cold november rain

I apologize to all my loyal readers (myself included comes to a total of myself) for lagging in my posts. I have many exciting episodes to catch everyone up to speed, but I just can never seem to find the time to put them together.
It has been a crazy time in the valley as of late. I'm growing tired of waking up each and every morning at 5:30am. I also loath the heat that seems to plague the Valley without any form of remorse. It's been really tough trying to stay positive working two crappy jobs for about 8-14 hours a day, but I'm starting to see some light in the tunnel. Today I met with my first Hollywood friend to discuss some possible 'bizz' related work. In time I should be able to quit my crappy jobs, and work on set with different directors and the like.(I'll tell you more about that in a later post) So things are looking up. On a positive side-I wrote some great new jokes...and hope to hit the stage sometime this month to see if I can't get something like that kicked off. Anywho...it rained today. Something good is going to happen. It never rains in the valley.

assistant TO the retail manager.

This morning, like any other morning, my alarm wailed its usual bone-shivering song proding me into 'action'. Like a Kodiak bear released from hibernation, I lurched forward from my squirel-like sleeping position only to a standing position very remnant of the third stage of man on an evolution chart. As I moved toward the hallway, my vision still in a slight daze, caused me to collide with the door frame at speeds which resembled the titanic hitting the iceberg.(Rest in peace LEO) My reaction time was only further disrupted by the amazing brilliance of the bathroom light, as it momentarily blinded me creating some sort of Arc of the Covenant affect (-->see "Indian Jones-Raiders of the Lost Ark" for visual reference) as I attempted to relieve myself. When my vision finally returned to normal I noticed I'd better shake a leg if I were to make it to work on time since it was running on 5:45am. Why yes, that is correct; I work at 6:30am every morining, but this morning was special and deserved a few more moments of silent dissapointment as I gazed at myself in the bathroom mirror. For today was to be my first 14 hour day in California. God Bless the USA.
Barnes and Noble proceeded much like it has everyday prior to this one. I walked in, grabbed my scanner, and began re-shelving the previous day's go-backs. This day was slightly different due to the fact I was in a suedo angry sentiment due to an arguement from the previous evening with a lady.(or girl in this case) So intersperced between the songs about drowing someone you love, and bloody knuckles, I finished my carts in almost record time. 10:30 came around rather swiftly as I hit the Barnes and Noble doors without looking back (remember Sodom and Gahmora?). Within 10 minutes I was back at the apartment, within the next 8 minutes I was pulling into the Fashion square Mall's parking facility where I was to park and sprint into bloomingdales for my 11am shift. Despite arriving on time, my efforts were in vain as Diego explained to me in broken English, "You're early to-day, no?" Sure enough, I wasn't due in 'till 12noon, so I returned home to eat a well deserved sandwhich while disscussing the previous evenings engagement with Blade Miracle. (about the girl...I didn't go out with Blade...sick-os)
By 12, I was back on the sales floor. I thought my day would roll on as many of them have before, but today something happened. Despite my desire to quit bloomingdales, my good-natured work ethic garnished a special meeting with Al. It was in this 3 minute private akward festival, that Al told me he was PROMOTING me to my own division and giving me a pay-raise. Why yes, I have only been there for about 2 and a half weeks.
So, now I'd like to quit the job, but I am making MORE money, and I am incharge of my own section of the salesfloor. What is interesting is the comparision to my life to that of The Office. My manager Al, is David Brent. I was promoted, like Tim AND now that I have new responsiblities, I act like I'm important, like Tim. Creepy.
By the end of the day, I had worked roughly 14hours, but was a member of authority. I headed to Robbie Mack's to get some free Pizza from Jeff and sat around with Kuhns talking about my day's exploits.
Gareth Keenan, Team Leader/assistan regional manager (assistant TO the regional manager)

irony loves company

Some dreams are never meant to be. We look at them from afar and say, "I wish that was my life" or "why can't that be me?" or "I bet he can do like 40 push-ups..." Some things were just never meant to be. Then there are people like me who stare adversity in the face as if to say, "Yeah, this is my bread-pudding, and what are YOU gonna do about it?" Some call me legend, more call me a legacy, but either way...yeah-I am the best.
This whole issue was addressed not more than 24 hours ago when a dream, or a longing rather, was brought to light. I haven't slept in a bed since June 5th. Yeah, you do the math...that was when I still lived in Lincoln BEFORE I moved my bed out and slept on the floor for 2 days. Needless to say, my lumbar hasn't felt the support of coils, springs, or support for an extended period of time. Heck, I've slept on the living room couch since I've been in LA, and even now when I think of it I've also slept on the floor.
Now many of you would see this plight and think to yourself, "I could never get out of that situation, its hopeless, I'll never have a bed". That's what seperates you mortals from your old boy Moore. You see, not more than 24 hours ago Ryan moved out, Jeff moved his bed into the other room, and I was given a bed.
So needless to say, you're now sitting there right now reading this-tears streaming from your eyes as if this is the first time you've seen RUDY, wondering how one could write and live through such a story of persecution and struggle. You think, "Moore you did it! You have a bed! Tell me all about your first night in almost a month that you got to sleep in a bed..."
Well I CAN'T! Why? Because I fell asleep on the couch last night! That's right, I've wanted and dreamed of sleeping in a bed for a month, and when I finally get the chance...I'm watching VH1 at 2am, the next thing I know its 7:30am and I have the couch's floral pattern indented into my skin.

Great work Moore! Idiot.

Mr. 1980who?

Tonight, my world has been changed forever. It wasn't because I watched 'Hoffa' on AMC, or because the full-effect of Daddy Warbucks (also on AMC today) came through to me in a vision. No friends, tonight I was part of what could have possibly been the greatest instrumental supergroup of all time. Joules.
I started out the evening in normal fashion, I came home after what would have been a day off of work, and began watching AMC. Due to my fluent procrastination, I had to also apply for a student loan consolidationn process (which took forever), then I headed out to the boys' CD release show in Venice Beach.
The show was at a place called "the good hurt" which was a pretty sweet venue which came complete with mirrors on the bathroom countertops for your crack-snorting convinience. The bartenders dressed in skimpy black nurses uniforms which did nothing for them but improve their tip count, and apparently smiling was out of the question for them. Despite that stylized 'touch', the venue was pretty sweet. Once the show kicked off...things changed in a big way.
The band Joules took the stage much like the style of Mr.1986. A very little soundcheck as a scarecrow-like guitar player introduced the band. As soon as they struck their first note...my life changed. Joules was Mr.1986 meets Dillinger Escape plan meets Miles Davis. It was some of the most amazing music I've ever heard in my life. They changed time signatures faster than I can change shorts in the men's room. It was absolutely insane. How good were they? So good I would have to tell Mr.Hider that he'd been bettered. They were epic.
The next band was a little too reagae for me, so I spaced them out 'till the boys played. They played a pretty good set, and they even sold 1 CD! Not too bad for a CD release show.
More importantly, I met a beautiful girl who got to see what many kids back home call "a game". Let's face it: midwest, eastcoast, westcoast...Moore's A game is always on.
There is a party going on here as we speak. I have to be at work in four hours, so I'm waiting for some of these slackers to hit the road. We'll see how it goes.

me without mewithoutyou

This tale of last night's exploits comes after completing my first shift at bloomingdale's. Now let's get something out of the way right off the bat, yesterday was supposed to be my first day of training; videos, register training, store tour, that whole deal, but half-way through completing my paperwork, my manager Al strolls up to me and tells me,"Hey bro, what do you say we skip this today and we get you on the floor?"
I guess my previous sales record is good enough for me to skip a few steps...okay. Little did I know, my boss is actually the hispanic version of David Brent (no joke) from The Office, and he wanted me to believe he was cool right off the bat. This man is hilarious, not in a funny way, but because he still thinks he is young and hip. This is probably going to be the easiest job of all time. The fact remains: Californians are just plain lazzy. I don't think they mean to be, but compared to my midwest work ethic, these people are lazzy!Jeepers.
Back to the story
So I closed on my first day, which forced me to arrive back home at about 9:45pm. That's all well and good, but mewithoutyou was playing a show on Hollywood Blvd, and Blade Miracle and I were planning on going. The show started at 8pm and Hollywood is about 15-20 minutes from my house, so Blade put the peddle down and we reached Hollywood shortly after. Now, if you're unfamiliar with the strip, it is the stretch of Hollywood Blvd where the actor's stars are in the sidewalk, and the location of the handprints in the concrete.(this is also the location of the Kodak Theatre and the home of the Oscars) So Blade and I arrive, park down the street, and stroll onto the strip.
A short discussion between Blade and I lead to our conclusion that neither of us knew where this show was actually going to take place, so further delaying our approach, we walked up and down the strip like a couple of hookers until we found the venue. Once we walked up to the ticket both we realized we had actually missed the band and had made these far travels for really know reason. It was at this moment when Blade and I wondered why there were so many local television crews all filming and interviewing people on the strip. After I asked a policeman, I was told of this not-out-of-the-ordinary LA tale:
There was a 75mph car chase at about 9:30 on the Hollywood strip. Now, if you don't really understand what that means, think of this: Bro Row in Lincoln (the strip of 16th street on UNL campus that runs between all the greek houses) between classes around the noon hour. Imagine a 75mph car chase through that crowded strip of street. That is was happened in Hollywood. The shocking part of the whole deal was that people were like, "hmmm.That was weird.oh well."

Welcome to the craziest place on earth. I was going to try to make this whole story more interesting, but I guess I'm too busy thinking about my new boss.

Square peg, triangle hole

This morning's "incedent" happened to take place at the very same local as many of my other memorable moments of Southern California. Why yes, you guessed it; the ill fate that befell me today happened yet again at 24hour fitness. Thankfully today's tale has nothing to do with making a 'duce', but it maintains it's own level of hillarity (or at least its resounding interest struck me as such)

This morning's trip to 24hr began like many of the others before it except for 3 ironic scenarios:

1) While working out late last week I remembered how much I prefer to lift in a tight-fitting running top. It really has nothing to do with thinking I look tougher in something tight (though, let's get honest with ourselves...I do look way tougher lifting in that tight running top) I just prefer to not look like all of the dudes going sleeveless so they can show off their 'pipes' to all the 'whores'. So to wrap up: tight-fitting running top.
2) While working out around 9pm on Sunday evening I noticed that I was sweating terribly as I lifted (due to poor air circulation...thank you Magic Johnson for your contributions to 24hr Fitness) so when I prepared to go to 24hr this morning I remembered to pack my navy blue bandana to prevent the sweat from imparing my vision of the weight room and poor plastic surgery
3) Let's just get honest with each other here: up untill this afternoon, I've been unemployed which had created a lack of zeal for any sort of facial hair removal or shaving on my part. Granted, this little unkempt appearance might have been the very condition keeping me from employement, but none the less, as I left for 24hr this morning, I was about 3-4 days unshaven.

So in review: Tight fitting long sleave running top, Blue bandana worn low on my forehead/over my ears, 3-4 day amount of facial hair all leading up to a grand total of: LOOKING LIKE A TOTAL GANGSTA.

I honestly hadn't made the connection between myself and a skinnier Tupac Sukar until I was doing a set of reverse flies on the "freestyle" machine when a large ex-Raiders lineman approached me and asked, "how many more sets you got...Hommie?"
Now, I would like to make it clear that he didn't just say, "How many more sets you got hommie?" He walked up to me, set his bag down, puffed his chest slightly as a unsaid way of letting me know that he could really say anything he wanted, and said "how many more sets you got" looked me up and down, leaned in and finished with, "Hommie"
Was I scared, Yes. Did I think he was going to hit me, Yes. Did I thug out and tell him I'll be finished when I'm finished...No. I simply said, I just got one more (which was a lie, I had wanted to do another 3 sets, but he was an ex-Raider), finished up my last set, wiped the machine down for the man only to have him loose interest and walk off.

The moral of the story is unknown. It should be something about trying to be something you're not, but that wasn't a bad thing in this case. A large black man called me "Hommie". That was probably the coolest thing to happen to me since I've been out here. At least it tops those dolphins we saw at the beach. Dolphins...please.

Perfect time for a catastrophe

Yesterday morning after a joville celebration acknowledging the fact that I slept in later than 7:30am, I proceeded to use the hallway water closet in hopes of preforming my morning constitutional when I stumbled upon the unthinkable: A disaster so devious throughout history it has been the very act responsible for bringing kings to their knees, religious leaders to uncontrolable rage, nations to cival war...Yes, I peered into the hallway water closet only to discover that we were out of toliet paper.
Even at this moment I shutter at this thought of the unthinkable, and even you reading these lines are failing to see the merit in my words. This situation wasn't like seeing Bigfoot walking across a clearing, or a blurry photo of the Loch Ness, this was a true account of what some have already dubbed a brush with fate or a meeting with destiny.
As I saw the vacant toliet paper dispenser staring at me blankly like the view inside an ancient tomb, denile began to fill judgment: "there is more under the sink, we must keep more of it in the hall closet, maybe someone used it as a napkin and the remanding role is sitting on the table." Like trying to find Kennedy's killer, all options proved useless. Suddenly like a lightning bolt cascading through my brain, and idea struck; check Jeff's bathroom. As if I was the star quarterback entering the field before the homecoming game, I poured into Jeff's bathroom. Aside from a high-school era photo of Jeff's family, the bathroom contained nothing but Jeff's parents peering eyes.
If you're famililar with this next sensation, you're not alone, panic can strike at anytime. We call it 'loosing it' the French call it "le panic", but it isn't normal fear like, "Oh man, the Germans rolled over us again I really hope the US can bail us out." It is terror. As I rifled through my belongings hoping to find a blade capable of ending this nightmare I stumbled upon my 24hour Fitness ID. At first I failed to realize how staring at beautiful women while they worked out would help my current predicament, but then it struck me: 24hour has restrooms. My ID, my saving grace, was held close to my heart like a wayward kitten who had thought it through.
Within seconds of my epiphany my sneakers were on and I reached my hand toward the door only to be plagued with yet another fork in the road; run or walk? 24hour Fitness is literally 3/4 or a mile down the street on which I live. I can jog there in less than 6 minutes, but would the jarring up and down of my body force some 'unnatural' results, or do I risk a long walk where, like a pregnant woman, I was do at anytime? As my lower midsection burned with the pains of nature, I was running down the street before I knew what was happening. As an old runner, there are a few tricks to 'keeping your cool' while you're running, but this scenario was perhaps the toughest situation I'd ever settled into. Thankfully, I walked through 24hr's doors with my undershorts still shy of a nuclear rating, scanned my card, stood around for awhile so it didn't look like I had just ran a mile to use the bathroom, and carefully moved toward the restroom.
The last stint of terror occured in the bathroom stall itself, as I reached for a paper seat cover only to read the capation blazen above the paper. "Supplied by the management, for your Protection." I'm sorry, but the last thing I want to have to think about while I'm unleashing a duce, is the fact that I also have to be Protecting myself from only the Lord knows what. Needless to say, I hovered.
Shortly after the smoke cleared in the men's room, I emerged victorious. The problem no became that I couldn't just leave the gym after what I had done because the beautiful women who work the front desk would certainly believe, "Hey, that guy just came in here to drop a duce...what a sick-ie." So I proceeded to ride an exercise bike for 20 minutes to make it look like I was an athlete. Only the mighty. Only.

Richie Tennenbaum is playing the worse Tennis of his life.

Yesterday, the stars aligned, good and evil were in a bitter stalemate, and everything was beautiful. I'm speaking, of course, of the Apartment 206 Summer Tennis League. The boys and I went to LA Valley College tennis courts and waged war on each other for about two hours of brutal tennis (or about as brutal as one could feel wearing high shorts and holding a racquet) I would be lying if I said it wasn't the sweetest thing I've done in a long time. I whipped up on the Juice and Blade Miracle, and played Ryan for the crown (note Kuhns was not mentioned due to the fact that he isn't good at all and was defeated in the first round of Tourney play) When the dust cleared, not only did I beat Norris in straight sets, but he also go mouthy and conned me into a double or nothing scenario where I cleaned his clock yet another time. Some children just need to be punished.

I still live on the couch which does suck, but I've been sleeping well so I can't complain about that. The living quarters are yet a bit on the side of cramped, but we're all having a good time thus far (thank you Reno 911!)

Last night as I drove through Beverly Hills and onto the sunset strip, I saw my first Ferrari, my first Hooker, and my first drug pusher. Oh what a town. I'm going to go look for a job today. I don't really know where, but I'm going to go look anyway. I'm going to hope for the worst, that way everything will look like a success.

Californianiaian

I sleep on the couch. I don't know my way around town. My only friends are my roomates. I am in California. I guess that last statement is supposed to make all the previous sentances seem ludacris, but it is tough living in such an interesting place knowing things are so much easier back home.

Honesty time, I know you want it so here it is: I miss Lincoln, I miss Nebraska. (it almost looks like I wrote: I Miss Nebraska) I know this home sickness only stems from being in a new place for the first time in my life, but there is some value in those thoughts. Everything was plesant and all around perfect for me in Lincoln...besides the fact that I was miserable. Being the new fish in this huge ocean called 'LA' isn't any better at this point, but its something I have to do so I'll make the most of it.

Things aren't completely unsightly, I did swim near some dolphins in Malibu today. Who would have thought you'd be swimming in the ocean and then all of the sudden...dolphins. Wild stuff. I have to admit it is beautiful country out here. It's nice I guess, but a good old cornfield would beat any ocean view or mountain ridge any day of my week.