Carson Daly Show & Advertising

The homeless men are practicing advertising. They twirl the corrugated, laminated signs with pomp and circumstance.

“We Buy Ugly Homes For Cash!”

“Shaw’s Going Out of Business Sale! All Wigs 75% Off!”

Advertising pays minimum wage, and so does seat filling at NBC. As I sat with my roommate in the North Hollywood park, killing time for two hours, I wondered if the same people who were offering “Free Yum Yum Donuts with Every 12oz Coffee Purchased”, were sitting next to me at Carson Daly yesterday. I don’t know why I went to the taping of the show. Wait, I do know, it paid $7.50 an hour and when you’re suffering from workers block (that is mental blockage from doing any sort of work), you’ll do just about anything to get out of the house. The ad I responded to asked that we wear casual business attire, polo shirts, button ups, no ripped jeans, and defiantly no sandals. Based upon my advanced mathematical calculations, mainly some cheap addition, I was able to determine that 10% of the seat fillers lined up at Soundstage 9 on the northwest corner of Bob Hope and Warner, were wearing sandals. Additionally 18% of the line were wearing shirts with logos, 7% were wearing ripped jeans, 22% of them smelled awful and 36% of them were not sane. Waiting in line, inside a security area, having gone through a metal detector, would normally not be the place to sell drugs, drink beer, and shout at the scantily dressed woman at the head of the line (they had obviously been there for a few hours, waiting for those precious front row seats, in hopes that they would be noticed by Carson or one of the 15 people who watch the show).

But they were all crazy. And they smelled. One woman was toting six plastic bags full of clothes. Her hair was dreaded up and she was wearing a black windbreaker. It was 85 degrees outside. Several people were missing teeth and had random shaved patches on the sides of their heads. I didn’t ask questions. I was there to collect my $7.50 an hour and get the hell out of dodge. I clapped like a madman, cheered when prompted, and laughed when prodded with the branding iron.

The MC shouted, “This is late night television. The jokes are always funny.”

And I laughed.

The past few days have been tedious. Los Angeles has me spinning my wheels. Too much stimulation. Did I really just say that? You can’t take time off. This city moves, not in the way that New York moves, at a breakneck speed, but rather with a slow deliberate pace. Everyone says they are busy all the time. What are they actually doing? Everywhere I look the coffee shops are full of young people talking away, sipping mocha crappa lattes, reading scripts behind sunglasses that look like they were stolen from the U2 Zoo Tour of ’95. People say that to provide the illusion that they are actually important, that they are actually in a meeting, busy making deals, authorizing mergers, writing scripts. Everyone is working on a script. Everyone.

I’m leaving for tour on Monday. Flying LAX to Edmonton, then Edmonton to Calgary, then Calgary to Vancouver, then Vancouver to Las Vegas, then Las Vegas to London, then London to Paris, Paris to London, London to LAX, LAX to Phoenix, and then finally Phoenix to LAX, arriving back home two weeks later. I’m packing a vial of Vicodin. That should do it. One night in Paris, c’mon?

Yeah, I know.

photos in the valley

I met my friend Alex for lunch at Canter’s yesterday. We talked about bands, music, films, people, and Los Angeles. I’d been thinking about making a trip out to the Salton Sea. Having recently come into the possession of a Polaroid Spectra AF via eBay, for the sweet ass low price of $38, I found myself itching to use it. The Sea seemed like the best bet. An abandoned city on the edge of a dead man made lake, 125 feet below sea level. But then I started thinking about the vagabonds and meth labs that are scattered throughout the area and decided that I shouldn’t go alone.

But I have this camera. And I told him I'd go take some photos and show him. My friend Brian was in town last night and he said I should go, if it felt safe. I'll make it up to you both.

So today I walked around for an hour, and took some photographs.

This is a montage of the Polaroids, laid out in no particular order on my living room floor. I don’t have a scanner so this is a digital photograph (you can see the flash and the light glare from the lamp).
A digital still of the same area in one of the Polaroids.

My hand holding a photo of a Laundromat.

return to LA (so this is normal)

The paper in the copy machines at Kinko's is already pre hole punched. Ready for one inch brass brads to hold together the weight of somewhere between seventy five and one hundred and ten pages of size twelve courier new font screen direction and play. I didn't want paper that was pre punched and so I investigated each of the nine machines only to find that every single one of them held the same three holes. Granted I was there to make copies of my writing, but it was rather depressing to watch as each of the other eight machines made copies of screenplays. Can't these people punch their own holes? I did. Who were those people? What is their story, where do they come from? The young man at the machine behind me wore his frost tipped hair perfectly and his clothing reeked of mass produced, but still slightly cool, the because-i-bought-it-at-urban-outfitters, feel. The stubble on his face was an industry standard suggested three days old. I imagined him shaving tonight and then having to hide out for two days before making appearances on the third when his look would be back up to par.

So I made four copies of the short film and headed to the grocery store. Having not been to a grocery store in well over two months, maybe even almost three, I found myself lost. I couldn't remember what I liked to eat. Well I could remember, I just couldn't remember what would go into each meal. I ended up with breakfast burritos for breakfast and some combinations of salad and pasta for dinner. Depressing right? I still can't remember what I really like to eat. I went to Whole Foods (i.e., Whole Paycheck) yesterday and purchased two paper bags of assorted lunch and dinner items for $54.94. When the cashier announced the total I'm almost positive I saw a little toy gun extend out the side of the register, fire, and a flag with BANG written on it popped out.

My home has started to feel like home. I spent some paper at Ikea and worked a bookshelf into the room. It is tall, six shelves, and is painted a dark black stain. Being from Ikea, it is made of MDF. But the stain helps.

I've been working pretty religiously on some videos for the band. Going to spend today finishing up three of them before moving onto the final blog from the UK. Then comes the photo editing. I drove by the Burbank airport yesterday evening to try and shoot some super 8 of the plans taking off. Van Owen runs right perpendicular to the end of the north-south runway and so the plans take off right overhead. My super 8 camera looks like a small Uzi and I decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to be standing at the end of the runway, pointing my black hand held item at the plans overhead, so I drove back home, shooting the setting sun against two miles of overhead power lines.

Had lunch yesterday with two friends and talked shop on the screenplay. Their advice and criticisms are going to be much appreciated. The story needs some reworking, some changes to direction and description and I feel up to the task.

so this is the sound of nostalgia

Our trip is coming to an end. Twenty days. Four hundred eighty hours. Twenty eight thousand eight hundred minutes. Fifteen thousand six hundred twenty seven miles. As all tours wrap up I realize that maybe I will miss the road. Sometimes it is the feeling of relief that the end is in sight that overwhelms my senses. The same feeling that makes you think the last hour of a thirty seven hour work day isn't that bad, you're almost there. So maybe it is that feeling. Maybe I really do miss it when it's all done.

We've been in London for three days now, staying at the K West Hotel, which at this point feels like a home away from home, having stayed here so many times in the past few months. This is a rock n roll hotel, on par with the Riot House (Hyatt) on Sunset in Hollywood or the Roosevelt. Our first evening here, the lobby was home to too many wanna be rock stars dressed in tight black jeans and pointy shoes. With the NME awards taking place in town that night every band in the world was staying here, along with us. The lobby was littered with hipsters; the Kaiser Chiefs, Idlewild, The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, We are Scientists, the Arctic Monkeys, etc. Imagine a giant circle of people standing together, each turns to his left and then one at a time everyone tells the person on their left that they are cooler than that person, and so forth. Where does it end?

Too many pretentious assholes, not enough talent and so we retired. The morning brought a visit to Capital Radio for some interviews and then a walking trip through the major tourist attractions where I filmed a short piece for lastminute.com. Our tour ended with a ride on the London Eye, the giant eye sore (so appropriately titled) on the bank of the Thames. The view was beautiful and while I can't vouch for the discount airfare that the website offers (I'm a Travelocity man), the piece will look good. I know it.

My work is almost done here. I've shot three video blogs, five summer tour announcement videos, one lastminute.com piece, and three webisodes for some online TV network. Yes, the brain needs a rest. Not a rest, maybe just a break from what has become the usual over the course of the past three weeks.

I'm going back to Los Angeles and for the first time, calling it home. I'll be there for two weeks. I've got lots of ideas, plans. Need to decorate my room, need to purchase a bookshelf. The walls are bare, off white, stained with marks from previous tenants moving furniture. Trying to think about a trip to San Francisco to see a show, but I don't feel like traveling that much. Hoping to have some meetings, rendezvous, get-togethers, a power lunch or three. I will stock up on energy and I will work on the band's video projects. I will write and gain ground. I will ride my bike along Mulholland Drive and watch the sun get dirty over downtown. I will grocery shop for the first time. And I will spend time with people that make me happy. This much I hope to be true.