Audience Participation

One of the things you can do here, to get a bit of W.A.M. (Walking Around Money) is you can work as an audience member. Because, see, here's the thing. It's neat to sit in the audience of, say, "The Daily Show," and watch one of your boyhood idols crack wise at the expense of a random politician…people would (and do) line up around the block for something like that. Also, to get into the audience of, say, "The Price Is Right," gives you a chance to get up and get your Plinko on…so much incentive.

However, what to do with a show like "Deal or No Deal," where you get to spend 10 hours in a studio, to watch them film 4 shows back-to-back, where the high concept of the game is to "Pick a briefcase, then watch the sparks FLY!" Maybe some die-hard fans might love this, but…even fans of the show might get weary after a full work-day's worth of "waiting, sitting, listening, clapping, stopping, clapping, clapping, clapping, clapping, clapping, hooting, clapping, stopping, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, sitting, listening, clapping, clapping, clapping, clapping…"

Maybe you get the idea. So, long story short (TOO LKARTE!!!), Erika and I have partaken in some of these paid audience gigs. Now, since we were instructed to "be discreet" about our status of "gettin' paid," I can't tell you which shows I was getting paid for (Deal or No Deal was not one of them, FYI), and which shows I saw just out of the good, curious nature of my heart. Of course, I'm probably being paranoid…but "better safe then sorry," right? There could be some misanthrope, hunkered down in the depths of Studio City, crawling around MySpace, looking for hints that people might be leaking this terrible secret to the poor, unsuspecting television viewing public. But…probably not. Heck, there are actually web pages dedicated to telling you how to get into this lucrative field. So, I'm not too afraid. But…better safe than Sbarro.

Anyhow, Erika and I saw a talk show and a game show (respectively), and I must say…my god, this was harder than I thought it'd be. The minute they start giving you instructions, it is "firmly suggested" that you're not just an audience member, you're a freaking participant of the show. It's like that corny thing where a rock 'n' roll singer asks a large group assembled to watch them play if they are ready to hear some rock 'n' roll. I'll typically shrug and say, "Sure, that's why I came here." Then, if the rock 'n' roll star doesn't deem that response adequate, they'll repeat themselves more aggressively. At this point, I typically let out a "banshee howl," because nothing psyches me up more than repetition.

Now, imagine the discontented rock star asking if you're ready to rock for 8 hours straight…and that's kinda' what audience work is like. You start to understand why people get paid to do this kind of stuff. Don't like the jokes that the show host is telling? Who cares? Laugh, damn you! We need you to help us make this a good show! Is this question not shocking enough? Who cares, damn you? Let me hear you make a shocked noise! We're going to commercial! CLAP LOUDER! YOU'RE RUINING THE SHOW! Aaaand…we're on break. Sit still, don't talk…and here's a tiny bottled water that you can sip on. If you need a bathroom, feel free to use the port-a-potty with 30 people in line. Don't talk. We're coming back from commercial. CLAP, DAMN YOU! LOUDER! Don't look at the camera. Don't talk. LAUGH! LOUDER! Not too loud, damn you! It sounds fake! The show's over! STANDING OVATION! DO IT! LOUDER!

But hell, it beats slinging burgers, right?

Two Blog Posts in One Day?!?!

I know...I have an addiction.

Anyhow, two quick things I wanted to cover.

First up, if / when I have a production company, I'ma call it "Five Across The Eyes Productions." Something about that saying makes me smile a big ol' smile.

Secondly...and I don't know if I've covered this before, but I've hit upon my epitaph. And family, if you're reading this...you'll be the ones to make this happen. Anyhow, here it is:



















Feel free to make your own epitaph...it's oodles of fun.

A Grand Old Flag

I'm going to admit something to you all right now…and you might not think too highly of me when I'm done, but it's something I felt I should share.

Back in the day, I had an Almanac from 1988:

And I tell you what, I freaking loved that dang book. It had all of these neat little charts, facts…it had a description of every country in the world…a sweet index that you could use to find statistics or information…and…most sexily, it had a color section with the flag from every nation in the world! Curious what Trinidad and Tobago's flag looked like? Well, look no further than your trusty ol' Almanac, friends. Oh…and by the way, it looks like this:

Now, I tell you all this, because I think I found my least favorite flag of all time. Worse than the "I surrender" flag and the "Ukrainian" flag put together

That's right. I present to you, the worst flag ever created. Libya.

No, I didn't accidentally paste a green "MS Paint" square on my blog. Nope…the freaking Libyan flag…the one that all of Libya prays to every night (same as any true American prays to the American flag). A square of green. When I found this out, I was so mad that I ripped off my white t-shirt, Hulkster style.

So, thirsting for answers, I did the only research that someone in this day in age has to do to find any answer in the world. I typed "Flag of Libya" into the Wikipedia search field (by the way...WHERE THE HECK WAS WIKIPEDIA WHEN I WAS IN SCHOOL! CURSE YOU YOUNGIN'S AND YOUR EASY CHEATING METHODS!!!). What I found was heartbreaking.

Before 1977, Libya used to have a freaking awesome flag…with a bunch of cool colors (like BLACK!), and a freaking eagle in the middle of it.

Heck, had I seen this awesome flag, I'd have put it right up there with Kiribati (which has an awesome soaring golden seagull) and Dominica (which has the coolest bird motif ever, with a PURPLE AND GREEN RED-EYED EVIL PARROT!!! RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE!!!)

But, of course, Qa??--f--/Gaddafi/???? ??????? (FYI -- that hyphenated section used to have the awesome-looking squiggly charactered letters...but now it just has dashes and question marks...and a weird link that I can't remove...which is, I believe, equally awesome) had to come to power, and screw up a good thing. Of all the evil things that man has done, I think his gravest crime against humanity may have been the adoption of a green square for a flag. I know that's controversial…but…I'm just sayin'…

If you couldn't tell, the fact that I have all this time to write about flags means only one thing…I didn't magically get cast as the lead in a feature film. Sorry to disappoint. Actually, last week was pretty brutal for both myself and Erika, as we were traversing L.A. County (and some of Orange County) in search of an acting gig…be it extra work, student film, or Ireland-based Sprite commercial. All for naught, though…we're all still waiting for our first paid booking that didn't involve the words "background actor." I'll let you know when that happens…but until then, check out all them flags of the world here, and maybe you choose a favorite. Or don't. Either way…

By the way, my favorite? Nepal! I mean…c'mon…the audacity to have a flag THAT'S NOT EVEN FLAG-SHAPED! And then to throw some dang stars and a moon on it?! Awesome!

My First Los Angeles Audition

Well, I finally got myself a bona fide audition, with a bona fide Los Angeles Casting Director, in a bona fide casting office.

Digression: bona and fide aren't actually words separately, are they? I mean, something can't be "bona," right? I can't pop off saying, "Man, these are some bona grapes, Tito!" Here's the thing; I've been playing a lot of online Scrabble, and I'm always on the look out for words I can use to cruelly crush my enemies (that means you, Patrick)…but I don't know if I could pull out a "fide" without a preceding "bona." I'll have to do some more research…

End digression. Anyhow, it occurred to me that some of you might be curious as to how the actual "audition" process happens here. It also occurred to me that this might bore some of you, and to those people I say, "Nuts!"

So, anyway, the four of us belong to a website called "Actor's Access." Basically, people looking for actors post "want ads" for actors, and (after you pay a $60 start-up fee) actors reply to those ads with a digital headshot and résumé. There are a couple of websites down here devoted to that, but Actor's Access is the one I used to find the following audition:

PROMO FOR TV SHOW
NON-UNION

[ BUSINESS GUY ]
Age 30-48

Well, I happen to be a guy…and though I'm not exactly 30 yet, that wonderful receding hairline I got from my father (or, if you believe geneticists, my mother's father) has advanced my apparent age a bit. So I submitted.

A day later, I received an e-mail that I had been selected to audition. As Sean would say, "Booyah." No details, other than an ominous "Business men: wear a suit."

Unfortunately, most of my "semi-to-formal wear" was cast out in the great weight drop of '07, so all I had was a pair of slacks and a non-matching sports jacket. It'd have to do…I didn't want to be the only guy in there not wearing a suit.

So, on the day of the audition, I hustle down to Beverly Hills (after looking up the casting director…and discovering that some magazine had labeled her the "1 Commercial Casting Director in Hollywood")…which was a 45 minute surface-street crawl. I locate a parking garage…and promptly try to "self-park" in a "Valet-only Garage" (apparently every parking area in Los Angeles has options for valet…and some don't even give you the option; this one was the latter). This, if I interpreted it correctly, angered the two Hispanic gentlemen waiting behind the valet counter. Eventually I figured it out (I've had to hit the ground running on many of these unique procedural Los Angeles driving thingies), and made my way into the casting office.

Now, a casting office is just as glamorous as you would imagine. Picture a large rectangular room with hardwood floors, and a wooden bench lining the wall. Now, while you're at it, picture about 10 actors sitting on that bench. Also, while you're picturing stuff, picture a stomach-high shelf just to the right of the entrance with a "sign-in sheet," a stack of blank forms, a small box of heavily-used eraser-less pencils that you find at miniature golf courses, and a disconnected computer monitor.

Side note – it seems (from my incredibly limited experience) that Casting Agents in Los Angeles don't like advertising the fact that they're Casting Agents on the building where their office is. It makes sense, because I'm sure there are scads of degenerate, desperate actors who would probably be totally fine with just loitering around a popular casting agency…and crashing auditions that they'd be fit for. So the more inconspicuous the office, the less chance that they'll be flooded with kooks. However, this inconspicuocity (that's a word, right Dad? Did I make you proud?) makes finding the damn places pretty tricky. End side note.

Taking all of this in, I did what any human would do under the circumstances: I signed in, and took a seat to fill out the "size sheet" (the form that basically a sheet that gives the basic info, plus your clothing sizes). Now, this being my first audition, I totally felt like everyone could just sense my "newbie" status. At one point I accidentally dropped my headshot when I was filling out the paperwork, and I just knew that every person there was rolling their eyes…perhaps clicking their tongues condescendingly…but I just had a gut feeling that all eyes were upon me the second I walked in.

So I tried like hellfire to suppress that crazy egocentric irrationality, and eventually a man appeared and called my name, along with the names of a tall black man dressed like a businessman, and a short white guy dressed like a basketball player. I choose to omit any comments referencing that defiance of racial stereotypes (for fear of coming off as unintentionally racist), and will instead inmit a random line from a Shakespeare play:

And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign.

I really like that line, because it says "pissing." And "claret." I don't know what either of those words mean.

So myself, "tall dark and handsome" (henceforth referred to as TDH) and "short white and athletic" (SWA) are called into a back room that's about 20 feet long and 10 feet wide – there are some odd "stage lights" hanging from the ceiling, and some camera equipment set in the middle of the room. It's just the four of us in the room, and the guy running the audition (not the casting director, but probably her assistant) asks us all to slate our names (which basically means "say your name," but instead of the word "say" they use the word "slate," which sounds cooler). Then he gives us the premise of our audition:

"So, guys, what I need you to do is just stand off to the right there off-camera. Then enter the scene and start talking. And make sure you're close together, and facing toward the camera."

Essentially, we were to walk, talk, and face him. It's not Hamlet, but it's still considered acting somehow. So we do so…and manage to screw it up on the first take.

"Hold up, guys. I need to you go again, but don't change your order."

Apparently SWA had lagged behind TDH…so we had to walk out again. Now, when you get three straight guys in a room and ask them to talk about something, what do you think they're going to talk about?

TDH: So…what do you guys think about Shaq going to the Suns?

Me: Yeah…crazy, man…crazy.

TDH (overlapping): I just don't think that he's gonna' fit into their game plan, they're a quick team—

SWA: Uh huh.

TDH: …and Shaq is just getting old, man. He ain't running the floor like he used to.

Me: Yeah…basketball…is…yeah…

TDH: But it doesn't look like anyone's going to be able to touch the Celtics this year. You see their front three?

Me (faking it hard): Oh yeah, they're amazing.

TDH: They're gonna' be a force in the playoffs. (awkward pause as Me and SWA try desperately to recall any basketball knowledge we had) You guys catch the Super Bowl?

Me & SWA: Oh yeah…great…wow…what a game…

TDH: I couldn't believe it, man. Best game I've seen in, like, ever, man! None of you guys are from Boston, are you?

Me & SWA: No, no…

Me: Boston? Who does that nowadays?

TDH: Who does what?

Me:Boston? That's so played. It's so…'93 to be from Boston. (ed. I have no idea what this means, but it sure as hell sounded witty to me at the time)

TDH: It's '93? (laughing) Yeah, that's funny, man.

SWA: Anyone else here excited about hockey season?

We went on to talk about how only SWA knew anything about hockey, while myself and TDH didn't even know who won the Stanley Cup last year.

Eventually, mercifully, the assistant stopped us, thanked us for our time, and showed us the door.

Of course, I didn't book that little job…not because I was bad, necessarily…but just because I'm not going to book the vast majority of the things I audition for. It's a sense of impending failure that I've come to expect, so that when/if I do actually book something, it's a total surprise.

I suppose that's all for now. Believe it or not, in spite of "not having a real job," I've been fairly busy…the details of which I will probably save for another blog entry.

Guest Blogger

Hello folks. Well, tonight I decided to mix things up a little bit, in fear that my blog has become "creatively stagnant." I decided to invite a "guest blogger" to enter tonight's post...to offer a different perspective on our time here. Anyhow, without any further ado, here's Frenchy:

Hi! I'm Frenchy! I'm a cat! Isn't that great! Sorry about talking so loud, but I been sleeping all day, so I am well rested!

Tyler wanted me to come on here because he wants me to tell you all about my day, which is really pretty interesting!

First off, I loooove to lay in a basket. It's by the window, which means that I get to have sun on me a lot. I like that. Here's a picture of me laying in the basket!

Hey, you're not looking at my bits and pieces, are you!? LOL! That's fine, I don't mind. I'm just a cat, so you can look all you want. I'm not modest in the least around humans.

So today I'm just laying in my basket, soaking up some rays…when you know what happens? It seems to happen every morning at about 6:00 or so. I get super hungry! The only problem is, when I'm hungry, Erika and Tyler are always sleeping. So, to fix that problem, I spend about 15 minutes digging my claws into the carpet, the bench, and the bedspread. Then sometimes I'll jump on the headboard. That ought to get them up! LOL!!!

So once Erika gets up to feed me (Tyler never seems to wake up, for some reason), I eat, and eat, and eat…then I'm pretty tired from eating, so I go back to sleep. Sometimes I pick some pretty crazy places to sleep. Here's me sleeping in a desk!

After I was sleeping for a while, I heard Doody (he's my brother) at the glass door that leads to the deck. He was pretty excited about something. So I got up…stretched out a bit, licked the same spot on my side for about 10 minutes (it just never seems to get clean LOL!) then joined Doody at the door.

When I asked Doody what he was doing, he ignored me. I asked him again, louder. He sighed deeply, and told me he was "hunting birds." I asked him if he needed any help. He didn't respond, so I asked again. He looked at me, sighed, then looked back outside. I guess that's a yes? LOL!

Now, I'm not exactly sure what Doody sees out there, but I'm guessing there are just a ton of birds that I'm missing. Personally, I think he's just looking at leafs, and twigs…but when I point this out to Doody, all he does is sigh. Sometimes he'll jump up at something, but when I look I don't see it. I ask him what kind of bird he saw, and he tells me, "It was right there. You just missed it." Then he starts hunting again. He's a very good hunter.

Doody has some pretty strange hunting methods sometimes. I'm usually pretty content to just look out the door to see birds, but Doody likes trying out different angles.

Eventually I got pretty tired (hunting is tough work LOL!), so I laid down in a box. Here's me in the box!

After a while, Doody had successfully hunted probably hundreds of birds, so he joined me on the floor. It looked like he was pretty tired too.

I must have been sleeping in the box for a long time, because by the time I woke up it was already night out, and Tyler and Erika were watching American Idol! I'd be great on American Idol! Not! I'm just a cat! But, if I were on American Idol, I'd probably look something like this:

Isn't that funny?! LOL! That took me, literally, fourteen hours to do. Actually, I fell asleep on the keyboard, and when Tyler found me I'd just filled three thousand, eight hundred and seventy pages of Word with the letter "r." It looked like this: "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" (but longer) and probably sounded something like this: "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" (there was some extra "r's" in the sound…because that's how I imagined it). But Tyler shoved me off of the keyboard and finished my project for me. Which was really nice of him, but I must say, it's pretty scary to wake up and be falling! He should at least wake me up next time before he pushes me! LOL!

 

But after my little nap on the keyboard, I was pretty tired, so I went out to the living room to just rest a little bit before actually going to bed. For some reason, Tyler and Erika (mostly Tyler) thought it would be funny to put things on me. I didn't think it was very funny, but I was really just too tired to knock them off.

Eventually I worked up the strength to stand up (mostly because it looked like Tyler wanted to put a bookcase on me…which would not have been fun! LOL!), and I saw Tyler walk into the kitchen. I'm pretty sure that whenever he walks into the kitchen, it means I'm going to be fed. It's weird, but sometimes he goes into the kitchen, and doesn't wind up feeding me…which is very confusing! LOL! But this time, luckily, he got out my food plate and fed me. I LOOOVE wet cat food!!!

After dinner, I made my way over to the bedroom, where I decided to play the world-famous "Where's Frenchy" game. Can you spot me?! LOL!!!

That was a lot of fun for a while...but only for a little bit, because I ended up falling asleep in my hiding spot! Oopsie!

Luckily, when Tyler finally came to bed, I was "forcibly ejected" from my hiding spot! LOL! But it was fine, I was able to find another perfect spot to sleep...in my favorite basket.

I don't know what surprises tomorrow will bring. A couple of days ago, I was shocked to see that Doody was walking around on the deck! I was all thinking, "Man, what is he DOING out there?!" I'm guessing that he has better angles at hunting birds when he's out there, but just between you and me, I think he looked a little scared. Don't tell Doody I said that, though.

Maybe someday I'll get out on the deck. Boy, wouldn't that be a hoot? Your old pal Frenchy, just wandering around the deck. I probably wouldn't want to hunt birds, though. I'm just not as good as Doody is. I may take that opportunity to lie in the sun…or maybe sniff around at stuff. Or maybe sleep! LOL! Just kidding, I'd be waaaay too excited to sleep.

But, speaking of "sleep," I think I'm going to go do that now. Blogging is tough stuff! I don't know how Tyler does it all the time! Anyway, this is your old pal Frenchy, signing off.

In case you were curious, this is the same cat that tried to blind me one morning. But I think he did a good job just now…maybe I'm a little too harsh on the guy. I must say, he does photograph pretty well...

Big Time Excitements!

Well, ladies and friends...I did it. I booked a gig!



(for those of you not in the know about this picture...and that'd include 100% of my family...you should watch Arrested Development soon. You'll thank me later)

Now, before you get all tittilated, you must know that it was a gig as a background artist (which is one of those goofy over-inflated terms that extras use to feel important), and my "audition" involved "calling the hotline, then contacting the casting director to let her know I'm available." A pretty brutal audition process...

But this is a film that all four of us have worked on (Lindsay worked on Thursday, Chad, Erika and I worked today). Apparently it's this film, and today we got to feast our eyes on the likes of Robert Downey Jr. (a very nice man, who took some time out to joke around with the extras), Catherine Keener (who walked by our table on the way out to have a smoke at one point), and Golden Globe Nominated director Joe Wright (who gave Erika direction at one point...something that normally only a 2nd assistant director would do).

But, we weren't there for idle star-watching...we were there for work. And work we did. We worked our asses off:

-- We got up at the crack of 3:00 AM this morning, to get to the set

-- We ate a full breakfast in the pre-dawn hours, and loaded on a bus that took us to the L.A. Times building.

-- We got off the bus, and waiting in a "holding room" for two hours.

-- Once we were taken to the set (an actual functional L.A. Times Newsroom), where we were instructed not to touch anything (because we were all operating at somone's actual desk).

-- The shot we were involved in was a steadicam shot was was winding through the newsroom, much like this famous shot:







-- After we'd improvised reporter-ish type dialogue in the background for 3 hours, we were instrcuted to go upstairs for lunch.

-- We ate lunch, then waited for another two hours (most of which I slept).

-- At the end of the two hours, the lovely 2nd AD let us non-union folks know that we were done for the day.

-- We collected our things, and were bussed back to our cars.


People used to tell me that extra work was boring. People were right, and I've now "passed the boring onto you." Enjoy.

But, if you chance to see this movie when it's released, keep an eye out during that sweet steadicam shot where Robert Downey Jr. is entering the newsroom from an elevator. You'll know the shot, because his face will be mashed up on one side.

Anyway, when he first enters the room, on his left will be a knockout sitting down in a blue & white dress (you'll get a good view of the back of her head).

Sitting behind her will be a svelte young man wearing a blue & white striped collar shirt. I believe he is standing, rifling through a pile of papers.

To his left, sitting on a desk, facing a wall, you'll see a brown-haired dude with a prominently displayed bald spot. He'll be trying his damndest not to look directly at the camera.

Anyways, that's the good news for now. Erika and I had new headshots taken yesterday from Hawkey Photography. She was fantastic to work with, and we're looking forward to getting our pictures back...when they will promptly be uploaded here. Until then...

Impressionistic

Q: So, Tyler, what's your impression of Los Angeles?

A: Sorry. I don't do impressions. (Tyler takes a cream pie to the face. Applause. This guy, and his very long awesome 1970's game show host microphone enters, and introduces the next comedy guest)



Los Angeles has taken some getting used to. Now, this is not to say that I'm totally "vibing" with LA right now. In fact, one of the most infuriating things for me is how to abbreviate the damn city. Is it "LA" or "L.A."? One looks like a note to follow so, the other is just too much damn work (because, like most people who try to type too quickly, every time I type a period, I instictively put a space behind it...so I end up having to backspace every time I type L.A.).

But I am picking up on some of the quirks here. I'm learning, adapting, failing, and crying in the fetal position as much as I possibly can. Here's some of the stuff I have learned, though...

1) Los Angeles drivers are the worst and the best drivers in the country...all at the same time. Sure, it's annoying to have someone sitting three feet off of your bumper going 75 miles per hour with two open lanes to your left...but hey, think about how much skill it takes to drive that closely. Then, for a surreal juxtaposition, when I was driving home today from the grocery store, there was a car sitting in oncoming traffic, diagonally, blocking both oncoming lanes. Just sitting there. Not parking, or anything (well, I'm assuming he was trying to turn or something...but he just ended up stationary in our lane). It looked a little something like this:



I'm actually pretty sure there was even a turn lane...but he was content to just use those two lanes that the oncoming traffic selfishly bogarts. It was unreal. And no one in my lane(s) honked, I guess because you've got to figure that everyone driving in Los Angeles is armed...so my fellow "oncoming traffic friends" just calmly drove around him and proceeded on our way.

2) Drivers in Los Angeles would rather spend 30 minutes circling a parking lot, then leave the lot and park 10 feet away on the street. I actually got to witness this at the DMV. I thought for sure I was cheating...or I was going to get ticketed...or something. But no -- they are creatures of habit. Parking lot = good. Street parking = parking ticket.

3) If you're lucky enough to find a strech of freeway that isn't experiencing gridlock, it's not at all uncommon to have someone pass you on the freeway who is going over 100 miles per hour. In fact, stay out of the fast lane if you're only balsy enough to go 80...because you'll barely be going the speed of traffic.

4) Women in Los Angeles seem to think that the "puffy upper lip" look:



...looks spectacular. As opposed to how it really looks: weird. Ladies, I'm begging you, stop it. Please. Upper lips are supposed to be thin. It's what God intended, and it's what looks correct.

5) Silencing cell phones is frowned upon. It's also just fine to see who's calling if you're, say, teaching a class...or giving a speech...or taking someone's food order.

6) If you want to see people shuffle aimlessly, make your way down to the 99 cent store and feast your eyes upon your fellow shoppers.. Those people are the finest shufflers I've ever laid eyes on.

7) Lots of hispanic people. But it makes sense to me...I mean...this place did belong to Mexico for the greater part of the last millenium. Also, it's named "Los Angeles," which is...if I'm not mistaken...Spanish.

8) When people find out you're new in town, it's actually a pleasant surprise for them, and they're quick to offer advice. That, I was not expecting. I'd thought the "Doe-eyed actor wanna-be" was enough of a cliche at this point that it would be exasperating for those who'd been in town for a while...but I found it's quite the opposite. Those who have been around for a while seem to want to impart wisdom to the newbies...which is awesome.

9) Chicken is the meat of choice in Los Angeles. Which is good, because I do love me some chicken.

10) 75 degrees is beach weather in Seattle. When we went to the beach on a 75 degree day, it was deserted...and freaking freezing. Don't know how that works...


So that's my impression. Quick update: we've found a class that we want to take, from This Dude. We're also getting headshots from This Lady. And I was to buy apples from This Guy. Nothing much else new to report. So I leave you with this neat little blue ball machine: