June 7, 2007

Alex has an internship meeting with some music licensing guy who works out of his house, so we leave for the bus around 9:55. We pass a fat Hispanic guy pissing on somebody’s hedge. He looks like one of El Guapo’s henchmen from the Three Amigos. The urine trickles down the sidewalk and Alex steps into the street to go around it. I’m content just stepping over it, but I step into the street, too. Why? I don’t know.

We wait twenty-five minutes for the bus to come.

A Mayan-looking woman sits across from me on the bus with her two children. There’s a thrift store “Thank You” bag on her lap full of used diapers. Her son, who is five, has Power Rangers sneakers. I wonder if they come in a size thirteen.

The bus stops at a red light and a middle-aged Hispanic guy knocks on the door to be let on. But since this isn’t an official stop – two streets down is – our bus driver ignores him and drives off, which is a dick move and does little to further Afro/Hispanic relations.

Quick off-topic moment: I’ve just started this blog and already written “Hispanic” three times. From now on, I’m just going to write HG for “Hispanic guy” and HW for “Hispanic woman”. Not homework. So don’t get confused.

And we’re back.

Alex and I get off the bus and trek uphill for a few blocks to the guy’s house. It’s quaint and he has a friendly dog named Jason. Most dogs with people names seem to be friendly. If Jason were a person he probably would offer me something to eat and the remote control, even though I don’t watch much TV.

I sit on the couch and eavesdrop while Alex is interviewed in the other room. He handles tough questions with grace and answers with little to no hesitation – the exact opposite of how I interview.

We go to In-N-Out for lunch. Yes, fucking again. I save a dollar and don’t get the fries. Alex does it first, though.

Catch a couple buses to Melrose and the Slamdance offices. John, the Slamdance guy, gives me a few short scripts to read for five bucks a piece and we’re on our way.

Disclaimer: please skip to the end right now if you’re bored because the day doesn’t get much more exciting. Just more walking in West Hollywood. In fact, fuck that. I won’t even write. Here’s just a list of the more “exciting” things:

- We see the fat kid with glasses from Accepted, 40-Year-Old Virgin, Grandma’s Boy, and this summer’s Superbad! chilling at the Coffee Bean in West Hollywood. I think his name is Jonah Hill. I met his doppelganger at Sundance/Slamdance this past January; the guy from the Wendy’s “fpoon” commercial.
- We eat affordable New York style pizza.
- I take a picture of an ’06 Aston Martin on sale for the affordable price of 139something.
- My camera dies as soon as we get to Beverly Hills, so we turn around and catch a bus home.

So yeah. Not too exciting.

We go out to the 7-11 up the street around 7:20 and I drop one in the Employees Only bathroom. I worry because the toilet doesn’t have super-suction and the short Indian guy whose name is probably Gurpreet didn’t have to let me use the bathroom. Once the anonymity is removed from a public-restroom-deucing and a connection, no matter how small, is developed, it’s like using the bathroom in a relative or friend’s house: you still feel responsible for clogging the toilet even though it’s not yours and technically not your problem.

But the placement is perfect and I stick the landing.

Tomorrow I’ll get batteries and post today’s pictures.

Shit List:

June 1: Held it
June 2: Walgreen’s on the Miracle Mile
June 3: Best Buy Culver City
June 4: Gold's Gym Hollywood
June 5: Wood Ranch at the Grove
June 6: 8000 West Sunset Boulevard (Birthday shit)
June 7: 7-11 at the corner of San Vicente and Hauser