7.30.2016

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.

7.29.2016

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.

7.28.2016

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.

7.27.2016

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.

7.25.2016

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".

7.24.2016

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.

7.23.2016

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.


7.22.2016

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.

7.21.2016

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Waiting to Wait

I understand, yes, I really really do. I understand that, when it comes down to it, the actor is a teensy tinsey part of a film, really just an object at which the camera is pointed, and, also, that complaining about BEING AN ACTOR IN A FILM is as ludicrous as a fish complaining about getting wet or a bird who doesn't like Danish film, but.
But.
I am a deeply dissatisfied human being.
A whinging, whining poopface.
And sitting around for HOURS waiting for stuff to happen is killing me.
YES. I KNOW IT'S NECESSARY. I JUST SAID THAT I UNDERSTAND AND THAT COMPLAINING IS IDIOTIC.
I AM IDIOT.
Ugh.

Anyway, after hours sitting quietly like a child waiting for their father to finish a business meeting, I was made up and styled and lit and filmed and the final judgment is that I look handsome on camera.
Well, that's a relief. If the people seeing this don't believe that Hillary's Ella would even LOOK at my Tony*, that would be a legitimate issue. After that, I stopped by a Radio Shack and solved my PS3 connectivity problem...or so I thought. As of right now, I have two separate wires that I am praying will solve my fucking problem. As a result, I watched television last night, specifically Ghostbuster 2 and Robin Hood: Men In Tights. Both were infected with commercials. Aside from the occasional YouTube bumper, I had kind of forgotten about them. Ugh.
I really hope these fucking cords work.

Today, I met the actor playing my best friend, and he's an absolute blast. We rehearsed and got to know one another and shooting with him will be a breeze. After that, more rehearsal with Hillary, which also went smashingly.
You guys, I'm a really good actor.

Now, RIGHT NOW, I'm heading off to my fitting.

I love you all.

* My character's name, not a nickname for my wazzer.

7.20.2016

East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Entering Los Angeles

So. Yes. I am in Los Angeles (or El La, as people here seem to call it). I am here for a month (7/18 to 8/15) specifically to shoot a feature-length romantic drama called You & Me. As a primarily comedic actor, I'm relishing the challenge this role will provide. The script was written by my high school friend, Hillary, and her husband, Alex, who is also directing. I like the flow of it as well as the characters and the story, but, as I've said before, this is not my genre and I cannot predict what other folks will think.
But, I like it, and I'm here, so that should count for something.
I'm staying in an Airbnb in Altadena which I'm digging. I like the look and feel of the place; I could totally see some horrible, David Lynch murder taking place there. Something I genuinely consider awesome.
Anyone who knows me knows I am a massive creature of comfort who loves his creature comforts*. I am a media whore who enjoys the ability to have a sandwich delivered to my doorstep twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. In order to facilitate this addiction, I brought along my PS3 and a massively disproportionate amount of games, movies and TV shows, plus, there's Netflix. But, I'm also less than a half hour away from some great friends in a place absolutely teeming with culture and food, and part of me, the adventurous part that spurred me to walk from my hotel in Monaco ten years ago when I was there for a commercial shoot, buy a train ticket, and spend an afternoon in Italy is kicking and screaming and shitting itself at the idea of not being social.
We'll see what happens with that. I'm a weak man. But I am also a child who gets bored easily.
Plus, there's Uber.

Yesterday, my first full day out here, I met screen acting legend, Ms. Sally Struthers, who is playing my mother in the film. She is as delightful and ebullient as you would imagine. Then, later that day, at a wig store, I saw Rainn Wilson, trying on wigs. Absolutely bizarre.

I'm still experiencing the time difference, which is making me appear like a normal, functioning member of society, waking at 7:00, going to sleep at 10:00**. I'll be interested to see if my mind and body succumb to all the evidence around me, or if my stubbornness reaches my core and keeps me weird.

I've been to El La twice before, only for a matter of days; once for my birthday, when I stayed with Will, who made the trip amazing; we saw They Might Be Giants' thirtieth anniversary show at Royce Hall, then a secret Eddie Izzard show at the Largo, not to mention all the ridiculous food***, all on top of the fact that I was just getting to hang out with one of my best friends for the first time in years. The next time was August of 2013 for a disastrous awards ceremony. I was only there for two days or so, where, aside from exposing myself to the flaming train wreck of the first Geekies Awards, I also had a dinner with some friends celebrating my decision to leave my cockshit day job and go Full Retard with the acting.

I've never been anywhere that's not home for more than a week or so and this is a big deal. Mainly because Christina is planning on painting the living room now that I'm out of her goddamn hair.

Anyway, I'm rambling, but, then again, you're not paying me for this.

Right now I'm waiting for my turn getting hair and make up done for a camera test.

I'll keep posting updates if I remember and if  I want to.

* I call myself an Epicurean, although I know I'm just a soft, pampered baby bear

** AM to PM, you fools.

*** In & Out Burger is not good. It's not good burgers, it's not good fries, you people need to get over it.

7.16.2016

A note about Phil Tucker's new epic fantasy series, "Chronicles of the Black Gate"

Facebook posts and Twitter blurbs weren't doing it for me, and, not that anyone will read this or do more than scan the title and click "Like"*, I felt as if I must expound on my thoughts and feelings towards Phil Tucker's new high/epic fantasy series, Chronicles of the Black Gate.

I'm not a high/epic fantasy guy. Never got into it. Got through the first two Ice & Fire books and then tuned out.** Made it to the Tom Bombadil chapter in Fellowship and actually told the book to fuck itself. The closest thing to high/epic fantasy I dig is King's Dark Tower books, and an argument could be made that those aren't really high/epic fantasy at all. So, when Phil, one of my oldest and dearest friends, reached out to me about reading The Path of Flames, the first book in his new epic fantasy series to get my perspective (that of someone who is not a fan of the genre) I was pensive. I love Phil's writing and the worlds he creates and have since we were in high school, where he introduced me to role playing (White Wolf's Mage the Ascension and Vampire the Masquerade mostly), but I was worried I'd get bored with the subject material and it would turn into a chore. 
It did not. 
It fucking did not. 
I found each of the six main character's intertwined stories engrossing and compelling, and, although I was waiting for a dull moment to crop up, spurring me to skip to the next paragraph***, that moment never came. When I reached the end of the first book, I was sated yet still ravenous; both to experience the next step in each of the protagonists' journeys and to discover more about this startlingly original world that Phil had created, its rules, its history, etc. But, more than that, as always with my favorite writings of his, I didn't just want the next book, I wanted to role play in the world, have Phil DM and plot some horribly twisted and delightfully macabre demise for me.

But, taking a step back, what did it mean if I, someone who doesn't know anything about the genre, liked it? It could be a fluke. I could be a fluke. One might also think that I'm biased towards everything Phil would write, as his friend, but, anyone overhearing my frank and, yeah, let's say it, brutally scathing review of the first two books in his recent YA vampire series would have to rethink that opinion. I'm acidically critical of Phil's work because I know what he's capable of. Same with Trent Reznor, same with all of my favorite artists.

So: I liked it. I gave Phil my notes and wished him well. As it turns out, I was right; it wasn't just his closest friends who'd liked The Path of Flames, it was other authors and fans of the genre; positive reviews and record breaking sales had confirmed what I had suspected: this was a truly excellent and potentially far reaching and massively appealing work. After reading an almost final draft of the second book, The Black Shriving, just released on Amazon today, I was completely sold. I'm in for the long haul. Might his Chronicles of the Black Gate make me into an epic fantasy fan? Probably not.**** But if this is the only high/epic fantasy I ever read, I'm comfortable with that.


* Or another one of those goddamn fucking emoticons that I WILL NEVER USE FACEBOOK SO EAT A SMILING DICK.

** And I've never seen an episode of GoT.

*** Not because of Phil's writing, but because my attention span has been as deliquesced by the uprising of social media as the next bent-necked, fungus-brained zombie.

**** Fuck Tom Bombadil. Forever.