End of the Month Music Bitchfest - August 2016

Nine Inch Nails
So. "Dive And Slam".
If this is real (and, even if it is, obviously Reznor, a huge hater when it comes to leaks and all that stuff is going to say it's not), that means a whole new era of Nine Inch Nails starts in a matter of days. Will there be a new artistic style or will Mills helm this new work as well? Will Sheridan hop back in the saddle? Or will we get someone new? What about a new font? New logo? Very exciting times indeed...
In honor of this (alleged) new track, I decided to fritter away a moment or two on Nine Inch Nails' past lead album singles.
As I wasn't aware of them until 1994, I can't really speak to "Down In It" or "Wish", but I do remember when "Closer" was everywhere. Singular. The only thing that looked and sounded like that at the time...or ever? I don't know. Are there music videos any more? What the hell is Mark Romanek up to these days?
...
Okay, I just checked, and he seems to be back to directing music videos.
For pop stars.
*sigh*
Anyway, I've still never heard a NIN single like "Closer".
Next up was "The Day The World Went Away", perhaps the least radio friendly song NIN have ever released as a single. There's no chorus*, no drums, just a goddamn wall of sound juxtaposed by Trent whispering some shit, perhaps about suicide. It's a four minute song with less than one minute of vocals.
It is one of my favorite Nine Inch Nails songs.
After that was "The Hand That Feeds", alternately, one of my least favorite Nine Inch Nails songs.
No, that makes it seem like I enjoy it on some level. I do not. As the first new NIN music since The Fragile, I was ready for disappointment, but, come on, this? Ugh. What's worse is that Reznor seems to love it, as he has played it at 99.9% of all live shows since its release. Aside from the next single, THTF marked the beginning of the decline in quality of radio tracks from Nine Inch Nails.
And that next single was "Survivalism". Great shit. Great video. Great everything. Still felt like a single, albeit rough and electronic and brutal. Perfect lead in and representation of what was to come with Year Zero.
After that was "Discipline", which felt like what someone who doesn't know much about Nine Inch Nails would call the perfect Nine Inch Nails single. It's not a bad song; it's well crafted, the instrumentation varies in an interesting and compelling (yet somehow predictable) way, but...you know, years ago, Reznor mentioned he was concerned that his and Saul Williams' cover of U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" sounded "too much like Nine Inch Nails". "Discipline" sounds too much like Nine Inch Nails. If you know what that means, then you are a Nine Inch Nails fan.
Next, we have "Came Back Haunted" which had exactly the same issue as "Discipline", but, if "Discipline" was "The Perfect Nine Inch Nails Single (Rock)", then "Came Back Haunted" was "The Perfect Nine Inch Nails Single (Electronic)". Then there's the fact that, in one, Reznor can't help himself, whereas, in the other, he can't stop himself.
Won't someone please help/stop Trent Reznor?
As with "Discipline", I like CBH, but I still feel the same way.
Which leads us, maybe, to "Dive And Slam".
Shall we begin judging this (potentially non-existant) book by its cover?
First off, I do believe this might be the name of a new Nine Inch Nails song. After all "The Hand That Feeds" was one. "Starfuckers, Inc." was another. As far as what it could sound like...well, I'm going to go with "aggressive". It would be a little silly to have the lead single from a new Nine Inch Nails album, called "Dive And Slam", turn out to be a piano ballade. Unless there's a line about "diving into kisses and slamming into hugs" in the chorus. Or, "Dive" and "Slam" could be his kids' nicknames. I really have no idea. No one does.
If this is real, I'm sure I'll listen to it.
Probably.
Anyway, since Reznor is currently suckling from that Columbia teat, I believe (if this real and not some troll trolling) the math works out to a new Nine Inch Nails album in November...one month before the end of 2016.
You cunt.

Beck
A remix of "Wow" by the Mexican Institute of Sound (AKA "GUAU!") has been released. It's...well, it's kind of what one might expect from a remix of a Beck track by the Mexican Institute of Sound. Listen here.
Also, a few new song titles (specifically "Seventh Heaven" and "No Distractions") have been mentioned but that's about it. Crazy Joyous New Beck Album That Doesn't SOund Anything Like 'Morning Phase'** is due out October 21st. Unless Beck opens his Third Eye and consumes us all in Its Burning Glory.

They Might Be Giants
Only four more months until the deluge of new TMBG music recommences. It's September and I have not actually found myself dying without new songs by the Johns every Tuesday. Weird...
On a more secret note****: the offerings from this year's IFC (the physical stuff, anyway) have arrived and they are lacking. Golf tees? A light up pen? Low quality sunglasses? Yikes, guys, really? I mean, I know this is a writing/recording year and this is the money for the (3) new album(s) we're getting in 2017, but, I don't know, maybe don't have an IFC on off years? There was a pretty solid live album (digital only) which featured some rare treats ("Hey, Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had A Deal", "The Statue Got Me High", and about a third of Glean), and there's the personalized ringtone thing (no news on that yet...) but, still, lacking.

Eels
I'd rather have a healthy, happy E than new Eels music. That being said...is there a middle ground?

And, finally, had a chance to listen to that score Atticus Ross handed me last month. Review is huur.

Next month...shit, maybe a new Nine Inch Nails song. If not, at least you'll be getting a review of the awesome new Matt Berry album, The Small Hours.





* Unless you count Reznor saying "nah" a couple dozen times.

** Working title.***

*** By which I mean my working title.

**** I'm assuming that everyone reading this is a member of the They Might Be Giants Instant Fan Club. If not, just ignore this paragraph entirely. For you, it does not exist.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: fin

Our last day was short and focused on the very first scene Alex (director) had me read with Hillary over Skype, a nice little bit of full circle-ness in that one. We wrapped, cheered, wept, then, drank.
I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge PA, Ricardo Calderon, and his effort to get me blackout drunk for my flight, which was taking off less than 12 hours after the wrap party. He fed me tequila, mescal, scotch, and bourbon. The results were...floaty. I hailed an Uber, and it canceled on me, so I drunk dialed my wife, who did not pick up, before ordering another Uber and drunk dialing Phil. My Uber driver was as loquacious as hell, but, for those of you who have seen me somewhat inebriated, you'll know that I was as well. After he found out about the film, he took my picture. Hopefully that picture will, someday, make a great story, random Uber driver whose name and face I have forgotten...
Then, I went home and finished packing. It was hilarious, because of the alcohol. I then decided to crack open that wallet of 30+ movies and TV shows for the first time on my trip.* My pick? Obviously, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. I made it about an hour or so in, then had to go to sleep. Which kind of worked.
I woke up around 3 and showered. Then had the longest and most awkward Uber ride ever. I...I don't even want to talk about it.
I got to the airport almost two hours before my flight*** and, when I found out how much the bump to first class was, I took it. #FancyBitch #Diva #WorthIt To answer your question: yes, within reason, I will always trade money for comfort. #Epicurean
The first leg of my trip, I listened to most of Michael Ian Black's Navel Gazing (it was okay), then started watching Teen Titans Vs. Justice League, which, while solid, just made me sad and angry about the lack of a third season of Young Justice. I landed in Chicago and had some spectacularly subpar deep dish pizza (assuming it was the fault of the airport and not the city's tradition of deep dish pizza), then sat in my immobile plane for an hour and a half before it took off, at which point, I finished TTVSJL and started Enemy, the Jake Jellybag movie. Heads up: the first three minutes of that movie have a LOT of graphic nudity in them. You're welcome, people who were forced to watch of my huge shoulders.
Finally, I landed, won the Luggage Award, and headed home. A home which Christina had made it her business to recreate in my absence, and she did it with a vengeance, falling only about 2% short of her intended goal. I see this as less of a credit to her tenacity and work ethic as it is a testament to how much of an impediment I am to her and her goals on a day to day basis.
Please don't divorce me.
I'll do better.

Since returning...I don't know, man. It's been weird. The time gap isn't much of a problem, but things feel a bit off. Have I really changed as a person? I can't seriously believe that. I do know that returning to the microphone for the two bookings and three auditions I've had since Monday has been a wonderful, welcome, and truly joyful experience; in, talk, out, done. Snappy. Succinct. No worrying about lighting or the frame or when lunch is.
As far as the film goes, I have decided that I'm far too close to it to tell. I have been reassured over and over that everything was great, that there wasn't a false moment on camera, that I'm good and that everyone loved me, and, most importantly, that I look very handsome...on camera. I'll have to wait until it's out (looking like very end of 2016 at the very earliest, but more likely January 2017) and total stranger weigh in on my performance to know, for sure, whether or not it is good. And, yes, while that is an odd metric to utilize here, this is the film industry and it is, by its nature, odd.

I plan to have one more entry in this series, reflecting and reminscing on all the folks I met and worked with while out in El La, and then...I don't know, ranking Care Bears? We'll see.



* I had subsisted on the latest seasons of Arrow, The Flash, and Legends of Tomorrow, as well as the first three films in Barry Levinson's Baltimore trilogy**, 11.22.63, Stranger Things (all of it), the second season of Kimmy Schmidt (three or four episodes; I'm getting bored with Titus), quite a few hours of Wipeout HD, and one playthrough of Streets of Rage 2.

** I believe Tin Men was my favorite.

*** But, because I did, my bag was the second off the plane at the baggage claim. I have never been rewarded in such a way and I felt like Jesus because of it.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Sobbing Like A Goddamn Baby

The hardest thing I did today was stop crying after a scene. Somehow I thought that this would be a light day. I was and continue to be a fool. If anyone sees this, I'll be interested to get their reactions, specifically those of people who know me and my...me-ness. Is it overwrought? Does it feel fake? Does it feel like a "real movie"?
Or, to just come right out and say it: am I a good dramatic actor? I know I'm a strong comedic actor, a strong voice actor, and also, very tall, but, Hillary just told me that, after the last scene, that I was a "real actor". Although I firmly believe that comedy is harder than drama and that comedic actors are better at drama than the reverse, that question is still flashing, in neon, over my head and has been since we started shooting last month. Truly curious how people will accept this, friends and strangers alike. Sadly, most people can't spend three minutes to watch a silly little video without cats in it, there is no way they're going to spend ninety plus minutes to watch it, so, much like the number of licks it takes to get to the Toosie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop*, the world, and, more importantly, I will never know.
Quelle fin tragique.

*Yes, I've read the studies that have found it's between around 150 and 410, shut up.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: PENULTIMO

Jave you gon? To it?

Actt.

Yesterday, the hardest thing I did was not freak out and burn the building down when a fitted sheet* kept popping off the mattress I was sitting next to. Drove. Me. Crazy. BUT, Luie (art department) and I figured it out and emerged, triumphant, from the Great Los Angeles Mattress War of 2016.

And, despite it having been long, yesterday was bliss. We shot in a real studio! There was a fake prison and a fake hospital and part of a plane and creepy offices that looked like they would be part of an "interactive waiting experience"** for the Mummy ride or something related to Indiana Jones. There was an abundance of air conditioning and a whole room specifically for craft services! AND IN THAT ROOM THERE WAS A TOASTER!!!!!!! I just now get why actors act. If I am just starting out and getting air conditioned rooms with toasters in them, what must Robert*** and Chris**** get when they yearn for things? Probably hard boiled eggs with most of the shell removed, so they can hold it without getting their hands all wet from the egg. Also, really absorbent paper towels. Maybe harder to find candy like Razzle or Chuckles or Candy Corn M&M's.

I've got two days left to shoot and three days left in El La. Tomorrow I have "off", but it's going to be spent running around and packing and everything so I can get to bed at 7 pm for my 4 am call on Sunday, which should help for my 3 am call on Monday to get to LAX. Still genuinely happy that this fucked up schedule will spare me any discomfort once I return to New York.

Today is the last day with Sally Mom and I'm going to try and get a picture of her next to me in my Mother Feather shirt. #StruthersFeather

As a treat today, we are getting pizza for lunch. I am going to try and resist the expected New York pizza comparison, because, you know, I don't like to complain.

* MOAR LIKE ILL-FITTED SHEET

** Read "line"

*** Downey Jr. We're friends.

**** Evans. We're frienemies.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Simon Says "Demolition Man!!!!"

Have you ever butt wiggle stampy pants? Then. Actor.

The hardest thing I had to do yesterday was not pick at the delicious tapas that was right in front of me on the table for like forty five minutes.

I failed.

It was the most delicious failure.

Met the enchanting Armenian lady playing Eva (Sona) and she is just dazzling. Wish she was in more of the film. She has the most meaningful and beautiful tattoos I have ever seen.

Today is the biggest, hardest day I've got. There is singing, signing, sighing...all sightless. But! We are a Dedicated Team of Consummate Professionals and any thing worth doing, is worth doing...Ripght.
I was going to say "right". But I am leaving it.
Because it is Funny.

 Tomorrow and Friday are going to be the longest days because we are shooting in Anaheim (Disneyland, I assume, but, I'm just Camera Meat, so I could be wrong) so, shit, but, I might be able to see Alan, Autumn AND her little ones!

All right. Acting.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Getting The Fear

Have you ever met a girl that you tried to date, but a year to make love she wanted you to wait? Then, and only then......you are you an acter.*

Well, five days left and we have our very first diva! We'll see how that goes...

Yesterday was our first official bad day; lighting took two hours longer than expected because of issues with the space and we had to cut a scene. Not integral, but fun and funny. All told, losing one scene out of the whole film (knock wood) is pretty awesome. Yesterday was also the first time I broke out my headphones this entire time. That says something. It was also the first time I got dozy. 

Oy, what a day...

All in all, not actually bad, just not as smooth and awesome as every other day.

Now comes the time to worry about getting everything packed without Christina's mad Tetris skillz, worrying if I have enough food or too much food to last me until I leave* and making my flight and all that shit.

Ugh.

Teleportation.

Now.

Plz k thx.

I now have two VOs booked for next week, more Nellie's and more Zantac. Looking forward to it.

* Or a rapper.

** Pretty sure I have more tuna than bread, which is freaking me the fuck out. Enough yogurt for four more days. Haven't opened my peanut butter, pasta, two containers of oats, lemon zingers or second bag of Craisins. And don't even talk to me about my frozen mac and cheese, and lasagna, I'd completely forgotten about those until just now. Mostly subsisting on tuna, cheese, and eggs. Like some pescatarian caveman. I've consumed about 15 gallons of water though, so there's that.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Boogie Shoes

Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight? But then realized it wasn't the Devil, but, rather, Jack Nicholson dressed as the Joker. And then you're like, "Dude, the next guy to play your character is going to redefine what you're doing, but the guy after that is going to fall short," but then he's like, actually the real Joker, and, suddenly you're like, "Oh shit. I'm ballroom dancing with the Joker!" Then he smiles and his mouth smells like chemicals and death and he says, "Tell me a joke. And it had better be funny," and you totally feel a knife against your ribs and, while trying to think of a joke, he starts chuckling way back in his throat and then, just as you feel the blade start to poke through your shirt, you fart, hugely. There is one, perfect second of silence before the Joker is doubled over in laughter. "Say it, don't spray it, stink-o!" He yells. "Hey! Did anyone get the license on that tug boat?!" He yells. "Help! This man just lost his duck! He smells awful and goes by the name Butt Trumpet!" He yells.

But you've already run off...

Then, you, Actor.

Hardest thing about day ten was seriously not losing my shit at all the improved bits of conversation that were happening, specifically those of Sally Mom, Bill Daddy, Lacey (who plays my sister, Regina), and Jann, who plays Darth Sidious*. Ten hours spent at a dinner table with strangers will either make you friends or bitter enemies, luckily this swung towards the former.

Before the day started, I did some laundry and accidentally used liquid fabric softener for the first time in my life. Holy fuck. I feel like a caveman who has just discovered fire. And blowjobs.

Saturday evening, after some shopping and Stranger Things, I conjured up an Uber and it was the same driver from a few hours before. He wasn't. Overly chatty, but he was a bit too eager to please. Just typing that, I realize that is an hilariously shitty statement to make. Oh, sorry the man asked you if you wanted water or more AC or to control the radio. You bitch.

Anyway, got to Mohawk Bend late because of something called traffic**, but once there, met with Alan, Graham, John (a friend from high school I haven't seen in almost twenty years), Autumn and Luke. Good times. Lots of synergy. And hard pineapple cider. Afterwards, Alan and his lady friend took me home. Think I might make a pilgrimage to Mohawk Bend August of every third year, just to make it a tradition.

Sunday was some rehearsal which resulted in Alex weeping. In a good way. Then, I took in Graham's new horror film, The Mind's Eye. 

So. Much. Blood. 

So. Much. Fun.

If you like blood and fun, you need to see this film.

At the moment, I'm sitting in a place called Cheesewright Studios as things are built around me. We are here for three days, then two days on a soundstage in Anaheim, then Saturday off, then the final day of shooting, this Sunday. Then, 3 am car to LAX to catch my 6 am flight. Legitimately grateful for the early ass schedule I've been on so that, when I return to New York, I won't be suffering from Temporal Shift Sickness***.

Now...well, they don't need me yet, sooooo how's things with you? 

Oh, shut up, never mind, I know...so, after talking at length with our 2nd AD, James about noise and experimental and Coil and all typesa shit, he made me a NON mix CD. I've got to dig deeper here...there is some fabulously weird and deep shit going on.

Another thing that's been knocking around in my head is how often I'm immersed in deep, meaningful conversations about stuff when, suddenly, I'm whisked away for hair or wardrobe or blocking, never to finish my thought or reach that revelation I was so close to... It's kind of cool and kind of frustrating.

As of now, I know everyone's names and have had some sort of exchange with everyone. I think I'm going to address that in a wrap up or something, so you've got something to look forward to and live for.

* Might be kidding, might not, guess you'll have to see the film...

** Not sure if I'm using that word correctly.

*** Or the Time Lord's Malady, as it is more commonly known.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Hot. Sex.

Have you ever *line from that song from Pocahontas that I can't quite remember right now and am too lazy to look up*? Then, my churlish chap, then...THEN...you be an acting person.

Yesterday was a big day...our first official day with Sally Mom, who should be in a failed franchise with Nic Cage because she is a national treasure. Also...my very first sssssssexxxxxxxxx sssssscene..... Viewers are going to get up close and personal with my Slender Gent, especially if you are lucky enough to see this film in IMAX. #NightmareMonsterCock 

Honestly, it was nothing. The room was 5000 degrees, there were a dozen people and I had just rubbed one out in the bathroom, just in case my Gent forgot this was a movie.* Right before one of the takes, Hillary said, "Think of Phil and Will seeing this." We almost had to stop because I was snickering so hard. 

And speaking of hard: the hardest thing I had to do yesterday was put on a sweaty shirt while covered in sweat. Fucking heat. Fucking sweat. Fucking porous skin. Jillian, Dawn and Rebeca (wardrobe and hair and make up respectively) have made a special project of keeping me sweatless.

Yesterday was also the eighth day of our sixteen day shoot! Halfway through and things are still moving incredibly smoothly. Most of the ridiculously demanding scenes are over, leaving only the pretty pony stuff. And the singing. Or fake singing. Whatever.

I am officially missing Mother Feather tonight, and I'm boiling over it. There have been no fuck ups on this shoot. Everyone has been super professional and has done their jobs in an exemplary fashion. But. I hate that a shot will take forty five minutes to set up, only to be used for two minutes of shooting. Film acting is stupid. Just think of the proportions: three weeks = ninety minutes. We're here from 10 am to 10 pm, and might get less than ten minutes of footage. In. Sane.

Anyway, lunch is over and I've still got five fucking hours of shooting left, then, our 3 pm to 3 am the next day. Oy. But, on the bright side, I've inspired Sally to move forward with this ingenious animated series she's been incubating for years; we're doing it together, or not at all.

I also have a VO lined up for the day after my return: it will take two hours, be fully air conditioned, and net me about 3/4 of my fee for this whole project. VO is the kind of insane I can get behind.

Bruh.

* SO TOTALLY KIDDING.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Uber Alles

I'm writing this from the back of an Uber drifting through Pasadena. My driver's name is Yang and he is, blessedly, silent. Now, why would I comment on the reticence of my Uber driver? Strap in.

First off, light day, wrapped at noonish. Headed home and then out to get my beard trimmed. Had a little wander, went to the Apple Store, talked myself into then out of purchasing a new iPad and iPhone, although the total would have been around $3000 which is d-u-m, although all that new tech felt so sexy...

Debated seeing the new Jason Bourne movie then decided not to, as I have pirated the last four. Don't want to break the streak. And I don't want to Moby in a movie theater, thank you very much. Also, the tagline from the new one, "you know his name", is a little too close to "You Know My Name" from Casino Royale. Stop being cheeky, you will never be Bond, even after the pratfall that was Spectre.

Now, I am freshly shorn and riding dirty with Yang.

Ah, yes, my Uber driver..

So, I took an Uber earlier from set in Glendale to my place in Altadena. Everything was going okay, my guy asked why I was here and, after I told him I was shooting a film, he wanted to only talk about celebrities, so I made some shit up about talking to Nic Cage about Superman and seeing Brad Pitt across an abandoned restaurant dining room in Asbury Park, where we exchanged nods of mutual respect and existence.

Then, with about five minutes left to go, he says, "I used to be an atheist, now I believe in God."

All the flags turned red.

"Oh...?" I responded.

Because what else do you say?

Here are some potential responses which probably would have gotten me a one star review:

"God is a construct of man."

"Fuck your God."

"God is dead, and no one cares."

"Trent Reznor is God."

"I don't believe in Beatles, I just believe in me."*

But, I didn't say any of those, I said, "Oh...?"

So he followed up with, of course, do you believe in God?**

I figured, fuck it, it beats talking about Trump or the weather, so I told him my thoughts. He was not interested in my thoughts. He was interested in talking about how saints have superpowers, and that God is really awesome and that I should watch these weird movies on YouTube about the saints. 

Then, we arrived at my place and I wished him a great day.

Yeesh.

Might just wear headphones from now on.

Like, forever.

* My iPad appears to believe in God, as every time I type the word, it capitalizes it. Hm.

** Since me and Mr. Third Uber Driver Since I Got To California are such lifelong friends. I call him "Tuds" for short.

 

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Dreams

Have you ever gone to sleep with more than an hour of sun left in the sky? Well then, my friend and secret confidant, you are...........an Actor!*

5 am alarm this morning. Worried that I wouldn't hear it as I sleep with earplugs**, so I kept waking, checking the time then falling back asleep. Because of this, I had several dreams...

The first involved me in some NBC show, whether real or imagined, in a scene with Kristen Schaal and Colin Quinn. He could not remember his lines, somehow struck by stage fright. He said "Eunid States" instead of "United States", "thanking. You." instead of "thank you", then, placed a bagle on his head, rather than his hat.

The second featured my friend, Bill Kates showing up at my childhood home in New York with a bunch of actors to give them some sort of lecture. I was handed a huge tome written by Tony Danza. I could not tell you what it was about. These were some of the most obnoxious actors I have ever had the displeasure to dreaMeet.

Third was pretty focused on me trying to figure out how to get tickets to a Nine Inch Nails concert supporting their new album. The site had rehearsal footage, pictures and whatnot. There was a song playing in the background on the website as well and it wasn't great.

The final dream, or the final one I can recall, was a bawdy college campus comedy starring Chad Radwell from Scream Queens. It was basically a National Lampoon origin film for Chad and I would pay folding money to see it in its entirety.

In ten minutes or so, I'm heading out to Glendale for some scenes, then, I'm wrapped, an early one for me. Plans for Saturday are moving forward, and, soon, I shall take zee Gaza Strip.

AGAIN, if you've got eyes and like using them for pictures, follow @YouAndMeMovie on The Social Network. You might see a picture of me and freaking Sally Struthers.


* Or a toddler. Or both!

** To keep Ol' Scratch from putting his bifurcated penis in my ears, natch. ;-)

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Mmmmmmagic!

Have you ever imbibed a bottle of Trader Joe's Mountain Spring Water and known, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you have just paid for tap water? Then, and only then, will you realize that fuck Trader Joe's.

YOU GUYS I MET A MAGICIAN!!!!!!

Deep breath. Calm down.

First, on Saturday, I had a truly excellent meal at a place called Mike and Annie's with Will, Hillary, Diana and Baby Owen, who was not only not scared of me, but seemed rather delighted by me. Unless the whole thing was an act, and the smile was, in truth, a frozen rictus of horror, clamped down over his screaming brain... I held him and he looked at me and smiled. Thus proving three things: Owen is awesome, I am not Nightmare Fule for all babies, and that baby from our movie was a dick*. Also, I think all this movie star shit is getting to me. We all split a piece of chocolate cake at the end of the meal and it was hella dry. Like, I'm-not-even-enjoying-the-fact-that-this-is-chocolate-cake-because-it's-so-dry dry, so, when the waiter swung by with his "is everything okay?" I said, actually, the chocolate is really, really dry and he apologized and took it off the bill. You guys, I can't remember ever having done that. I think...I'm becoming part...of HolloWood...

THEN SUNDAY I MET A MAGICIAN!!

Wait.

First I had rehearsal at Sally's house and met the man playing my father, Bill Jones. So, he is perfect for this role and excellent in every other aspect, solid dude. Then, I was moved to tears by a scene between Sally and Hillary. You can feel the power coming off this lady...

AND THEN I MET A MAGICIAN!!!!!!!!!!!! Autumn came from her place with her friend, Luke who is not only a magician, but also a hypnotist. We hung out around...some area of El La, then had some really awesome sushi across from a super sinister Scientology mansion then I had a cookie and some coffee thing at the painfully cool little placed called the Bourgeois Pig. They were playing so much 90's hip hop, it was stupendous. Then, they drove me home and Luke proceeded to melt my face with magic. He did all types of deviltry with a quarter and cards and phtontom touches*. I am a huge child and loved every second of it. AND AUTUMN MADE ME MUFFINS!!!

I also met this other guest here who had been away since my arrival. I'd heard she works at JPL, where my friend Diana works, and I thought that was a cool little coincidence. So, I introduced myself and told her about Diana and all that and got SO MUCH SNARK off this chick. "Yeah, I'm just a summer intern and there are like, literally, hundreds of people that work there so..."
She just let it trail off.
Kid, with that attitude, you will always only be a summer intern. Space doesn't want assholes like you all up in itself. Stick to cave systems and swamps.

Today looks to be a light day, only four scenes or so, then we load out of our location in Pasadena. Tomorrow, we shoot in Glendale, where, I've heard, if I'm lucky, I can get a real good meal...

* So...in case, for some reason, you are reading this and either don't get sarcasm (which runs through my veins like blood) or haven't ever read anything else I've ever written; I, obviously, do not think this little baby is really a dick. I am not the baby's father, and, understandably, my height and voice and scent might appear troubling to her. To be clear, I am not actually blaming the baby for this. My views are my own and often exaggerated, uninformed, and, occasionally, completely wrong. I also overuse commas and sometimes forget to floss. This is a blog, which is not a word. Thank you.

** Which sounds filthy, but was actually super awesome.

End of the Month Music Bitchfest - July 2016

Look, I never promised that I wouldn't have one of these for July, I just said I might not, so, sorry.

But, as I am in Los Angeles, mere miles away from several of my favorite artists, I decided to go all out this month...and visit them in their homes.

Nine Inch Nails

After some cajoling, I proved to Trent that I was, indeed, a fan* and he let me in. I met Mariqueen, who embraced me like an old friend and then made Trent and I some amazing tea, a flowery and slightly sweet blend of her own concoction. She then headed out with the kids and Trnet and I sat down in his studio to talk turkey. Which we actually did for, like, twenty minutes before I got him to shut up about it. Hot Hollywood Gossip: Trent Reznor really, really likes turkey. "It's like having Thanksgiving every day!" he exclaimed giddily at one point.

The first thing I asked, obviously, was how the new Nine Inch Nails album is progressing. He said very well and then played me a few tracks, but then, soon after, had Atticus Ross, who lives above the ceiling panels in the studio**, drop down and shine some light in my eyes which erased the past few minutes, so yeah, I got nothing. I think there were guitars. Definitely a keyboard or two. And singing. Trent told me that when he said "new Nine Inch Nails music in 2016", he meant "his 2016". I was confused by that and asked what he meant. Turns out that Trent, like the Mayans, has his own calendar system, which, honestly, explains a lot. When I followed up with when 2016 was for him he said "anywhere between 2008 and 2023." "So...you're saying the album could already be out?"

"Yeah, probably. Maybe. Yeah," he responded.

I moved on to his involvement with the new season of Twin Peaks, coming in early 2017, and he told me his role was "mostly craft services" and "some day playing in make up". He then passed me a cranberry lemon scone that he had baked earlier that day and I understood why Lynch had reached out to him; it was utterly delicious. He then went on about scones for another half hour, then tried to get back onto turkey***, but I shut that down right quick. He apologized and played me a cover he'd done of Prince's "Planet Earth" which was haunting and beautiful.

My time was running out, so I wrapped things up by asking him about the status of the deluxe reissue of The Fragile. At first he looked completely blank, then said, "Oh, uh...soon."

As he escorted me out, Atticus passed me a copy of his score for the new doc Almost Holy, which he composed with his brother, Leopold, and Bobby Krlic. I told him I would give it a listen and he kissed me on the mouth. Atticus Ross has lips as soft as his voice.

I turned to thank Trent and Atticus, and Trent screamed "I want to fuck you like an animal!" before giving me a double thumbs up.

God damn what a genius...

Next, off to Beck's place.

Beck

When I showed up at Beck's house (which was the perfect blend of a spaceship, treehouse, temple, and seaside surf bungalow), he didn't hesitate to invite me in and hand me a guitar he'd made. I told him that I didn't know how to play guitar but he just whispered, "float like a butterfly, sting like a butterfly." He then ran off into his studio and I joined him. He set up some rudimentary beats and we jammed for a bit, then he made me a kale salad with these weird little plum things on it. I asked him what they were and he said, "those are from my home plan-- uh...Traders Joe. And Hold Foods." I inquired if he meant Trader Joe's and Whole Foods, and he just screamed into his cowboy hat then starting playing a Prophet-5. He told me about this album he and Prince had written and recorded on a Sunday about a year ago and then scrapped because it was, according to Beck, "too illegal. The funk. All of it together at once. Not for these people. Not yet, maybe not ever. Too illegal.  Too hot. The funk would cut and burn and there would be nothing left but wet tears. No good. Break beats." I told him I understood. At one point while playing me some of his new album, he just started levitating and sort of murmuring to himself, and I got uncomfortable and decided to leave. He called out, "Girl, you smell gooood! Whoo! You got pretty pockets, dancy bird!" Not sure if this was a goodbye or a song lyric or some kind of threat, but I was rattled and running late for my next stop: Los Feliz and the home of Mark Oliver Everett, a man called E.

Eels

E had made us chili. I told him about Beck's kale salad and he just nodded. After some awkward starts and stops, we just talked about Prince and played with his dog and listened to old records for a few hours. I asked if he was working on any new music or anything like that, and he shrugged and said, "I have a few things sitting around." He left it at that and I let it go, I'd had a good visit but it was clear he was done hosting. I thanked him and wished him well.

On to my final appointment of the day...Cake.

Cake

I arrived at the edge of the forest where John McCrea told me to meet him and flat out asked him, "So, are you guys still a band? Are you still making music? What the fuck are you doing?" He smiled indulgently and said, "We have a lot of new music. Would you like to hear it?" I said that, of course I did, but that I was honestly a bit skeptical. So he reached into a hemp sack he had on his back and pulled out about a dozen CDs. "Here it is. See?" 

"Okay..." I reached for them, but he pulled them back. "I'll let you have them, all of them, but you have to do something first." "Fine, what?" McCrea then pointed at a huge tree and said, "Tell that tree you love it." "What?" I asked. "You heard me, I have excellent diction, now go over and tell that tree you love it and you need it to live and that it's the most important thing in the world." I'd had a long day and was genuinely enticed by a dozen new Cake albums, so I walked over to the tree, leaned close to it, and told it that I loved it. "And that you need it to live and that's it's the most important thing in the fucking world!" He yelled. I did so. "Now kiss it!" McCrea shrieked. "Are you--" I started to say, but he screamed again, real fury on his voice, "Don't you fucking look at me, pig! Kiss that fucking tree and then you'll get you're precious fucking music! You cunt!" It was then it dawned on me that I was all alone out here, on the edge of some fucking forest with this man who had me facing a tree and who was now screaming at the top of his lungs to kiss it. I no longer cared about the new music, I just wanted to get out of this alive. So, I leaned closer and kissed the tree. "Make it fucking sexy!" The voice came from right behind me. I closed my eyes, whispered a prayer, and started making out passionately with the rough, dusty bark. After what felt like an eternity, I pulled my face, now wet with sap and tears, back from the tree. Nothing happened. I turned around and McCrea was gone. He'd left the pile of CDs behind and I you get at least this nightmare wasn't all for nothing. I picked them up and my hopes crashed as I saw they were recordings of tree noises. Twelve CDs worth of tree noises.

Fucking asshole.

Seriously though, the combination of air conditioned isolation, the thrill and challenge of my first starring feature film role, and the overall weirdness of the situation and of Los Angeles itself has bred in me a strong lust for all things Thom Yorke and St. Vincent, so I've kind of been listening to all this on repeat when I've had a moment. Also, Stephen King reading The Wind Through The Keyhole.

I also obtained the new Haley Bonar, Impossible Dream, and should have a review of that up on SoundBlab soon. Thus far, I really dig the first half. It's super short and to the point, more a pill than an album.

Anyway. Really hope I'll have a review of the upcoming Mother Feather show at the Bootleg Theater here next month. 

Cross those fingers...

* In case you're wondering how I did this, I told him I knew who Annie was, who Steve was, and that I know all the lyrics to all his songs and that I wanted to be in his underwear. Easy peasy.

** Trent and Atticus thought that was really funny, because most of his name is "Attic".

*** "You know what would be totally weird but probably totally delicious?" He led with,"A turkey scone!" 

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: WEEK ONE WRAPPED

The first week of our three week shoot is in the can.* All said, this has been a magically smooth week, aside from the devastating heat, my terrifying-a-baby thing, and the bumping of one scene from yesterday (which was absolutely jam fucking packed) to Monday, which is super light. The most difficult thing I had to do yesterday had nothing to do with the incredibly emotional moments Hillary and I had to deliver, but rather wrestling with a pair of button fly jeans. I have never worn a pair of these hilarious remnants until this film and the mechanics of buttoning up one's fly is foreign to me. That's being politic; it was like watching a bear trying to put on cowboy boots. At one point, thirty seconds out from action, I was struggling to get my misbuttoned fly buttoned and Jillian offered to help, as it is, literally, her job. I politely refused, as not being able to achieve this feat would have made me feel...less than. Everything.
One potential disaster did rear its head yesterday when an insane neighbor called the police on us twice. Once before the sun had even set, and once again around 9:30 or so. The cops told James, our heroic 2nd AD** that this was the quietest film shoot he'd ever seen. On the second call, however, he said that, if the cops are called a third time, even if we are doing nothing wrong and all our permits are good, we'd get shut down. Thing is, this neighbor is selling their house, and wants everything to look perfect. Now, just saying, if I were trying to sell my house and wanted everything copacetic, I would go way out of my way to not call the fucking cops on my neighbors, lest they make the neighborhood seem...less hospitable to potential buyers. Just saying. But, after Monday, we're moving on from this location and that particular piece of shit can go fuck themselves with other, smaller pieces of shit.

Looks like I will not be making it to Mother Feather and that is just fucking crushing. Can't believe I thought I would have free time while out here... So, I'm tossing atound the idea of having a thing next Saturday somewhere conducive to everyone and seeing folks then, although, as we are shooting in Anaheim in a week or so, I might be able to get Alan on the set so we can shoot our own little movie. Probably about coke and whores. Or cake and whores. Or cake and candy. Whatever the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences thinks is hotter these days.

Now, I'm off to get a high colonic, an asshole bleaching and re-tightening (because one's asshole can never be too tight)***, some lunch, an earthquake, and then California uber alles.

* This is a saying from the early days of film referring to what would happen when a reel of film was finished. Basically, the reel of film would be placed in a large can and then covered in the branches of an ash tree until everyone forgot about it. And then, several years later, someone, usually the producer would say, "Oh shit, whatever happened to that can of film?", then everyone would panic and try and find it.
Sometimes, the old ways still live on...

** AD stands for "anno Domini", which, in Latin, translates to "assistant director".

*** And I know what you're thinking: "Paul! If you're newly bleached asshole is too tight, you won't be able to poop!" Guys, I'm superfamous, I have a guy for that.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Terrifying Babies

Have you ever tricked a snake into smiling, and whispering its name? Ah, only then can you truly know...........whatitistobeanActor.

Another full day, including crying, kissing, the baby, driving in cars, and some other things that sound mundane until the cam-ah-rah is pointed at them and they become magic. Sweet, sweet magic.

The heat continues to crawl and assault each and every person here, like some sticky plague, but, as of right now (about twenty minutes after my arrival), I am still determined. But, forty-five minutes and six gallons of Paul Juice later, I am sure I will be just as sopping and whiny as a whinesop. Oh, also, just a moment ago, I was informed that the reason the baby was so awful yesterday...was probably because she is afraid of me.
Innocent and vulnerable infant: 0
Horrible Slenderman: 1
Victory is mine. And it tastes like ashes.

I'm sure I'll have some sun-fueled fuckrant for you later.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: hot

Have you ever had intercourse with a taciturn seagull? If so, then you really know what it is to be...an Actor.

Fuck Christ's eyes it is awful out here today. Mid-90's is hell, but, mid-90's while wearing pants and a wool shirt while trying to get emotional for a camera? Shitting fuck. This goes beyond merely complaining about the weather. This is going to sound lofty and stupid, but when I can feel piss warm liquid pouring over every inch of exposed flesh and soaking into every layer of clothing on me, it distracts from the work. Then, the scene is over and I have no idea of what I just did.
Fuck.
Add in the fact that this has been a jampacked day with an infant on set* and I begin to wonder how these scenes are going to turn out.
Luckily, I trust our director, DP, and AC to let us know if something is fucked, and everyone in the cast and crew is still working together beautifully, no shitty drama or anything pointless like that, so, it's been bareable.
Still though, this fucking asshole heat.
One more scene left today and then our first semi-night shoot tomorrow, going from 12pm to 12am, rather than 6am to 6pm. SPOILERS: I WILL BE IN A CAR.

You know what, I can't even keep typing. This lily is wilted, yo.

* Who was a perfect bundle of squiggly silence...except for every time we needed her to be.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Why Are There No Clouds?

Seriously though, why the fuck are there no clouds out here? What's wrong?
Also, a quick note, for the next three weeks, any time you see me type the word "MOTHAFUKAH" or its plural form "MOTHAFUKAHS", you are meant to be hearing it in the voice of David Duchovney's Hank Moody from Californication, which, if you have not watched it, is just fun as hell, despite its continual lack of plot. Brilliant cameos abound...

Now, tell me...have you ever eaten a hard boiled egg in one bite? If so, then you know what Acting is. What it REALLY means to be an Actor. No, not really, but I feel like, now that I am super famous (like dumbsuperfucking famous) that I should start asking stupid questions and equating them with acting. So brace yourselves for that.

Yesterday was a short day for me, just a small handful of shots at a tiny little bookstore called Pop Hop. Marc Maron was shooting next door and I'd like to thank him for not taking random people from our set and having them on his podcast. Between set ups, I took a little wander down York  Boulevard looking for record stores, of which there were almost half a dozen.* York Boulevard is populated by gourmet donut shops, record stores, music stores, trendy vintage clothing stores and the like, but, in between each is some broken, abandoned store front or sprawl of homeless people. It's like a fucked up jawline; unnaturally white, perfectly capped teeth right next to rotting, smelly holes. Ah, El La.

After we wrapped, I tried out Seamless for the second time and I think it's honestly more work than just calling a number and telling some person what you want. Also, this is bizarre; not one person I have talked to out here knows what Seamless is. Spooky.

At the moment, I'm at the Baack Cave. We're about halfway through day three and, thus far, the hardest thing I've had to do in walk up and down a sloping lawn repeatedly. Murder on the knees, kittens. Murder on the knees. Kittens.
Knees kittens.

* How did I know there were almost a half a dozen record stores on York Boulevard? Well, I'll tell you: once I mentioned to Christina that Marc Maron was shooting next door and she called me a fucker because she's a huge fan and just KNEW I'd have some contact with him whilst out here, she researched the FUCK out of the area in order to experience things vicariously. Thanks punk.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Day One

8:06 am

Sitting on some off-to-the-side stairs at a place called "Vanity House" at the moment*. I am going to try and make it my job to stay the fuck out of everyone's way as much as I can. These poor bastards are going to have to look at me (and, in some  horrific, extreme cases, TOUCH me) for the next three weeks, so I should spare them when able.

Plus, sitting and looking stoically out at the horizon lends a sense of thoughtful depth and quiet majesty that I shall immediately dispel the instant I open my mouth and people get to know the real me.

The Pig Man me.

To that point, here are some potential Avengers-related porn titles I came up with while trying to fall asleep at 8:45 last night, at which point, yes, the sun was still up.

Captain Slam Erica

The Incredible Girth

Thor Puthy

Iron Manhood

(Gi)Ant-Man

The Aven-Gerbils-Up-Their-Asses

Doctor Strange

Pretty happy with the gerbils one...

Note: there are a lot of birds around here. Which shouldn't be too weird, considering this place is called Eagle Rock **. For that reason, I am not suspicious of their intentions yet, but getting there.

12:58 pm

I did not expect that the hardest part of the first day of shooting would be me, getting into the driver's seat of a fucking car. Car seats without a huge goddamn steering column in the middle of them are hard enough, but this? It bordered on slapstick.

Just enjoyed lunch and, so far, things are going great, a well oiled machine.

Speaking of oiled, I am somehow not sweating as much as I thought I would be. MUST BE THAT FUCKING DRY HEAT EVERY ASSHOLE ON THE WEST COAST IS ALWAYS FUCKING TALKING ABOUT.

There are so many people on this set and it's a goal of mine to remember everyone's name, but, as I am a famous actor now, I am compelled to just give them numbers. And then forget the numbers.

Also, a select group of my friends will be happy to know I learned how to say "YAAAAAASSS!" in ASL.

I keep getting told that I "look amazing on camera", something I first took as a compliment, but now, I'm just wondering how monstrous I look when not on camera. Sufficiently monstrous, judging by the awe and delight in these people's voices, I imagine.

And, before I forget, if you read this and if you do social media, please do follow us @YouAndMeMovie on Twattle and Instagrok. It will make us feel loved and you feel gracious.

More later, norms.

* And, while it does sound like somewhere a murder would take place, it is actually our hair and make up and etc location.

** Looking for the "Eagle Rock Lounge" from Cake's "Mustache Man".

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: 68,400 Seconds To Go (Give or Take)

As of right now, I'm 19 hours out from my first day of shooting. Today there is nothing on the docket; everything for the first week has been throughly rehearsed and I've got nothing planned for today but an Uber to the store for more bottled water*, perhaps some laundry**, and to watch the majority of the latest seasons of Arrow (why haven't they fucking killed Malcolm goddamn Merlyn yet?), Flash (why aren't they constantly in the time vault learning shit?) and Legends of Tomorrow (haven't started it yet, but I do love me a good crossover). Then, I am going to try and be asleep by 9 pm to prepare for the next day, which, for me, starts at 5:30 am. The hardest part of being an actor is not waking up early, but that is one of the hardest parts.
Robert told me that.

Excited about tomorrow, but not nervous. I'm an actor and this is what I do.

Just realized my cursor blinks exactly once per second.

Have a nice day.


* Movie stars like me and Robert Downey Jr. don't drink tap water.

** Movie stars like me and Robert*** do do laundry.

*** Robert Downey Jr. I just call him Robert though, because we are both movie stars.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: End Times

Everything. Is on fire. Thousands of acres just twenty or so miles from my temporary place of residence are blazing. Ash is falling from the sky and we are looking at another 100 degree day.
This place is fucking broken.
But, despite the literal portal to Silent Hill opening in my neighborhood, I met up with Will last night who perfectly summed up El La for me.
Me: I mean, I know it's on fire, but it really does make the sunset look stunning.
Him: Yup, beauty at any cost.
Le not juste!

I had more rehearsals yesterday, solely with Hillary, and something I should keep close continues to wander away from me: I am an actor. I am an actor, I am an actor, I am an actor. On this project, I am not a writer, not a producer, not the director, I am an actor. I say the lines, do what the director says and get rewarded with unlimited water and ego strokes. This is the most difficult thing about working on creative projects with friends; in this undertaking, they are not my friends, they are my co-stars, my writers, my director, and, unless there is an open call for it, nothing is up for discussion. It's a job and I am here to do it. This is always a struggle for me because I think I'm super awesome at everything. And nothing will convince me otherwise. Here is where persistent and stubborn-as-a-mule-made-of-metal intersect on the graph. But: according to everyone, it is looking fantastic.
Trust.
Who do ya?

EVEN MOAR rehearsal today and tomorrow and then, holy fuck, the shoot begins.
As long as the cast and crew are not completely engulfed in flames.

Pray for Mojo.

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: The Girl With Several Tattoos, None Of Which Were Of Dragons

Yesterday, I met and was instantly enthralled by one of our wardrobe people: Jillian. She resembles an elegant, unbroken Lisbeth Salander (the Mara iteration, not the Rapace). She designs her own clothes, is a geek, and is as stylish as the word allows. So far, nothing but great folks on this project, from production design to hair and make up to cast. Very excited for shooting to begin Monday.

Last night, after deciding that I looked sufficiently human in the clothes that had been selected, Jillian left and, after a total alignment of all the planets in our solar system, I managed to hook up my PS3.
DESPITE THAT FACT, I still reached out to Will, but, as he is still 5% sick, give or take, and I had to do college stuff, das vedanya, we pushed our meet up to tonight. My immune system is a strange thing when I travel and I am, by nature, as fragile as a rose. A really soft rose. Which does not like sun. Or beer. Or sports. So, I spent last night trying to stay up until at least 11 pm. I succeeded. Thank you.

Today was to start off with more rehearsal, but Brendan (O'Malley, playing my best friend) took ill, and there are production fires that need extinguishing, so I've spent most of the day futzing around with some music apps and my Zoom 4nh, making the odd noise and beat. I also boiled some eggs. Because I bought some eggs and that is a thing you can do with them.

I was also contacted by my agent who informed me that Comcast wants to book me over the weekend for a VO.
You guys, I am a really good voice actor.

I just learned yesterday that Mother Feather is having their first El La club show on the 4th and I'm planning on going. I'm still peeved about missing both their fucking record release show and their
Warped Tour performance, but, fuck it, this show is going to be RAW.

All right. Off to do yogurt. Namaste.