Excerpts from "L.A. Misérables, Five: Mama Told Me Not To Come"
INTRODUCTION "Dear sir or madam will you read my book… ‘cuz I want to be a paperback writer…" The Beatles "It is not the critics who count or how the strong man stumbled and fell or how the doer of deeds could have done them better. Rather, the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena who strives valiantly, who errors and comes up short again and again, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood and if he fails, at least by daring greatly, he will never be among those cold timid souls who knew neither victory or defeat." Theodore Roosevelt "Nothing in the world can take the place of
persistence. Talent will not. Nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent.
Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is
full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are
omnipotent." "I think you’ve lost your mind." My mother Man, I hate writing these introductions and rehashing all the bullshit that has happened up to this point. It bores me… and you, but I know that it’s necessary to bring the reader up to speed… as if someone’s gonna pick-up a book that’s the fifth in a series without having a clue as to what went on in the previous four installments, but you never know… I should assume anyone that would want to read my books would have to be a little bizarre in the first place… in a good way. I have kept putting this off, finding excuses and ignoring the fact that I have to put together some sort of introduction for months and months and now I’m ready to wrap up the book and I am forced to go back and get this out of the way. Soooo, how do I pull this off with some panache? OK, OK… I got it! This is Hollywood, the motion picture capital of the world, right? I’ll try to recap the story incorporating movie titles in the narrative. It won’t be as informative, but it may be more interesting. Here goes…This book is a continuation of my LA Story… actually, it’s more like A Tale of Two Cities, not to be confused with a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon’s main source of income, the sale of two titties. I had been an assistant district attorney in Boston, then a criminal defense attorney, representing clients on various Crimes and Misdemeanors. At the same time, I was also working as a standup comedian… sort of like Justice For All meets Punchline, in Hollywood speak. I made a decision to pursue my comedy career and move to Hollywood with Great Expectations. When I told my parents of my decision, judging by their reaction, who’d think this Rebel Without A Cause informed them that I Married An Ax Murderer or something. "Oh, God!" they said. I explained that I’m not Psycho and realized that my chances of becoming a star were Against All Odds, but it was something I had to do and All That Jazz and they agreed to Stand By Me. I moved to LA in the spring of 1996 with my girlfriend but, unfortunately, it was no Love Story. I went from Rich Man, to Poor Man. We moved right in the middle of Hollywood, two blocks north of Sunset Boulevard. Things started out rough right from the beginning and I decided to chronicle my adventures so others could Witness the process first hand. It wasn’t easy. For example, The Apartment had cockroaches so we had to call The Exterminator, the neighborhood was overrun with illegal Aliens, the highways were always Gridlock’d during Rush Hour, the people who live in our building looked like extras in Dawn of the Dead and my career was going into The Abyss… the only disaster we didn’t experience was an Earthquake. I began experiencing High Anxiety when my financial situation started getting Rocky and our relationship was getting Rocky II. I was having trouble paying The Cable Guy and the rent and, while Heaven Can Wait, the landlord won’t, so before we hit The Wall, my girlfriend began looking for a job while I patiently waited for a Reversal In Fortune, watching my dreams go Up In Smoke. My girlfriend ended up getting a job as an assistant for The Producers, our relationship degenerated into The War of the Roses and she eventually broke up with me to live with her boss… One taste of that lifestyle and she was Gone With The Wind. There I was, Living In My Own Private Idaho, with my savings account at Less Than Zero, while she wasn’t exactly Down and Out in Beverly Hills, if you know what I mean. I really got a Raw Deal. At that point I had been in this Mad City for over a year and, by then, I thought I would be a Player making Easy Money, but the truth was all I wanted to do was Scream. My attempts to be seen by entertainment industry representatives, or as I like to refer to them, Men In Black, were futile as I found them to be Untouchables, even though I tried Every Which Way But Loose. I really needed a high powered agent or manager to Grease the skids for me but, instead of some Hot Shots!, I’ve been dealing with a succession of representatives that are more like Broadway Danny Rose, leaving me Dazed and Confused. After the break up, I was The Lonely Guy, with no one to hang-out with, and I sometimes felt like I’d be Better Off Dead. I had no money and no idea what to do with my Hollywood Knights, but I eventually made lots of friends in LA… there’s my friend Patty Ross, a comedienne from Boston; Mad Max, a screenwriter also from Massachusetts; Timthy, my gay hairdresser, who would sometimes like to give me more than a Shampoo; and Mitch, who lived in my building, but moves to the Valley On The Other Side of the Mountain by the end of this volume and becomes Encino Man. They may be Misfits, but they’re all Goodfellas. My little foray into the dating scene could be entitled The Good, The Bad and The Ugly as Dr. Strangelove continues to seek some Close Encounters of the best kind. Wouldn’t I love to meet some hot Hollywood babe on a Blind Date, take her out for a Cocktail, bring her home and Ben Hur over the kitchen table for a little Carnal Knowledge with my Private Parts. No such luck. So far, the experience has been more like The Heartbreak Kid. One thing’s for certain, It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World out here and Ordinary People are few and far between in Los Angeles. I often feel like I’m the only sane person in this town… and in this business… that isn’t completely Nuts, so I know how McMurphy felt like in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. Thank God, every so often I manage to Escape From LA and travel the country to make money in the comedy clubs, like a comedian’s version of Planes, Trains and Automobiles. This Road Warrior also goes In & Out to Boston every few months to work and hang out with The Usual Suspects. Sometimes my Incredible Journey feels like Mission Impossible, but my Basic Instinct is to not give up until I become The King of Comedy. I keep plugging but, as I begin this installment, it’s All Quiet On The Western Front. No matter what, I’m a Die Hard, so hopefully this won’t be As Good As It Gets. All right, I’ll admit, it’s not The Greatest Story Ever Told, but it was different, right? Now that I got that over with, let’s go Back To The Future and join in as I continue To Live and Die in LA. Hey, Look Who’s Talking…
Excerpts from "LA Misérables, Five: Mama Told Me Not To Come"
DAY 759 - APRIL 8th, 1998 I’ve been rather busy doing business lately and, from my experience, I have compiled a partial list of Hollywood lingo that’s used on the phone or at meetings, along with it’s translation into normal language: "I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting right now."
..………..…......."Go fuck yourself." DAY 784 - MAY 3rd, 1998 My sister was at the late show tonight, along with one of her friends who was one of my best clients when I was a defense attorney. (Why? Because he actually paid me.) Now he’s in a bit deeper. I hear that he got real drunk at a party and stabbed some guy several times. Nice. Now I feel bad because I’m the one who saved his driver’s license so he could get in his car and drive to the party where he ended up sticking his victim… a tenuous and remote causal connection, but guilt provoking just the same. The kicker is this guy just got indicted for assault with intent to murder and he wants me to be a character reference and write a letter on his behalf to be used at the sentencing. I spoke to this guy’s lawyer who tried to downplay the incident to me." Ya, the DA wants to give this guy two years in the can. Can you believe it? For just two knife wounds? Big deal. One of the wounds was in the guy’s chest, so that’s not a big thing…"" Ya, sure… I agree… there aren’t any vital organs in the area of the chest. That’s not serious. They shouldn’t hold that against him." "Exactly," said the attorney, disturbingly unaware of the sarcastic nature of my comment… "…and it looks like there were two wounds in the guy’s arm, but it’s really just an entrance wound and an exit wound, not two separate wounds… the knife went right through the arm. so it’s not fair to count them as two different wounds, if you know what I mean… On paper it looks worse than it really was… again, no big deal…""No, not unless it was your arm, I suppose." Is it any wonder people hate lawyers? So the guy asks me to write a letter of recommendation for his client. Oh, sure. My pleasure…
DAY 786 - MAY 5th, 1998 Sometimes I think that I’m so lucky to have all this new technology at my disposal. How could I ever have been happy growing-up without all these amazing electronic toys, gadgets and conveniences? Other times I think that, even though we were inconvenienced… we didn’t know any different so we accepted the fact and learned to live with it and appreciate what we did have. (*edit) All I’m saying is that, when you reach a certain point, the improvements made in technology start having an inverse affect on the quality of our life. Let’s put it this way… When they start installing the latest in high-tech telephones with built-in lie detectors, I’ll pull the plug on the telephone and the trigger on a loaded .38. Think of all the times that people would get caught every day…
And in Hollywood? Forget it!… Nothing would get done.
DAY 902 - AUGUST 30th, 1998 My spot at the Improv was done by around 9:30 last night so Mitch, Andrew and I went to The Crush Bar in Hollywood afterwards. It was a pretty cool dance club that plays disco classics from the 70’s and 80’s and there were all sorts of women around. Andrew, Mister Personality-Plus, was like the host of a game show called Let’s Get You Laid, encouraging… no, embarrassing, me and Mitch into dancing with some of the girls, but we had performance anxiety when we were put on the spot. "Come on, boys! There’s two girls right there. Just go ask them to dance. Go ahead! What are you waiting for?" "We will, Andrew… we will. Don’t worry, we will." "Just do it, what do you have to lose? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, guys." "Andrew, we can’t do it with you pushing us, we have to do it on our own. We can do it if we’re on our own." "OK, then you guys head over to the far side of the club and don’t come back until you’ve danced with some girls, understand?" "We understand." "I’ll be waiting here and I want to hear some stories, got it?" "Don’t worry about us. We know how to handle ourselves." So Mitch and I set off on our own. "Shit, Paul… What do we do now?" "There’s two right over there, Mitch. See ‘em?" "Ya, they’re not bad." "Well, Andrew’s right, what do we have to lose? Nothing, that’s what… Let’s go." "No, you go first." "No, you go with me, Mitch." "If you ask one to dance and she says yes, then I’ll ask the other. Deal?" "Fine. Deal. I’m gonna go ask the blonde. I don’t care anymore… ‘No fear,’ that’s my motto for tonight, ‘No Fear’. Who gives a shit, right?" "OK, so go ask her, Paul." "I can’t right now. I think this song is almost over. I gotta wait until this song ends, then I’ll ask her." "Ya, good move. You don’t want to ask her right in the middle of a song, then it ends all of a sudden and you don’t know if you should stay out on the dance floor or what. You better hold off." "Definitely." Eventually, the song ended. "I thought you were gonna ask her to dance after that song, Paul. What are you doing?" "I don’t like this song… It’s tough to dance to. I want to wait for a better song to come on.""Ya, this song does suck… Good thinking. Be patient, wait for something good." "I am, I am." Eventually, the song ended. "Are you gonna ask her now, Paul?" "I can’t do ‘The Hustle,’ Mitch. See, they’re all doing that line-dance shit. I don’t know how to do that. Be serious." "You’re right, you’re right. There’s no way. I hate those kind’a dances myself. Only chicks and fags know those dances… Better to wait for the right song than to look stupid… then you’ll blow it for me with her friend." "Absolutely." Eventually, the song ended. "Hey, how ‘bout this one, Paul?" "Too slow… You can’t ask a girl to slow-dance the very first song, it’s awkward. She’ll think I’m a perv or something.""I agree… not the slow song, that would be too weird right off the bat." Eventually, the song ended. "This is a good song. Go ahead, ask her." "Damn! My bad knee just locked-up, Mitch. It’s killing me. I have to let it loosen-up a little or I could damage ligaments or… or… or tendons." "Ya, you don’t want to make it worse. It’s not worth getting injured over a stupid dance. Now that you mention it, my ankle’s a little tender too. I hurt it working out. Does it look swollen to you?" "A little, but it could be your sock, it’s kind’a bunched-up. The bottom-line is don’t take any chances with your health." "You’re right, no girl’s worth jeopardizing your health." "Damn straight." Eventually, the song ended. "Are you going to ask her to dance now, or what?" "I will… I will, Mitch, relax… Just let me finish this drink, OK? As soon as I finish my drink I’ll go over, I promise. I just got it and this thing cost me like five bucks. If I put it down in this madhouse, I’ll never see it again. Poof! Five clams down the drain. As soon as I’m finished, I swear. I’m getting ready now… ‘No Fear,’ baby. I’m ready." "No Fear!" Eventually, the song ended. "Here’s your chance, Paul." "All right… here goes…""Take a deep breath… Be cool." "How’s my hair? OK?… I’m going over right now… Here I go. Wish me luck." "Good luck." "Aw, shit!" "What’sa matter, Paul?" "Look at that! Some asshole just went up and asked her to dance! I can’t believe it. I was just gonna do it, too. I was, you know… That son of a bitch!… Just when I was going to ask her to dance. Bastard! She had my name all over her. Son-of-a bitch!" "You know, Paul, it just wasn’t meant to be." "Ya. At least we can go back and tell Andrew we gave it our best shot." "That we did. It’s these Hollywood chicks, they suck."
DAY 887 - AUGUST 15th, 1998 I got a call from an old friend back home who wanted to know how I was doing and thought he could be of assistance. People regularly try to help you out with connections when they find out you’ve moved to Hollywood. Everyone wants to believe they’ve got some Rube Goldberg / Kevin Bacon link to someone of influence who’s in "the business." "Paul, you should look up this guy I know… He’s in show business. Maybe he can hook you up. You know, help you get your foot in the door. From what I hear, he’s pretty connected… pretty big." "Really? What does he do?" "I don’t know exactly, he’s got something to do with show business… He’s either a casting director or an agent or… or a… a, a caterer or something… I forget which." "Which is it? What exactly is this person’s job or position in the show-business industry? Is he is show business?" "Oh ya, ya. I don’t recall, it was a long, long time ago… oh ya, I remember now, you know the director, right? The guy who directs the movie? You know him, right?" "Ya, this guy’s a director?" "Not exactly." "Not exactly what?" "Well, you know the director… well, not him, his assistant…" "He’s the director’s assistant? Is he his first assistant?" "Not exactly… Let me finish… One of the director’s assistant’s assistants gets his gas at the same gas station where this guy used to work part-time and he fixed a flat-tire for him once when he was late for some big, important meeting and they got to talkin’ and this director’s assistant’s assistant gave him his business-card and told him if he ever needs anything… anything… just give him a call." "Well, who is this guy who worked in the gas station? Do you know him well? How do you know this guy from the gas station?" "Oh, I don’t know him personally." "You don’t? Then who does? Who knows him?" "I know him through someone else." "Who?" "OK, well, you know Larry, the guy who used to own the hardware store downtown?" "Ya, I think so… this Larry person knows this guy who worked at the gas station in LA?" "Not directly… He doesn’t know him, like, one-on-one or nothin’… actually, it’s Larry’s next-door neighbor’s, ex-wife’s, old hairdresser’s, best friend’s, 4th grade teacher’s, physical therapist’s, karate instructor’s, 3rd cousin twice-removed’s, au pair’s, boyfriend’s, wrestling coach’s, marriage counselor’s, half-brother’s, AA sponsor’s, sophomore year college roommate’s, insurance agent’s, dry-cleaner’s, bowling league teammate’s, former chiropractor’s, patient’s, landscaper’s distant, distant relative who the landscaper doesn’t talk to anymore because they had a fight or something and they lost touch… But anyway, he might be able to do something for you… you never know. It wouldn’t hurt to call him." "Ya, thanks a lot." "Anything I can do to help." "Right… Right." This guy isn’t within six degrees of someone who eats bacon. |
