... nervous interviewer: "Or maybe what about the sexual tension felt between the two characters here... I mean, these guys are acting like a married couple at times"  Harris rolls his head and eyes in an exaggerated gesture to show how stupid this question is, then growls into the mic once more: "hey look man, we're not on the mountain, and there are no sheep around." which (surprisingly, considering how "tolerant" this town is of homosexual lifestyles) the crowd gives his answer both a roar of approval and a round of applause.  (That's right... Brokeback Mountain may have had it's audience, but it's not the same audience as Appaloosa, and to even infer any homosexual undertones in this film is to step over the line from what the director intended folks).  Anyway, the interview goes on just fine, we learn some interesting tidbits about the filming process and how the film was adapted from a book, etc, and then suddenly Ed does what I hate seeing celebrities do: takes a platform he's been given to talk about subject "A" and uses it instead to talk about subject "B".  You can probably guess what I'm referring to: Harris brings up his political views.  

Now I'll listen to the man talk about movies.  He's directed two of them, and acted in many more.  I think he's a great actor, very powerful on screen (and in real life too - he's just as forward, blunt, and straight-edged as the roles he plays in films like Apollo 13, A Beautiful Mind, The Truman Show, The Abyss, and Gone Baby Gone).  But when he opens his mouth and says "hey, I don't wanna get all political or anything, but come this November, let's all make sure we get out and vote... OK?"  I was kinda bothered, but happy that was apparently all he was gonna say.  Ok, you've got your plug in for voting, lets get back to talking about the movie we just saw.  Right?  wrong.  A few minutes later he comes out full force when he goes way off topic to talk about a little thing called proposition 4.  Here's the short version of his ridiculous rant: "Hey, real quick, I don't wanna get all political, but lemme tell you about this thing called Proposition 4 coming up on the ballot... my wife works as a volunteer with this Feminists of America thing, and I just got back from one of their meetings, so listen up... they're trying to pass a law that says you have to have parental consent to get an abortion if your a minor... think about this folks.  They're saying that if you're a 16 year old girl and you get pregnant, and your mom is dead, your dad is a mean alcoholic son-of-a-b---h who you know will beat the crap out of you if he finds out you're pregnant... they're saying in that situation you can't go to a close friend, a school worker, social worker, a priest or nun or something and say 'hey, I got this problem, will you help me out and drive me to the clinic to get this thing taken care of'... they're trying to do that to us folks.  Take away that poor girl's right to choose safely and on her own.  So just think about that when you go vote... and also think about how we can get rid of this G-d d--ned current administration and help bring in the new world order"  Well so much for not getting political Mr. Harris.  I lost a lot of respect for the man.  Seriously, first off, the scenario he cooks up is so ridiculous it would take an actor to imagine it. In his scenario he thinks the girl could get a priest or nun to help her?  Hello, have you talked to any Catholics about abortion lately?  They're the most staunchly pro-life people on planet earth.  Apparently Ed missed that memo.  And of course this all boils down to an issue that could have been easily solved if the 16 year old girl kept her pants on to begin with.  They don't want to restrict the sexual promiscuity of the culture at all, oh no, they would rather just abort the baby and keep living it up.  I think Prop 4 is a good rule, think about it: you have to have parental consent to go to the school nurse and get an Advil these days at most schools.  You're telling me this girl has to have family approval to get over-the-counter medication for a simple headache, but she doesn't have to check with the folks first before she terminates a life growing inside of her?  Wow... now I don't wanna get all political, but Ed Harris is a toolbag when it comes to politics.  As I said, I'll listen to any actor talk about acting, just like I'd listen to a mechanic talk about cars: it's what they know.  But the attitude amongst celebrities that they're more politically savvy than the masses has to go.  The vast majority get their information from the same magazines, websites, and cable news shows I do, they don't have any experience in the realm of politics that I don't, so why do they carry themselves like God's chosen prophets of politics when it comes to these issues?  It's not that I don't agree with their politics that bothers me (although that does have a little something to do with it, I'm sure) but its the simple fact that I paid to come see a western and hear how it was made, not to hear Ed Harris rant his political leanings for the whole theater to hear that have nothing to do with the movie.  I HATE it when celebrities talk about things they're not qualified or even expected to talk about during interviews or special appearances.  I know he has freedom of speech, but it's not what I paid for and I'm not appreciative of celebrities who use their platforms in such a way.  

Anyway, the evening winded down and I waited in a line to go up and shake his hand.  Regardless of his political rant, he's still a good director and actor and I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated his handling of the western genre.  Most folks in line just wanted him to autograph some old copy of The Abyss, which you could tell he was kinda sick of doing.  When I got to the front of the line I simply shook his hand and said, "Mr Harris, I'm a huge fan of a good western, and you didn't disappoint me with Appaloosa.  Thanks for the great movie sir"  Hearing this, he kinda perked up in personality and we even had a little "moment" where we kinda had a genuine exchange, he smiled and said, "Oh really, you're a fan of the genre?  what films do you like that are westerns?" and I enthusiastically responded "Oh you know, I loved The Searchers and Unforgiven and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance among others".  He grinned at and repeated my last selection, "Oh yeah, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is great isn't it?"  I smiled and asked him politely at that point if he wouldn't mind autographing my ticket stub for Appaloosa, he kinda chuckled and said "I guess I could..." in sort-of a joking manner, and there you have it: I have a ticket stub that now reads "To Benjamin, Happy Trails! Ed Harris."  Hahaha.  What a night it was.   I didn't appreciate the man's political speech, but the rest of the event was rather memorable.  Sat next to the the guy whose film I was watching.  How many times can you say that while you're watching a movie?  ;-)

A Southern Boy's Adventures in LA: Ben vs. The Los Angeles Public Library

So anyone who knows me well knows that I have this crazy love for libraries.  I promise I'm not a nerd... well not a big one anyways, but what's wrong with loving libraries?  They're free resources to go get books, music, films, etc, practically any piece of information you could ever want.  Los Angeles county has like over 70 branches to their library system, and with one little library card, I get access to all of them (can't you just hear the glee in my voice?... of course you can't, you're not hearing my voice as I read this out loud.... but if you DID, oh man... there's an unhealthy amount of glee in my voice... and an unhealthy amount of ellipses in my typing... but I digress).  Long story short, I live real close to the Echo Park branch (because I live, after all, in Echo Park) and it's not uncommon for me to scamper over to the library (wow... did I just use the word "scamper"?... and MORE ellipses?... uncanny) and spend the better portion of the day sitting, waiting, wishing (and other activities shared by Jack Johnson for those of you who picked up on that pop culture reference there) and of course, reading.  I discovered that while the Echo Park branch is nice, I live like less than 3 miles from the Central Library, which is the big one downtown.  I decided to try it out, and I'm not lying when I say it's the largest and most impressive library I've ever been in.  I just wish I could have found it sooner and parked in the right parking lot. 

You see, downtown LA is a labyrinth of streets and avenues that are difficult to drive at night, and I had already gone on line and gotten directions to the library before heading down there.  According to the LAPL (Los Angeles Public Library) website, you can park in the garage on S. Flower St. and get validated parking, which means you only have to pay like $1 for 4 hours or something great like that.  So I follow my GPS (I still want to name her, I'm open to suggestions too.  She's got this sweet female voice that doesn't mind telling me when I've made wrong turns and am acting like a irrational male behind the steering wheel).  My GPS takes me all the way to S. Flower St. and I'm thinking, great, I'll just park in the deck here and then walk to the library.  So my roommate JP (who is my wingman on this adventure) and I park and go searching for the library.  I'm excited to see what they have on foreign films, and JP is looking for some Joseph Campbell books.  We exit the parking garage at 7:10pm and head for the library which closes at 8:00pm.  We quickly discover that we have no earthly clue where the library is and then a thought hits me which makes me laugh.  You remember in Spanish class when they taught you phrases and sentences you thought you'd never use in day to day life?  Well it just so happens that LA is 52% Spanish speaking (seriously, it's out of control.  West Palm was a joke compared to this) and so you have to realize that any stranger you approach my speak Spanish and not English (which last time I checked is still the official language in the good 'ole US of A).  I laughed because I remember learning the Spanish phrase for "Where is the Library?" which is "Donde esta la biblioteca?" and thinking to myself, good grief, when am I ever going to say that to anyone "en espanol"?  Well, thank you Mrs. Mullis for your teaching, because thanks to you I finally found the appropriate setting for this display of impressive linguistics.  I was able to ask a few kindly old men for help in locating to Library, both in English and in Spanish, and I finally found it, about 20 minutes later.  So now it's 7:30 and we only have a half hour to look around.  A bit of nerdy film trivia: On the way to the library, we actually passed the shooting location for the season 1 finale of "Heroes", I recognized that red circular stairwell thingy, one of those pieces of modern art they put in the middle of big cities.  Anyway, for those of you who watch the show, it's where Hiro, Peter, Sylar, practically everyone fight at the end of season 1.  For those of you who don't watch the show... I have nothing to say to you to defend my nerdiness.  

Anyway, the Central Library is like 6 stories tall, and have some crazy floors with cool displays, more books than you could... well, than you could fill a library with frankly, and an entire room of music and film that I of course took to like a moth to a bug zapper.  The library elevator is kinda cool too, I dunno why but I have to mention this: it's a glass elevator, but the walls are "wallpapered" with old index cards from the old card catalog (for those readers who are younger and never had the joy and privilege of searching for books in old card catalogs, you really missed out on some crazy fun times, let me assure you.)  Anyway, we spend the better part of an hour (the last half hour the library is open to be precise) enjoying the library and pretending to be scholarly and more smart than we really are.  We end up checking out som books and films, and it's off to the parking garage to leave.  But first I must validate my parking.  I hand the guy my ticket, he looks at it and says, "sorry, you parked in the wrong lot".  You've got to be kidding me.  A few more exchanges of dialogue with this man and I learn that I parked in the lot on S. Flower St., just the WRONG lot.  Dang.  Oh well.  Live and learn, right?  I guess I'll still pay like $1 because we've only been there for a little over half and hour, right?  WRONG.  I walk back to the garage on S. Flower St., the one they apparently don't tell you is the wrong one, and attempt to leave.  As I drive up to the little automated toll booth, I insert my parking ticket and the machine tells me I owe more than a dollar.  In fact I owe like $15.  (I must refrain from using bad language at this point, but suffice it to say I am greatly perturbed by the lack of clearly marked signs and/or the lack of absolutely free parking in and around the LA county area).  It turns out that the deck charges $3 for every 10 minutes (that's where this city must make the big money... that, and the overpriced movie theaters) and so since I entered around 7:10 and am leaving around 8:00, I owe $15 for 50 minutes of parking.  Insane.  If there had been a person there I would have told them that.  But alas, it was only a machine, and the gate wouldn't go up until I paid the $15 by swiping my debit card in the little slot, the one marked "Haha, you're not from the area are you? Sucker!"  Well I certainly hope the LAPL is happy.  Because I could have gone to Borders and BOUGHT the book I checked out for free with the money I spent on parking.  Shame on you S. Flower St. parking garage.  A curse upon you and your automated parking fees.  Ah well... live and learn, right?  This ain't Birmingham.    

A Southern Boy's Adventures in LA: Ben vs. The Porn Star at the Hot Dog Stand

Here's one to get a good laugh at:  I'm driving down N. La Brea Blvd, on my way to pick up some things at Target (because as you've read in my previous post, I'm not really interested in going back to Wal-Mart anytime soon), when what to my roaming eyes should appear but a miniature sled and eight tiny reindeer?  No.  Even better than Christmas: Pinks Hotdogs.  Pinks has been a Hollywood tradition since it opened in 1939.  Probably the most famous hot dog stand in all of Los Angeles, and possibly all of America for that matter, Pinks serves up some of the wildest hot dogs you can imagine.  I usually just stick to the basic chili cheese dog: a footlong with homemade Pinks Chili and covered in onions, plus mustard, cheese, and a little T.L.C.  Chase it down with a Dr. Browns Root Beer and you've got yourself a great Hollywood lunch (Notice I didn't say healthy necessarily).  Anyway, if you're even more adventurous, you can get a variety of stuff, my Mom got a dog with tomatoes, bacon, and something else on it, and my roommate JP (bless his heart, this thing tore him up pretty good later) decided to get the Ozzy Spicy Dog (named after Ozzy Osbourne).  Among other things, the Ozzy is comprised of a spicy polish sausage (with the peppers and onions inside the sausage), nacho cheese, American cheese, grilled onions, guacamole, & chopped tomatoes.  Yeah... he ate the whole thing.  Anyway, the thing about Pinks is the line is always ridiculously long... like around the block.  It's usually like a 25 minute wait just to order, and the parking is limited, they have a little guy that works the parking lot as a Pinks Valet attendant, and you give him your keys and he'll move cars around like a giant game of Tetris to squeeze them all in the little Pink's parking lot.  It's pretty crazy, but hey, like I said, this place is a Hollywood legend.  In fact, the wallpaper of the interior dining area is comprised of autographed 8x10's of all the famous actors who have eaten there over the years... it's pretty cool.  They say it's not uncommon to see a limo pull up to the curb and a celebrity step out (or more likely, a celebrities "personal assistant") to order a hot dog at Pinks.  So when I drove by I noticed a shocking sight: the line was short... like less than 15 people short (usually it's got at least 50 folks lined up).  I pulled over and decided I would have to eat there for lunch.  

That's when I noticed the cameras... at least 3 of them, all pointing towards these three women standing in front of Pink's Hotdogs.  One of the women was a smaller brunette lady who was dressed sort-of like little orphan Annie, and she was flanked on either side by two giant blonde women.  Let me try and explain what I mean by giant: these women were not fat... they were just proportionally larger than any woman I've ever seen.  I mean, they still had curves and waists and everything, they were just.... like... freakin Amazon blonde women.  Anyway, frankly, I started to have doubts that they were real women (This is LA after all) and I started to stare at their necks for any sign of an Adam's apple, or looked at their hands to see if they looked rough and masculine.  Upon closer examination, they did appear to be real women, just really freaky and fake women.  Anyway, they're all standing on the corner singing "O Canada" so some reason, and the cameras are eating it up.  I'm standing in line behind them with about 12 other people, and I know I'm the background of the shot, wearing a green shirt and dark sunglasses.  They filmed some more, and I did my best to sort-of innocently position my blocking so I would be in the frame somewhere behind them, because at this point I had no idea what they were filming and just thought it would be cool to be in the shot.  It's the same thing you see in the attitude of the general public when they stand outside the NBC building in New York to be on the today show, everyone clamoring for the camera and their chance to be on TV.  So there I am, trying really hard to be in the background of the shot, intently looking out of the corner of my eye to see where the camera is so I can finagle my way into the shot a little.  Then one of the PA's (Production Assistants) comes over and taps me on the shoulder, saying: "Can Shannon and her friends hop in front of you in line?  We need to film them ordering a hot dog, and the director said if you'll let us do this, we'll cover the cost of your lunch." I naturally agreed, now I would be in the shot AND get a free lunch (take that Adam Smith and your stupid Wealth of Nations economics... saying there's no such thing as a free lunch... bah!  I scoff at you today!).  Well the giant blondes and their small orphan friend come stand in front of me in line and order their hotdogs, and that's when I got to see just how "real" reality TV is... it's about as real as that miniature sled and eight tiny reindeer I mentioned earlier folks.  Seriously, they have to film these women ordering a hot dog three different times from 3 different angles and then once more to get good audio.  Reality?  How about.... LAME.  Anyway, aside from my ranting about reality TV, the PA walks back over to me and gives me a $20 bill.  They don't ask for change, she just smiles and says "enjoy your lunch."  Awesome!  Now I've made money, because Lord knows I'm not gonna spend more than $20 at a hot dog stand... heck, I'm not even gonna spend more than $10.  It's a hot dog stand for crying out loud.  I order my chili cheese dog and Dr. Browns root beer and settle down for a comfortable lunch outside at a nice table with a big red Pinks umbrella (not sure why they didn't make the umbrellas pink... but in the interest of my own manliness, I'm glad they did, because I wouldn't want to be spotted sitting under a giant pink umbrella).  One of the other PAs saunters over to my table and jokingly asks me if I'm going to eat all of my hot dog.  I smile and say yes, then decide this is as good a time as any to find out what they're filming: "Hey, what are you guys shooting here anyways?".  He gives me a slight dumbfounded look as if to say "you moron, you don't recognize it?" and then he actually says "Gene Simmon's Family Jewels."  I give him a dumbfounded look now, I've never heard of this show before.  Before I know it, we've held an entire conversation in a few seconds just by giving each other looks, and he opens his mouth to repeat himself, like perhaps I just misheard his first attempt: "Gene Simmon's Family Jewels man" and I quickly fake an epiphany and nod my head like, "Oh yeah, I totally love that show!" even thought I know nothing about it.  Anyway, turns out it comes on A&E, it's one of those shows like "The Osbournes" where America tunes in to watch the dysfunctional lives of a rock star and his family, because naturally America has nothing better to do with it's time than see how the lead singer of KISS raises his kids. 

I leave the hotdog stand and decide to swing by the library (at this time we still didn't have internet at our home) and do a little research.  And boy was I in for a shock.  Turns out this giant blonde woman was Gene Simmon's "partner" (because marriage is soooo 1980 out here in La La Land) and they had been living together long enough to have 2 kids.  The woman's name is Shannon Tweed, and you might remember her from such memorable roles as "Indecent Behavior 1, 2, & 3", "Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death", and "Body Chemistry 4: Full Exposure".  Yep, that's right.  Miss Tweed has been an adult film star for most of her life, and was Playboy's playmate of the year back in 1982.  So lesson learned... I've been in L.A. for a little less than 2 weeks, and already, I can honestly say that I've shared the screen with a porn star.  Not how it sounds of course (because that would not be cool) but yeah... to think I was trying to get in the shot so hard, only to find out it's a lame reality show that follows around an old retired porn actress and her messed up family.  Oh well... welcome to Hollywood folks.  

A Southern Boy's Adventures in LA: Ben vs. The Overly Jovial Jewish Gentleman at the Hollywood Sign

So the picture you're looking at was taken by someone else.  I tried to do that whole thing where I lean back and aim the camera at myself holding it at arms length, but it never came out well enough, so eventually I had to have someone else take the pic for me.  Who was this mystery photographer you ask?  Why, a rather jovial Jewish fellow I shall now tell you all about.  

To begin with, this all started when I was driving around town one day.  I figured I needed to go around and snap a few pictures of myself with the classic hollywood hotspots on prominent display, that way I could get that touristy bit of myself out of my system, and also it would just be kinda fun to go around and see the sights of LA.  The Walt Disney Concert Hall, The Staples Center, Dodger's Stadium, Grauman's Chinese Theatre, The Kodak Theatre, All of these were among the famous LA/Hollywood landmarks I had to track down for a photo opportunity.  The most famous of which however, and the quintessential picture for anyone who ever visits the area, is one of the Hollywood Sign.  Sitting atop the mountain looking down on the city, the Hollywood Sign has become the symbol for the film industry.  Long has many a film student been inspired by the uneven white letters sitting atop this mountain, right up there next to the Griffith Observatory.  I just knew I had to get as close as possible for a picture.  Well that's the biggest problem with the Hollywood Sign.  It's tough to get close to it.  Almost any picture you attempt to take of it will leave it feeling small, insignificant, and distant, especially if you insist on being in the frame as well.  On a whim I did a GPS search for The Hollywood Sign and it actually came up as a tourist spot.  I decided if there was ever a way to get close, follow the GPS to whatever view it gives me.  Sure enough, the GPS takes you right up to the base of the mountain, with the letters looming overhead.  I looked ahead and saw the road continue up the mountain, and figured I could get closer.  I ended up in a dusty parking lot on a dirt road labeled "Holly Ridge Trail".  From here on, I would be on foot.  I hiked in only about 300 yards beyond the parking lot and rounded a corner to see the Hollywood Sign dead ahead of me.  This is about as close as you can get to it for a decent picture, so I figured I'd give it a shot.  

After about 10 minutes of attempting to do my own self-portrait, I hear a noise coming from below me on the trail.  It's the sound of a man laughing.  I wait, and within a few seconds, the source of the laughter comes into view.  A rather large Jewish gentlemen, complete with black dress pants, white dress shirt, and little yarmulke sitting atop his head.  A large black beard covers half his face, and he squints through thick glasses.  He's grinning from ear to ear.  He has with him a very petite woman who doesn't look Jewish... in fact she looks like an escort... very elaborate make-up job, high heels (yeah... she wasn't really "mountain-ready" here folks) and a tight little cocktail dress/miniskirt combo.  I don't want to judge, but the looked like a very odd couple. Whatever her relation to the man, it was obvious they were in love (or at least lust) because they were all over each other.  Constant hugging and kissing... kinda to a point where you wanted to tell them to find a room.  Long story short he said he wanted me to take a picture of him in front of the sign, and I agreed.  I positioned him and his girlfriend/wife/escort/female companion in the frame with the Hollywood Sign right above him, and snapped the picture.  I let him take a look at it before they broke the pose, asking him if the angle was OK and he was satisfied with the picture.  He gave me a real serious look, and said he didn't like it at all.  I was kinda taken aback, and inquired as to why he didn't like it that much, to which he simply responded "My nose is too big".  I couldn't figure out if he was joking or not, and was kinda afraid to laugh until he cracked into a wide grin and let out a deep rolling belly laugh.  A Jewish joke from a Jew.  I guess they can get away with it the same way black people can tell black jokes.  Anyway, he laughs real hard and lets me know by way of a hard slap on the back that it's not my fault his nose is so big.  He points to heaven and chuckles, "Yahweh gave me my large nose!" and then bursts into fits of laughter again.   I join in, a little nervous and trying to gage just how much I'm allowed to ham it up with him while he pokes fun at his own ethnicity.  He proceeds to take a picture of me, which as I said, is the one you see here, but I'll never forget the large, laughing Jewish man for as long as I live here.  It was truly an LA moment.  

A Southern Boy's Adventures in LA: Ben vs. The Mentally Disturbed and Verbally Abusive Wal-Mart Shopper

So this story may not be new to anyone, but here goes:  When I first moved out to Los Angeles, I went on a three day shopping spree across the city with my Mom to make sure we got everything we needed for my new apartment.  You know, the essentials: soap, toothbrush, towels, underwater basket weaving guidebook, etc.  Anyway, we decide to go visit the friendly local neighborhood Wal-Mart, which is located on Crenshaw Blvd about 6 miles from where I live.  We hop on the 110 and head down to the Wal-Mart, arriving around 10:05 pm.  Now where I'm from, we know a few things for certain: the sun sets in the west, Bear Bryant is deader than he's ever been, and Wal-Mart stays open  24 hours.  Not so in Los Angeles.  We arrive to a locked gate and a kindly old man informs us that the store closes at 10:00 pm sharp everyday, no exceptions.  Oh well, go figure, I knew this place would be different, but I didn't think it would affect small details like the Wal-Mart store hours.  

We head home, disappointment and despair clouding our otherwise cheerful demeanors.  The next morning we decide to give it another go and arrive when the store is open.  It's part of this plaza mall kinda set-up, the Wal-Mart even has an opening out into a food court area in the center of the mall and the exterior of the building looks like an old art-deco skyscraper too.  I half expected to see a monkey on top of the structure, complete with airplane circling and firing away at it.  Seriously, it's the strangest looking Wal-Mart you've ever seen.  It's 3 stories tall, and they have special escalators that take the carts up one side and then the humans ride up the other side, like they've been doing for centuries... or at least decades, I have no idea exactly when the first escalator was invented, and it's quite possible that a century ago they didn't have them.   

So we're on the top floor, in the lamps, bedding, and curtains section.  Just me and my Mom, discussing color schemes and fabric softener, when all of a sudden this guy approaches.  He's kinda ugly, very big, and looks like he's a mix between American Indian and Latino background.  He's got a tight t-shirt on, loosely fills out a light jacket unzipped in the front, and has a LA Dodgers baseball cap pulled down squarely on his square shaped head.  He strides right towards us, but actually looking beyond us, or should I say through us, his eyes are kinda glazed over and staring off into space.  Either he's day dreaming or crazy, and when his mouth opens, it only confirms the later diagnosis.  Streams of expletives thicker than brunswick stew come flying out of his mouth, and we got covered in his foul language.  Eff this, Eff that, Eff you mothereffer, etc etc... he's got quite a vocabulary of nice big four letter words, and he's not afraid to use them.  Come to think of it, I think he may HAVE used his whole vocabulary in one sentence because he sounded like a broken record after that... just dropping F bombs like it was going out of style.  Well my Mom and I are obviously not presented with this high intelligence life form that often, so we're kinda stumped as to what to do.... he seems to be trying to pick a fight?  I dunno why I thought that, maybe it was something about the way he looked me in the face and screamed "eff you man, you want a piece of me?  I'll eff you up man!  This is bulls--t!"  I decided to simply stare at the floor and count my shoelaces while he launches into his encore performance.  Keep in mind that he's very loud and standing in the middle of the aisle, but we seem to the be the only people up there, and there's not a friendly blue-vested Wal-Mart employee anywhere either.  We take his verbal thrashing and he moves on to find another victim to vomit obscenities on.  No words are exchanged, I think this is one of those unique mother-son moments where you completely understand what just happened and you're content to try and ignore it.  

So we're minding our business and time goes by.  No sight of the crazy man for the last few minutes... literally, like 10 minutes go by at least.  Then without warning, at the top of his lungs, and sounding like he's only one aisle over and begging for an audience, we hear him again.  He screams as loud as he possible can, "F--- WHITE PEOPLE!!!!" This is code language to me and my Mom that we probably should head for the check out line soon.  He storms by the end of our aisle and we get a glimpse of him one last time as he keeps screaming about the white race: "PUT 'EM IN A CONCENTRATION CAMP, AND STARVE 'EM TO DEATH!!!" That was the last we saw of our friend with the adult vocabulary.  After that we were greeted with over five Wal-Mart employees in blue vests who had finally heard that there was a "situation" on the top floor and come up to see what the problem was.  They can't seem to find the guy, and we never see him again either, but I was checking behind me as we left the store and entered the parking lot... you know, just in case he was looking for us to share his true feelings once more.  It was more language than I've heard in real life in a long, long time... seriously, last time I heard a man swear that way, it was in a movie.  Anyway, long story short, we survived the Wal-Mart on Crenshaw Blvd, but don't expect me to be hanging out around the Low Price Place anytime soon... Target's closer anyway.  

A Southern Boy's Adventures in LA: Ben vs. The Bust-Measuring Bimbo

So I've relocated to LA from Birmingham and am looking for a job out here.  While waiting for that golden opportunity to come along, I decided to go ahead and take steps to insure that I could have a back-up plan for making some small money fast - you know, the kind of job you take just to keep gas in the car and groceries in the fridge.  So I sauntered down the street (translation: drove across town on the LA freeways and cheated death with every lane merge) and decided to apply for Central Casting.  Central Casting is one of the bigger casting agencies in town, they provide all the background and extras for TV and film.  Ever watch an episode of anything of TV and seen people walking around in the background and wondered who they were?  Those are Central Casting extras, and they get paid $8 an hour and fed three meals while on set.  After 8 hours on set, you get paid time and a half, and most workdays are 12 hours for the extras, so you end up with somewhere around $100 for one day of standing around and walking through the background of scenes a couple of times.  Not the most glamourous job, but an easy $100 if you don't mind standing around all day.  I personally love the idea of getting to spend a full day or two on a set, observe how the shoot certain shows and watch the directors direct the actors.  

So after two of my roommates, Bryan and Pete, raved about it because they each got to be on "Without a Trace" and had a good experience, I decided to register as well.  I walk into the main office and run into a room full of about 20 people, from every walk of life.  We've got caucasian, asian, african american, and hispanic people in the room of every age, sex, and shape.  I had been told by my Pete to sit in a row of chairs along the wall when I entered the room, and not gather around the conference table where everyone else was sitting.  This is because when 10:30am rolls around, the casting director enters the room and makes a little speech, and then they start processing at that row of chairs.  So essentially if you know this little inside tip early on, you get a free pass to the front of the line.  So there I am, sitting near the window in the row of seats, filling out my application.  They ask for all sorts of personal information regarding your physical appearance, from hair color, weight, and height; all the way to your actual clothing sizes so you can be fitted for a show should they need to put you in some sort of uniform or costume.  For a guy this means giving them your coat, sleeve, neck, waist, inseam, and shoe size; and for a girl you must provide your bust, bra size, waist, hips, dress size, and show size.  Nothing out of the question, the same information you'd give your tailor really.  They also have a section that asks if you're willing to do nude work, and you have to circle yes or no (and right now I'll go ahead and tell you what I put: absolutely not.) 

Anyway, I'm in there for a few minutes and in walks this girl.  She's slender and tall, and at first glances, I'll admit, she's rather lovely and downright attractive.  She comes over and sits next to me because she also knew about the little "sit-by-the-window-to-get-to-the-head-of-the-line" tip.  So seeing as how it's still about 15 minutes before they start official processing and registration, we naturally start up a conversation.  Her name is Emily Egbert, but don't let the name fool you as to her ethnic background.  As nerdy as the name may sound, she's actually half Jordanian, her mom grew up in Amman (capital of Jordan - don't worry, I had to look it up too).  She has that whole raven-black shoulder length hair, olive toned skin, and deep brown eyes thing working for her, and if I had to guess I'd say she could easily be on camera if she really wants to pursue acting full time, which as I continue to talk to her, I discover is her intent all along.  As the time draws nearer, a rather large and friendly african american gentleman in a full suit comes and sits next to me as well, and we both joke about how this whole registration feels a lot like being drafted in the military.  He informs me that if they take us to another room and ask us to drop our shorts for a full physical, he's not interested, and for a second it seems like he actually isn't joking, that maybe he really thinks this is a possibility.  

10:30 rolls around and it's go time.  The room is now full of over 100 people, and sure enough, I'm near the very front of the line.  The casting director comes out and announces that they have measuring tapes available throughout the room and it's strongly encouraged that we measure ourselves accurately for the application, even if we know our sizes already.  It's important that we make sure we're not just a few inches off, or the prop costumes may not fit and then we'll feel like idiots on set wearing clothes that are too large/too tight.  At this announcement, the unexpected happens.  Emily grabs a tape (those fabric measuring tapes they have at every tailor and suit store) and whirls around to face me.  "Will you help measure me?" she politely inquires.  Now I don't know much, but I was raised in the south where as a standing rule we treat our women with dignity and respect.  To say this was a little surprising and even a little inappropriate is an understatement.  I know it's just a measurement, but I'm a guy, she's a girl, and a complete stranger until like 20 minutes ago.  The more I reflect on the incident, in many ways I guess I was less of a stranger to her than anyone else in there, but still... I'm not used to being presented with this kind of scenario.  I'm sure my mouth was wide open and jaw was resting on the floor as I quickly tried to formulate the correct response. Then I heard words come out of my mouth: "Sh-Sh-Sh-Sure".  WHAT? Did I just say that?  What's happening here?  But before I can figure out why my mouth and head are not agreeing, I find myself standing there as she wraps a tape around the fullest part of her chest, turns her back to me, and asks me to help her figure out her bust measurement.  I'll grant her the fact that she turned her back to me, at least this way my hands would be nowhere near the danger zone, but still, this is a rather new and awkward experience.  Where I'm from, girls tend to not ask guys to help them figure out their bust size.  I ended up pinching the tape together in the middle of her back and reporting that she measured 32 inches.  She thanks me and then asks what's next on the sheet.  I glance down and to my horror see the words "Bra Size".  Now here is where I should have read it in my head before reading it out loud, but I think I did both at the same time and accidently said out loud, "Uh, it says bra size"  Once again, I kick myself mentally, wondering if the old nature has gone on autopilot for some reason.  I figured she would probably say, "Oh, well lets skip to the next category" because once again, where I'm from if a guy asked a girl her bra size in public (or private for that matter), he's probably seeking a slap in the face.  Surprisingly though, and causing my recently re-attached jaw to hit the ground once again, she casually tells me over her shoulder, "Oh, my boobies are a B".  Those were her exact words.  I'm speechless, still holding a tape around her back and trying to figure out what just happened, when she starts moving on to waist, hips, etc... before I know it, we've measured every inch of her from top to bottom, and I've recorded the whole thing obediently for her on her sheet. 

 Then my eyes catch sight of what would be the last straw: where it asked if she would do nude work, she had circled "yes".  Man, I'm telling you, I wanted to drop the tape and wash my hands right there.  Welcome to LA.  This ain't no Birmingham, no sir, it sure ain't.  Needless to say, the rest of the registration went on fine, I registered and hope to be on TV soon making some quick money in the background, but seriously... I could go out and buy this girl a dress now with the information I know... and perhaps I should.  A real modest one with a note attached that said she should reconsider her decision to do naked work and instead pursue real classy acting, the kind where you keep your clothes on and wow the audience with your abilities and not your curves.  I could even tell her that the next time she needs to measure herself, she should find a kindly old lady to assist her or something...  But then, I didn't get her address, so I'd have nowhere to send it... hmm, oh well.  Welcome to LA folks.  The Bible belt this ain't.  I was hoping this would be the end of my awkward moments in the city, but as you'll soon learn in a later installment of this blog, this was only the beginning.  Because later that day I would share the screen with a porn star at a hot dog stand.  But that's another story for a later post... Until then my friends, I hope I've put a smile on your face as I recount my humorous and awkward times in sunny Los Angeles California.  Keep in touch and check back later for more stories of hollywood fun.  

 

Moving to LA

Hey, I've just recently relocated in Los Angeles.  I've got no reliable internet connection here, so give me a couple days to get that fixed and I'll be ready to start blogging again about the joys and misadventures of my life.  Thanks for your patience.