Six degrees of Mark Wahlberg

The other night when we were in the cab on our way home from El Carmen, we passed an inconspicuous hole-in-wall bar.   Coco hits me on the shoulder and casually says, “that’s Mark Wahlberg’s place, ‘Goal’.”  The girl knows how much I ♥ Mark Wahlberg, talented actor, co-creator of Entourage and he’s from Boston!….It takes a couple seconds to process and then I was like, “What, Mark Wahlberg, what?”  “That bar back there, it’s an awesome sports bar with flat-screen TV’s , she motions behind us, “‘Goal,’ Mark Wahlberg owns it.”  “Go?”  “Goal.”  “Goulmb?”  “GOAL.”  For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what in the heck she was saying, “Gold?”   She lifts her hands up, in a “my team just scored a field goal, referee style” and says “GOOOOOOOOOOOOAL” like the Spanish announcer on Telemundo.  “Oh, goal.”  “Cool, where?”   She gave up because by this time, we’re almost home…I had missed laying eyes on it, but I was intrigued…Goal was now etched into my memory and I had a new mission, I  Must  Go  To  Goal,  -DING - which also reminded me, I forgot to share a little nugget of life in LA with you all…..

In the summer of 1997, I moved from Houston to Boston (notice a pattern here) because I wanted to work for the Boston Bruins.  Having never been to Boston, let alone the East Coast, I was really going in blind.  But I wanted to work for an NHL team and in the season before I moved, the Boston Bruins had the worst record.  I figured, if any NHL team was going to take a chance on a girl from south Texas who wanted to work in hockey, it was a team that really had nothing to loose – insert the Boston Bruins.

While living in Boston and working for the Bruins (guess they couldn’t resist my charm) I developed a deep appreciation for all things Beantown.  The Red Sox, (little did I know what I was getting myself into there) the Patriots, the Celtics, Cape Cod, saying “wicked,” and the importance of understanding and appreciating the deep roots of family and being from such a unique city.  It was right about that time Good Will Hunting came out and I fell in love with the depth and range of talent from actors who were around my age (well, obviously I am delusional here, I am at least 10 years their junior) from Boston.   Edward Norton, Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, Casey Affleck, Tom Everett Scott, Dane Cook (no?  Lol, fair enough, but he’s cute and funny as hell) and Mark and Donnie Wahlberg, of course. 

So for the last 10 years, I have followed the films of Boston and with actors who hail from Boston as well as developing a deep affinity for the show, Entourage from Closest to the Hole Productions, Mark Wahlberg’s production company.  For those of you that are familiar with Entourage bare with me, if you’re not, it’s a weekly show about a group of guys with one “leading” guy, “Vince” who brings his crew out to LA to pursue his life’s journey of becoming an actor.  (Kind of like me!) His crew consists of his brother, his best friend Eric, “E” who is his manager and a childhood friend “Turtle” who is basically his chauffeur and all around “guy-Friday.”    Well, E is amazing; he fields all of Vince’s scripts, negotiates projects for him, and makes sure Vince is where he needs to be and doesn’t oversleep!  I have a best friend in Houston, who has helped me in a very similar way, that I call “E” as kind of an homage to her and the show.  I presented her with a diamond-encrusted “E” necklace before I left for LA as a token of my appreciation for all she's done for me, so far....  (My plan is to get her out here once I can afford her.  It wasn’t real diamonds, but cubic-zirconium encrusted.. just looks odd…)

Okay, so I am bringing it all back around -

My first Saturday morning in LA.. I Googled coffee shops and settled on one 2 miles away on Sunset.  I throw on my Red Sox hat, grab my backpack and hit the road for the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. 

I walk up and there is a group of men sitting outside chatting, this one guys asks me if I am from Boston.   “No, not originally, but I lived there for a while and I am a huge Sox fan.”  And I flash an endearing smile.  He kind of frowns, and I ask, already knowing because of his tell, “You a Bronx Bomber fan?”  (HUGE Red Sox / Yankees rivalry, always, no matter where you are in the world, if you’re a Red Sox fan, you typically don’t jive with Yankees fans.)  “Born and raised.”  “Oh no.” I said.   He laughed and we all started talking.  I go inside and get coffee, and return just as my phone starts ringing.  Who is it but my E!  I chat with my E for a couple minutes and then hang up and sit at the table adjacent to the group of men.  A few minutes after I had hung up with my E, the Yankees fan asks what I do and basically, what’s my story.  I share with him I just moved out to LA and he tells me he’s in town for business.  Business meaning “one of his guys” is up for a Golden Globe.   Huh.   I wonder what who was “one of his guys” or who he was for that matter, but by no means was I going to ask or ask his name or any of that because I didn’t want to be that girl, although I was dying to know! 

After a while of chatting, I tell him how nice it was to chat with him and leave.  No names, no nothing.  Oh well. 

(where the magic happened)

The next day, I get up and once again hit the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.  I am inside for about 30 minutes when the Yankee’s fan walks in.  “Hey Caroline!”  (Agh, he remembered my name, that’s cool…)  “Oh hey”  I was cool as a cucumber..No worries.  “Hey, we’re outside.”  “Cool.  I will come say hi in a bit, I am just wrapping up some work.”  By work I meant catching up on Perez Hilton, but whatever….A while later I head outside, sit down by the guy and we all start talking.  Yeah, it was kind of cool, 2 days in and I had some new friends.  So we’re talking about films and I mention how much I admired Christian Bale and Mark Wahlberg’s performance in The Fighter.  Later on we’re talking about Dubai, I don’t remember why, but then he was all, “I was just in Dubai,,,,beautiful place, anything you want you can have, any time of year, even an indoor ski mountain.”  “Wow, really, what took you to Dubai?” I asked.  “Well we took our film over to show it to the troops in Afghanistan and stopped off in Dubai for a couple days.”  “Oh, really…that’s awesome.  What film?”  “The Fighter.”  What?  What?!?  Thank God I said good things about it before.  “You’re in The Fighter?”  “Well, I have a tiny part in the opening scene, but I’m with Mark Wahlberg.”  “Oh.”  (Processing…..processing….processing….)  “Neat.”  (I don’t even really know what that means, but I am keeping cool.  Nonchalant.)  “Oh and Mark is up for a Golden Globe for the film.”  “Right.”  “Neat.”  Then I ask, “so you work with him?”  “Yeah, I’m with his management team.”  “Oh, (I laugh out loud) kind of like ‘E’ on Entourage.” “Exactly, you got it, I am E.”  I was all, “that’s so cool, they modeled the guy Eric, ‘E’, after you?!”  And he was all, “Yeah, my name is Eric.”

 and BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE.

The real life Eric!!!

No one is ever going to believe this. 

- Until next post,

Caroline

P.S. – He was much taller and more handsome then the actor, if you were wondering.

Mad-cap re-cap, Part II

ANNOUNCER: When we last left, our heroine was leaving her class at Second City.....

I was super excited because today I was going to see a long lost friend from Houston, Rebecca.  It had been eight years since we last saw each other and at first, I wasn’t sure it was going to happen. 

I had sent her some emails and messages on Facebook letting her  know I was moving to LA and wanted to hook up with her….No responses.  I double check her email address and make sure my attempts to contact her went through, yeup…so why no word?  Well finally I hear back, she has a kido and a hubby and life, she was extremely apologetic… We e-mailed and chatted a few times once I got to LA and then we made plans to hook-up after my class.

While we were super close when we both lived in Houston, our lives took us in dynamically different directions... Marriages, divorce, children, careers....life essentially happened, to us both.  But, as cliché as it sounds, when I saw her, it was awesome, like no time had passed (save a few gray hairs and a mini-van).  I was, all of the sudden, home.  There is something about reconnecting with a friend when you're in a new place, that actually softens your surroundings and let's you know that no matter where you are or what you do, it's the people you have in your life that makes it special.  Rebecca moved out to LA weeks after getting married and landed in the shadows of LAX, in the sleepy little town of El Segundo, just South of Santa Monica and Venice.  And that's where we were headed.

So I hopped into her mini-van, she has a kid now, so it makes sense, and we headed to the beach.  After hours of talking and catching up, the sun starts to set...my first sunset in LA,,,,, with an old friend.  

As the sun was dropping, dolphins were jumping and the day was fading off of us,,, I was so thankful for being able to be in the moment.  When doing improv, you have to be in the moment, meaning..not thinking about what happened previously or what's going to happen later on, but the here and now. 

It’s truly a simple thought isn't it, yet not one we often live-by.

If this were a scripted afternoon, I don't think it could have been written any better.  

Friends, although some come and go, the ones you treasure and don't give up on, are in your life for a reason.  They will always be there and have faith they will embrace the reconnection….even when they are thousands of miles away. 

Until next post - 

Caroline

Warning signs and zip-zap-zub lines – Mad-cap re-cap. Part I

 Jump into my Deloren Marty, we’re going back, BACK TO THE FUTURE!

Before we do, I suggest you make yourself a cocktail.  Why, well for one, everything goes better with a cocktail and two, this is part one a re-cap of my last four days…this might take a while.  If dog years are 7 to a humans 1, well days in LA are like 7 compared to everywhere else’s 1.  Lots can happen and does…NEVER a dull moment.  

Thursday night was “girls night out,” and when I say, out, I mean, “out, out.”  So we get dressed, (read: smokin’ hot) call a cab and head out to this groovy little bar called “The Den.” Located on the famous Sunset Boulevard, it’s literally smack-dab across the street from the world famous Chateau Marmont.  (You need to say Marmont like, MAR-mnt, it’s French, Google it, it’s pretty famous.)  and right down the street from “Pinches Tacos.”  Not so world famous, but with a name like that, I had to mention it because when I saw the sign, I had to do a double-take….Really? I was like, whaa?  Do you people know what that means in English?  My roommate, Coco, laughed and shrugged her shoulders, “it’s funny!”…Wow….anyway…We arrive at the Den and opt to sit on the patio.  It’s a beautiful evening, 65 degrees with a mild breeze complete with a full moon.  We’re chatting and enjoying a drink when I turn to admire the 6 foot long fire pit in the middle of the patio..but what really gets my attention is the warning sign,

I am not sure if this is altogether necessary….traditionally fire is hot, right?  At least where I am from but maybe since this is the land of movie magic, some might mistake flames coming up from the coals as a mirage or simply some sort of lighting special effect with built in 3-D features.  (Side-note, coffee is hot too, in case you were wondering.  You’re welcome. :)

We are getting a bit hungry so we ask to check out the menu.  It’s uncanny, but almost every restaurant we have been to has hummus (understandable) on the menu and bacon-wrapped dates….(huh?)  Yeah, bacon-wrapped dates.  Like the fruit, not like a guy, which would be AHHsome, can you imagine you meet someone on Match.com, and while you’re chatting about where you want to spend your evening together, you mention you love bacon wrapped dates in a flirtatious  manner and giggle a bit when doing so…he hears you loud and clear and shows up to your door in nothing but not too crispy bacon wrapped all around him - yum…..but I am talking the large raisin looking fruit.  It’s an odd thing to me, but apparently everyone in LA likes them because they are literally on every menu I have seen so far….like queso to those of you in Texas or clam chawder in New England.

Not really feeling the options of fare, Coco suggests we hit this little Mexican spot on 3^rd street,,,

El Carmen. 

I am a little hesitant given the aforementioned warnings from friends back in Houston about Mexican food in LA, but the first place was ok…so I am sitting there debating on if I want to roll the Mexican food dice again and Coco says to me, oh, you’ll love it…there are velvet paintings of those masked Mexican wrestlers hanging on the walls, over 200 types of tequilas available, delicious food, great people - it’s a hoot.   

All I heard was velvet masked Mexican wrestlers 

-  call a cab, let’s go!                               

As you walk in, past the heavy velvet curtain, it’s like walking through a velvet porthole into a magical Mexican kingdom where wrestlers are royalty, tequila is the nectar of the gods and the angels hum sweet mariachi tunes. 

It’s FANTASTIC.

Small and intimate, but holy cow the ambiance in this place surrounds you like your living in the bottle of Jeanie in “I dream of Jeanie”  - but with a massive Mexican twist.  The food, from what I sampled, shortly after we ordered, some home-boys (guys from Houston who my roommate has known since High School) met up with us and there was more chatting then eating, but it was, the teeny amount I got, decadent….muy bueno.   

Mexican food in LA – 2

Friend's advice – 0

Friday I sprung from my bed ready to embrace the day!  SIKE. mm  I was dragging, but I couldn’t just veg out on the couch, I had my second class at Second City, but really it was my first class, with my class at Second City, since the first class I went to was a make-up class they let me attend because I missed my class the day before.  You following, because I think I just made myself dizzy. 

Yeah, okay, if you read the last paragraph slowly, it makes sense. 

So I get there and this is great because my class is half the size of the class I went to last week, 8 instead of 18 people, which means a more intimate group as well as more time to perform!   

Although I loved the instructor from the Saturday class, my instructor now is really super cool…I am crazy excited.  So I introduce myself and we jump right into this game called zip-zap-zub.  In this game, you stand in a circle and send the word to another person who then sends it to someone else, in that order.  See example:

***Note:  Do not, ever, never, ever come to class again after a night of enjoying adult beverages. 

So yeah, that is pretty complex, and very much demands you being alert and on your toes.

 ***Note: Do not, ever, never, ever come to class again after a night of enjoying adult beverages.

So then, our instructor throws in a category.  After we go through three cycles of zip-zap-zub, we then say our names and send the link on to another person, who says their name, and so on. (Is this room spinning or is it me?)Zip-Zap-Zub-Caroline(Oh man, um)-Bill-Gary-Linda-Zip-Zap-Zub-Linda-Bill-Gary…(Oh man I have a killer headache!)

Then he throws in, now you say someone else’s name and send it to the person’s name you say.. Zip-Zap-Zub-Caroline (ME?  So soon?  I am new!)-Bill-Gary-Linda-Zip-Zap-Zub-Linda-Bill-Gary-Gary-Linda-Caroline(I wish this was a bigger class)-Gary-Caroline-Linda-Bill…once we got that down, he throws in cities, Zip-Zap-Zub-Caroline-(Wait what’s that guys name?  Bob, Blake, wait, Bill?  Yeah, Bill)Bill-Gary-Linda-Zip-Zap-Zub-Linda-Bill-Gary-Gary-Linda-Caroline(Gary!  It’s that dude’s name and a city!)-Gary-Detroit-Houston-Miami-zip-zap-zub-Gary-Bill-Linda-London-TelAviv-Oklahoma City…then he throws in bodies of water, 

 

Zip-Zap-Zub-Caroline-(OH MY GOD THIS IS INSANE!!  I need Advil!)Bill-Gary-Linda-Zip-Zap-Zub-Linda- (Why did I go out last night?  Why does my head feel like someone hit me upside it with a sledgehammer?)Bill-Gary-Gary-Linda-Caroline(AGH)-Gary-Detroit-Houston-Miami-zip-zap-zub-Rio Grande River-The Dead Sea-Mississippi River-Gary-Bill-Linda-London-(Please let me have Advil in my bag)TelAviv-Oklahoma City then countries… Zip-Zap-Zub-Caroline-Bill-Gary-Linda-Zip-Zap-Zub-France-Germany-Brazil-Linda-Bill-Gary-Gary-Linda-Caroline(Gary, Gary, always Gary!)Gary-Detroit-Houston-Miami-zip-zap-zub-Rio Grande River-The Dead Sea-Mississippi River Gary-Bill-Linda-London-TelAviv-Oklahoma City  - OY VEY!

And you thought “improv” was easy.   (See why I suggested a cocktail earlier?)

What a ride! 

After our break, the Advil mission a complete success, (LIFE IS GOOD!) I ask the teacher if I can address the class.  He is like, uh – sure.  He was half taken aback, I sensed from the wonderment in his voice.  Anyway, I had to say something or I would never forgive myself.  What I wanted to put into words was the power of realizing where I was and what I was involved in.  Before moving to LA, I talked about joining the Second City training school for months and having never been here, it was hard to picture… difficult to “dream” about how it would be to be in school there and the hope of learning the fundamentals of improv, but I felt it now, and it was the most magnificent feeling.  I was overwhelmed with emotion, especially now my headache was gone and I didn’t want to keep this in.   As I started to tear up, I thanked everyone for being there, allowing me to come right in to the group and feel welcomed but most of all, I was honored.  Honored to be in their company and honored to embark on this journey with them. 

There was a silence but then, thank God, right below our classroom window, a homeless man with a sombrero and a poncho was accosting a newspaper machine and the cops came to get him with their sirens blaring, we all started laughing so I didn’t kill the mood too bad. 

As I was walking down the stairs after class, Gary (the guy, not the city) was standing there looking at group photos of olde..”Man, I can’t believe we’re here, where all these other have been.”  I looked at him, still a bit teary-eyed and smiled…Figuring I had said enough for one day…."Yeah, we’re here."

- Until next post,
 Caroline

Owls good in LA....really...

There are many wonderful and interesting aspects about Los Angeles, besides the usual, 'this is the place where anyone can be anything, dreams come true, everyone is blond, tan, perfect....."  I am sure you have heard it all before.

I want to shed some light on the "little known bits" about the city of angles, or as I like to call it, my 'REALLY?' facts, finds and stuff that makes you tilt your head like a dog, squint your eyes while you're letting all of it process and say to yourself, "did I really just see that / did that really just happen...really???"

I woke up the other morning ready to embrace the day.  I jump out of bed, well, roll to a thud and stand up, stretch and notice, hey, I have a huge window in my room. 

Let's pull back these blinds, open the window and let the city in!  In my best Broadway-style fashion, I grab the blinds, violently cast them all to one side, go to unlock and open the window and set my eyes on

what.... in.....the....... 

Is that a freaking OWL?

I hit the deck, creep up like Private Ryan in a foxhole to make sure, make damn sure, I just saw a gigantic owl.  Yeup...yeah, that's an owl.

Still a little frozen with fear, (I might have failed to mention I have a highly abnormal and irrational fear of birds, especially the black ones that like to walk on your table and give you the crow eye while you're enjoying your lunch alfresco, but all birds, and I avoid Kentucky Fried Chicken like the plague) I am trying to process if - one, this gigantic owl is real and two, if it's fake...but my main unsolved mystery was why...why would an OWL be on the roof of my building in West Hollywood, real or fake?  Barely peeking over the sill, to determine if this owl was real or fake....I watch it...Look for signs of life.

No movement that I can see but maybe it's sleeping, regardless I remain ninja-still, I do not want this thing attacking me and get my "big break" in the biz on "When Animals Attack" so I wait and watch.......I blink.......take a breath......blink.........take a breath......it's not moving......blink.....take a breath......yeah, okay, it's fake. 

Cool. 

Alright, let's get this day going!  So I get up and..... wait a minute,,,,,, did that fake owl just turn a tiny-tiny bit and look at me?  Oh, maybe it's like a possessed owl and is here to make me think he's fake just so he can attack me......maybe...is that possible...eyes squinting because I am in deep thought trying to understand, if I did, in fact, see it blink, or move, or take his little owl fist and smash it into his other owl hand, more or less threatening me... or.....no...no...no....no...no...no, that shit is fake.  Let's get a grip Caroline.  It's a fake owl.  I am sure of it.  

Phew. 

Well, okay, so why, why a fake owl on my rooftop?  I came to terms I was not going to solve that right now, so I let it go.  I mean, a fake owl, in Hollywood - really?  Well in a weird way, it makes sense, right?

Oh my God, did it just move....no really?


Until next post,
Caroline

Reality tv or RealLA tv

You be the judge.

As some of you know, Southland on TNT is one of my favorite TV shows.  It comes on Tuesday nights and at times, they re-run it the next day.

So I am sitting in my living room trying to figure out what clever nuggets of life I am going to share with you all today with the tv on in the background.   I have had it on all morning, but not paying much attention to it, it's on mute.  My balcony door is open, letting the beautiful 75 degree sunny day spill in.  (Don't hate, you can move here too.)  So I am just sitting on the couch, laptop in lap, surfing the nets.  Well all the sudden I look to the tv and there are all these police cars closing off streets and "breaking news" graphics scroll on the bottom of the screen.  With the tv muted, because I already saw Southland last night, I didn't pay much attention to it.  Then all the sudden I hear helicopters hovering and sounding rather close and sirens from cop cars/emergency vehicles all around my building.  Again, I don't pay much attention, perhaps it's filming - or who knows, it's LA, where nothing is surprising.

 So I turn my attention back to my laptop and the important status updates of my facebook friends... Randomly I glance up to the tv and, for whatever reason this episode of Southland looks painstakingly boring..it's still the same scene with cop cars blocking off streets that was on there 10 minutes ago.  LAME.  Then I hear more sirens and helicopters outside....huh.

 Back to the tv..Southland is just..so..bor-.........oh my God, that's my building, that's my neighborhood....I spring up and slam the sliding door shut...run to the tv, turn up the volume, oh my God, what is going on?  Officers on the scene, gunshots, suspect has shot a police officer...I look outside, still hearing the helicopters.  Oh my God...the announcer is talking about 45 cop cars on the scene...An officer has been shot....This is seriously bad!  Oh no, I have a job interview in an hour and I really need a job but that is going to be impossible since this real life drama is taking place right in front of my house and apparently a "neighbor" has called the news station reporting seeing a 40-year old white male with a bomber jacket, who the news guy is calling a "prowler" has been lurking around the neighborhood and all these cops seem unable to find him.  Then another caller said there are 2 "bad guys."  I am going to pass out I am so in pieces, this is in my street.....And it's hot outside, who would wear a black bomber jacket...I start freaking out more, yeah, it's totally possible, it's LA!

I try to remain calm, but  I still hear helicopters and sirens.  The tv guy is reporting police have requested more back up units to search a "densely populated neighborhood" and the entire area is on "lock-down" - no one is to open their doors, and to top it all off, I really need a diet coke and I was just going to walk to the corner store to get one. 


Oh man, this is totally awful and I don't know what.....WHAT IS THAT NOISE?  Someone is walking up the stairs to my apt....The bomber jacket wearing prowler or prowlers are coming to get me!  What?



I jump up, toss my laptop and grab the closest thing to a weapon I can find....my iPad...wait, what, too late, maybe I can challenge him to a game of sudoku for my life.  So I lightning fast make it into my roommate's room and literally dive and slide under the bed, like I am A-Rod sliding into home with an armed prowler chasing me, not harming my iPad, my weapon of mass applications and wait.......my heart is racing, my blood pumping and I hear the door knob turn, oh my God, the door is unlocked....I am frozen.  I hear him walk in, turn off the tv and head into the kitchen.  Oh shit, I hear a drawer open and I hear him pull out a huge butcher knife...Oh my God...there is dead silence, save my heart which, to me, sounds like the loud industrial music those trendy bars pump out where everyone has gold chains and drives Cameros with t-tops, anyway, I am like, damn it, I am going to die and I haven't even showered today.......


So like a lion in the Serengeti, I wait....I will wait it out, he doesn't know I am here, so fine, no sweat...I got all the time in the, he's coming into the bedroom...I can hear him....I am so scared, I close my eyes and start to pray...oh man, I am too young and haven't even been to an awards show yet..why is he wearing Prada snake-skin heels?  Why are his toes pink?  I gingerly, oh so slowly slide my head out from under the bed and it's my roommate, enjoying some Yoplait.  She is looking so puzzled and asks what am I doing....I said, "how did you get in here?"  She was all, "in where?"  "Here, in our home."  "Uh, the front door...why what's wrong with you, why are you under my bed, and why are you shaking?"  I tried to compose myself, "How did the cops let you through, the neighborhood is on lock down."  "Lock down?" she asks.  "YES, LOCK DOWN."  So I get up, dust myself off go turn on the tv to show her.  "Look dude, this is happening in OUR neighborhood."


She starts to laugh, "Caroline, that's like 30 minutes from here."


Duh, yeah, I know...ha ha ha.  You want to watch the Lakers game somewhere with me tonight?



Never a dull moment in the Southland!

Until next post -
Caroline

Tears of Fears

When I originally decided I was going to pack up and hit the road to LA, it sounded so courageous and exciting.  Here I was going to  move to the place where my dreams of winning an Academy Award could, very possibly, become a reality.  That's a hefty order for a city, but come on, it happens every year, right?  And why not me?  So I save up some money, contact friends who live out there already and make my plan for "Operation: ReLo to LA."

LA...the land where everyone is beautiful and talented, where most chihuahua's are better dressed and have more savings than I do and where, because it's the God's honest truth - ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

But like all humans, that other little voice in my brain (save all the Sybil jokes please)  started to get me thinking about all the "bad" stuff that could happen in the land of Angels.  I mean, Anthony Kiedis and the city cried together under a bridge because they were so lonely, so it wasn't that too crazy to think these thoughts...I tell you what though, it sure didn't help that I started to watch LA Gang Wars on the NatGeo channel and thought to myself, I could get shot in a drive-by shooting or at the very least, get shot because I love to wear bandannas and what if the bandanna I am wearing is the wrong color in the wrong neighborhood?  Then all my friends back home when interviewed for the 6-o'clock news would all be like, "wow, no, I never knew she was wrapped up in a gang, but I am not surprised, she showed signs." 

Or what if I get a "role" in a film that turns out to be some snuff film or worse, straight to video production...what if the director drugs me and harvests my kidneys and I wake up in a bath tub in some seedy motel on the Sunset Strip without any recollection of what happened and then everyone is like, "huh...so it's not an urban myth..." 

Or WORSE,,,,,what if I fail.

So I am sitting in my Mom's kitchen about a week before I was to leave and I started to cry... When she asked what my problem was and why was I being such a cry-baby -  nah, just kidding, she was very sweet when she asked why I was crying... I explained to her I wasn't sure if I was making the right decision for me...I was so unsure of a lot of stuff in the near future, I was afraid.  Afraid of taking this leap of faith, without a net, without my family or friends I had in Houston, going solo into a new life, afraid no one would laugh at my jokes!   Afraid of lonely nights lying awake, afraid that I might have to come back to Houston before anything happens....I wept that what I was about to do was a big, scary deal and.... I was nervous.  My mom sat me down and shared with me something her grandmother told her a long time ago.  That in life, it's hard to see the "big picture," day-to-day, and often, it's hard to understand your direction and purpose.  Instead, the life you live and the paths you choose are threads that we weave into our personal rug of life and it's not until it's all over, when you look back and flip the rug over and see this amazingly beautiful pattern, your creation, all your fears and triumphs, defeats and experiences you see the big picture, your rug.  Regardless if what you do is "right or wrong" you are creating something, your journey, and that's what it's all about because if all we did was focus on the here and now or the destination, what's the point. 


Like Uncle Jed, Granny, Ellie and Jeffro - I load up my duffel, and I move to Beverlyyyy...well, West Hollywood, but you get it.

Until next post -
Caroline

Three, two, one - IMPROV!

Well as you know from my first post, I missed my first class at Second City due to missing my flight, but I was able to join a class on Saturday.....Three hours at Second City for my first time...it was awesome!

and here is were the improv magic happens!  On Hollywood Blvd in the heart of LA between a lingerie shop for men and a chotchke shop!  What more could a girl ask for!!!  Before I pull the curtain back on this amazing improv mecca, I must share with you my journey to my first class.

I live in West Hollywood, or WeHo as it's called by the locals, which, by Googles account is three and a half miles.  It's a beautiful SoCal day, sunny and about 80 degrees, perfect day to ride a bike..So I decide to ride my roomates bike there.  So I putz around all morning, a little coffee shop action, some window shopping, a bit of resale therapy...then I come home, get ready and hit the road at 2:15 for my 3:00 class, thinking 3.5 miles would take, oh maybe 20 mins, at the most to get there....So I bop down to the garage, unlock the bike, walk it out to the street and hop on....um...wait.  Something isn't right here...let me lower the seat.  (Oh, I need to let you know my roomate is 5'11 and I am a whopping 5'2 - on a good day...)  Yeah, so I am like, wooha, my feet could barely touch the pedals and I need to lower this business!  I check the time, it's 2:23 now.  So I unlock the seat and try to lower it.  Well, it's not going any further down.  A bit of panic hits me as I am trying to think about my other options for getting to class without being late.  (Being late was out of the question seeing as I missed my class yesterday.)  No other options.  Great, okay, well, I will make do.  Oh also, it's been about 10 years since I have ridden a bicycle, just so you know.  So I go over to the curb so I can boost myself up onto the bike, and with the most awkward of movements begin my trek to Second City.  After my failed attempt at lowering the seat, I was unable to lock it back into one position, so the seat basically was now similar to that of a swivel chair.  Yeah, so I am literally all over the road, wobbling like I lost all control of my arms and legs but finally I manage to stabilize myself and find a comfortable rhythm, just about the time when I see a stop sign on the corner of a busy street.  Stopping.  Oh man, how in the hell am I going to stop this bike since my feet can't touch the ground...I quickly think about the curb and make my way over to a crashing stop.  That's basically how I managed stopping the entire way there, and back.  Oh, on another note, Google forgot to mention, the entire 3.5 miles were basically UPHILL.  Sooooooooo, with 5 minutes to spare, I make it to Second City...all frazled, discombobulated, extreamly sweaty but nonetheless, all in one piece.  Thank you Jesus!
I lock up my bike and head up the stairs to my first class.  You walk into this place and literally, the energy of the building is intoxicating.  People are buzzing all around, there are shows there every day, making their way to their class rooms or rehearsal stages.  I enter my room, "C" and I am here.  WOW.  The room is long with chairs along on side and the other is exposed brick with large poster-style photos of those who have come before me.  Mike Myers, Gilda Radner, Tina Fey, Chevy Chase....and now me.  

Until next post,
Caroline

LaLaLAnded!

TOUCHDOWN LAX...a bit late and a lot tired, I landed in Los Angeles!  So while I was chatting up moving to LA and telling everyone what my plans were (mainly so there was a ton of people holding me accountable not to back out) I received much advice....or should I say, warnings.
The main three were:
1. NO ONE in LA smokes.  You can't even smoke in your car.
2. There is NO GOOD MEXICAN food in LA, period, so eat all you can while you're still in Houston.
3. People in LA keep to themselves, no one is friendly and be careful, because you can get eaten alive.

So, let me break these down one at a time, mind you, I have only been here for 24 hours, but I have enough data to draw some preliminary conclusions.

1. Moments after arriving to LA, I walk out of the airport to meet my ride and I am SLAMMED in the face by a massive, Michael Jackson rising up from the stage on his Thriller tour, plume of cigarette smoke to the point of which I start coughing insanely like I just smoked a whole pack at once.  My ride picks me up and instantly he lights up a cigarette in his car.  "Um, I thought it was illegal to smoke in your car in LA?"  I ask with a tone of accusation.   The look he gave me caused me so much shame and embarrassment, I pretended like it was a joke.  (NOTE: No, no it's not illegal to smoke in your car, in the street, on patios, in some bars/restaurants, basically it's like Europe.)


2. After hanging out with my new roomies, they suggested to go to this little place around the corner from our house in WeHo (West Hollywood) called The Spanish Kitchen for dinner.  Instantly I was like, no, no no no no....Because with all my warnings, I knew the Mexican food here in LA was no bueno so I was like, are there any other places because I hear the Mexican food in LA isn't all that.  My roomies were like, "you're insane.  This place is awesome, it's walking distance and we're going."  When in LA....I agreed to go knowing there would, if nothing else, be bottled beer.   
There are two main barometers I gauge Mexican food restaurants by, their chips y salsa and frozen margaritas.  The homemade chips were the perfect density for salsa dipping.  Not too thick, not too thin, not too salty, but juuuust right.  The salsa was honestly some of the best I have ever tasted...the surprise of the night, cilantro ranch dip.  Okay, so they made it to first...let's see if they can go for 2 with the margaritas.    Not only were their frozen margaritas delicious, they didn't come from a slushy machine, they were blended to order, by hand, from the nicest (I know, no one in LA is nice) bartender.  Smooth and fresh, amazing cocktail.  For starters we had lobster crepes with a chipolte blackbean reduction.  Um, WOW - back flip,  mamma-slapping, divorce-inducing delicious.  (NOTE:Yes, yes there is good Mexican food in LA.  Wait, no, not good, AWESOME.)
DONE.  
http://www.thespanishkitchen.com/index.html

3. Duly noted people in LA are not friendly.  Okay, I got it, I get it, I will learn to deal with it.  Well as soon as I arrive to LAX, minutes after my carcinogenic embrace by the city, my friend's boyfriend arrived to pick me up, whom I had never met before, and was amazingly nice.  Took all my bags, opened my door, made sure I was comfy and asked if I needed anything, all in the span of 30 seconds.  Okay, well, this IS my friend's boyfriend, so I can't really judge him since there is a strong probability she made him be nice to me, right?....plus, no one is friendly in LA......wrong.  Everyone, everyone I have encountered from joggers on the street, coffee servers at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, bums, maintenance men, postal workers, the retail shop people, bartenders, strangers....all very, very nice.  But no one here is friendly...so perhaps this is just a freak of nature and it will all change...I will report back on this subject later on, for now, I will focus more on the people in LA killing me with kindness then eating me alive.  (NOTE:  Cities don't make people who they are, people are who they are regardless of geographical location.  There ARE friendly people in LA, VERY friendly people, you just have to believe it.)

Until next post,
Caroline