Bosby Tune of the Day: "Crazy" by Alice Russell

Bosby Tune of the Day: "For Emma" by Bon Iver

Thanks to Fick from San Francisco, CA for submitting this.

Bosby vs. the Reefer

No call from the temp agency this morning + some kick ass dreams led me to wake up at 2:00 in the afternoon today.  I know that's horrible and those working a 9-5 with long commutes must hate me.  But I assure you, I do work a dozen different jobs most of the time. Just not today.  So on days like these I venture to my hang out spot, Venice Beach, to play some basketball.  It was during a pick up game when I noticed no defenders were marking me on a fast break to the basket.  That's because they were back on their end of the court hitting up a bowl of Cali's finest medical marijuana.  I have grown so used to this and so has everybody else in the area.  If you've ever been in Venice you would know that marijuana is the least of its problems.  Try staying outside after dark when all the tweekers rise up from the sewers and crawl out of the ocean looking for a fix.  I've had numerous friends from the east coast come out and visit, and they are astounded by the lax approach to weed out here.  Think of Cali's outlook on weed as the same thing as how beer is treated in Cancun on spring break.  In Cancun beer is so cheap and so available that everyone shares with everyone.  Creepy homeless Mexicans are giving beers to American toddlers.  The same thing goes for weed in LA.  As a result, I smoke very often but almost all of the time it's in a social setting.  The guys working the tattoo shop next to my bar will smoke me up when I go out back to take out the trash.  Even the losers on the basketball court will smoke up the winners after a game of pick up.  And this ain't your ordinary college weed you pick up from some shady business major with a name like Gopesh.  This stuff will make you arrive at epiphanies, make you laugh till you cry, or put you on your ass depending on the strain you purchase.  And don't get me started on the names: Rush Limbong, Harry Chronic Jr., Kareem Abdul Jabong, and of course Splifford the Big Red Bong.  My particular favorite is a strand called Valley Girl that my friends and I shared on pretty insane trip to the Red Wood Forest in No Cal.

Does anybody else not get this?

Now why am I bringing all this up? Because in a few weeks California residents will have the ability to vote on Proposition 19, which would allow anyone over 21 to have up to an ounce on them, smoke in a private residence, and grow up to 25 square feet of marijuana plants.  Proponents of the proposition advocate that it will bring tons of tax revenue to the indebted state while pushing out the Mexican drug cartels and allowing cops to focus on real crimes.  Now this all sounds well and good but I am against Prop. 19 for these reasons:

1. No matter what you say marijuana is a gateway drug.  Find me one pothead who doesn't go on to other drugs.
2. There's no buffer generation.  People will be thrown straight into this new world where pot is everywhere.  With legalization there will be commercials and advertisements.  It would be like if you went to a country where alcohol never existed and suddenly gave them a lifetime supply of tequila.  Let's see how those first few days, weeks, and even years go.
3. When smoked enough, marijuana impairs your ability to drive just as much as drinking does.  There is currently no stigma regarding smoking and driving, so of course tons of people will think they are ok to drive after "only a couple" of bong rips.  Cops will have no ability to definitively judge whether somebody has just smoked or not.  
4. This will only have a negative impact on society.  Very few people are productive after they have smoked.  Now this is when the functional potheads start giving me shit about how they are even more productive after they smoke.  Congratafuckinlations, but not everyone is like you.  And while you guys may think you are being productive, very few people will agree that creating the concept of rib clips while high is positive social work (....Bosby!)  When pot is everywhere and readily available all the time, people will then smoke all the time.  There's no hangovers for pot that prevent you from toking up daily.
5. Why fuck with a good system.  I don't see anyone complaining in LA about the state of marijuana legalization.  If you want some you can easily get it.  Nobody's stingy, everybody shares, and there's always just enough.  By that I mean you smoke a bit and go on with your day.  Plus the cops rarely give you shit.

Now I can hear the screams from all the potheads disagreeing with my points but they are all true.  I know functioning cokeheads, functioning rollers, and functioning acid droppers but nobody's beating  down the door to legalize that shit.  Just because weed doesn't kill you doesn't automatically mean it should be legal.  In the end, this thing is not going to pass in November.  Years down the line it probably will.  But come on, the people who really want this thing passed are the people who will forgot to go vote.  

Alright I'm going to go hit the Ecko Cooler (our piece) and pass out.

Sweet dreams fools

*Bosby*

Bosby Tune of the Day: "I'm Broke" by Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears

Bosby and the Receptionist

It was a relatively low key day in Hollywood.  Mondays are the one day shift I work at the bar during the week.  It's kind of the dues you pay to work the weekend shifts.  I say dues because no one and I mean absolutely no one comes into my bar during the day on Mondays.  My bar is in the middle of the Hollywood party strip and to make matters worse it has no windows.  It's a cave during the day, and nobody wants to return to the scene of the crime of their weekend debauchery to grab some tacos on Monday.  So I spend the day cutting limes and cleaning bottles in solitude.  That is until 1:00 when I call Nikki.  Nikki is the receptionist at the temp agency I work at.  You see, everyday at 1:00 I call and let the agency know whether or not I am available to work the following day.  That means at 1:00 everyday I get to speak the wonderful Nikki.  Nikki is about the fourth receptionist in the last 6 months there so the job must be terrible.  But by the way her voice perks up when I call, I know I must be making her day.  Over the last few weeks our conversations have been getting longer and longer.  Granted we just talk about how much her job sucks, but just give me time.  One of these days I'm going to go into that temp. agency and ask her out.  Now some may interpret this as creepy but I view it as a classic early 90s rom com scenario.  She's got one of those voices where you just know she's hot.  I'm only telling you this so that you can all be in on the ground floor if we turn out to be the newest Hollywood power couple.  Just think: Bicky! or Nosby!  The only thing that's stopping me is if she had some terrible deformity like a hunchback or an orb head (I'm talking a head with virtually no facial features)?  NAH it can't be. She probably looks like this:

Nikki:

This is honestly the hottest police sketch I could find.

Now for a new weekly feature called "Bosby's Billboards."  Los Angeles is overpopulated with billboards advertising the new TV shows and movies coming out.  Every traffic light you stop at you are forced to look at these often ridiculous billboards.  This week's billboard is a couple weeks old but I managed to see it as I was getting off the highway on the way home.  It's for the new A&E reality show called "Teach" starring Tony Danza.  Yes Tony Danza.  The show actually follows TONY DANZA as he teaches high school English for the first time at an inner city school in Philadelphia.

My favorite part of this billboard are the random words written on the chalkboard.  Homework!  Soliloquy! Do Now! Also the title makes it look like the name of the show is "Teach Tony Danza."  What could you possibly teach the omniscient Tony Danza?  Lastly what is that look he's giving? What is he thinking?  'Hmmmm I wonder who is the boss?'

But hey at least its not as bad as...

Alright cronies, see ya tomorrow

*Bosby*

Bosby Tune of the Day: "The Perfect Space" by the Avett Brothers

If you dig this definitely check out all their albums because all of their shit is great.  Also, check out the Delta Spirit video link at the bottom of the "Bosby's World" post.

Bosby Goes to a Gay Club

What's going on dummies? Long time no see.  Sorry for those who checked on the blog over the weekend only to find that there were no new entries.  I'm trying to build up a steady entry schedule and writing over the weekend does not seem to be in the cards.  Anyway welcome to all the new readers, and thanks to all current readers who shared this blog with their friends and coworkers.  You'll have to give them the exact URL because when you type Kill Bosby into Google, an awful band out of Omaha pops up.  Fuzzy and I spent a good ten minutes listening to their music on myspace and we can testify that they are terrible.  There some shitty Femo (Folk + Emo) group that doesn't even exist anymore. They're most recent fan post is from this chick named Mustang Vicki from 2008.

Yeah. Exactly.  HEY! Notice the use of pictures??? Fuzzy finally discovered this blog and appears to be very supportive.  So supportive in fact that he wants me to add a weekly feature called "Fuzzy's Facts."  A little overboard Fuzzy, but he's planning a presentation as we speak to pitch his ideas to me and Kluie (our third party judge).

So Friday night I went to a gay club. Wait...WHAT?  Yeah that's right, Friday night was the first night I ever went to a gay club.  Now don't start jumping to conclusions. Here's how it happened. I wake up from a long nap Friday afternoon amped and ready to go out.  So i get on the hotline and start throwing out the mass texts.  You know the ones I'm talking about: "Hey what you up to tonight?"  Some people are out of town. Some are staying in for the night.  I look at Kluie on the coach watching yet another rerun of the Nanny (Wheres does he find this stuff on the TV).  He's new in town and doesn't know anybody.  So long story short, we head over to my old roommate's (whom I used to live with years ago in LA and who also happens to be gay) place in West Hollywood to pregame.  I assumed I would go from their to a straight bar to meet up with friends while Kluie can head out with J For and get orientated with the LA gay scene.  All my other plans fall through, however, and I'm drunk so I can't drive anywhere.  So I head to Factory (Yes: Factory) with the Gat Pack.  So we get there and I tell my buddies to strap on their Stradar to find the one straight chick in the place.  After a ton of tequila and redbulls and a ton of dudes slapping me on the ass, I went creeping like I've never crept before.  I finally track down a group of chicks who appear to be straight.  Now what I'm about to say will sound extremely creepy, but just take into account that I was extremely drunk desperate for any contact with straight women.  So I stroll up to cutest chick in the group and just let her assume that I'm gay. We dance for twenty minutes or so and then I move in to hook up.  Cause girls always make out with gay guys right?  I know this logic sounds dumb as hell but I was a wreck.  So I go in for the kill and she immediately stonewalls me.  "Not gonna happen, I know your straight." I don't even think I replied in English.  I think I just went "mehhhh."  Still the night was not a total loss.  I got to meet up with some old friends and Kluie and I played a few challenging rounds of "Is that a guy or a chick."

Hey did you know its National Shitty Transition Day?  So I was at the Halloween store today and something got my attention that I can't believe I hadn't ever really noticed.  What the fuck is the deal with baby costume models.  You know what I'm talking about.  Those pictures on the cover of baby costume outfits.  Are there overbearing stage moms that berate their infants to smile for the camera to become costume models?  Or maybe there's a crooked orphanage that mistreats their children and steals all the profits from their costume modeling to buy meth.  Which brings me to the point: why would you ever make your infant wear a costume?  Babies cry when they have to burp and shit, so why would you put them in a restricting costume you sadistic assholes.

Really? How do you even carry this baby around?

Really? Babies in blackface?

You gotta be kidding me? This is horrifying and it looks like the baby's being murdered by a porn star with a huge boner.

YES!

Alright ya'll I don't know how you made it through the weekend but now you have a whole work week to look forward to the ramblings of Bosby.  Hey, let's try and get a dialogue going.  Please feel free to comment and lets get some new topics rolling.  There's gotta be more creepy baby costumes out there and I'm sure ya'll have some interesting gay club experiences.  Everything is free game on Kill Bosby. 

Night dummies,

*Bosby* 

Bosby's World

Fuzzy's out at the club.  Kluie's sleeping soundly on the couch in the living room.  That means it's time for Bosby to post up on this modest blog.  First, I would like to address some of the feedback from the readers.  Lil' Yon from Hawthorne, New Jersey alerted me of a new class of cougars that I completely forgot.  These are your older cougars. I'm talking fifties and up.  The term he so aptly uses for them is "Sabretooths" (PERFECT lil Yon).  Can you use it an sentence?
          Bill: "Hey Mark how hot are the varicose veins on that chick."
          Mark: "Bill, this Sabretooth fetish of yours has gotta stop, but I could probably titty fuck that broad         from about two feet away."
By the way, DO NOT look up varicose veins on Google images.  Also, coming soon will be an accompanying dictionary for all the new vocabulary originating in the Kill Bosby blog.

Some more Kill Bosby feedback comes from the Tan Man out of Stamford, Connecticut.  Tan Man writes, "Really enjoy the blog Bosby, but what exactly are your intentions with it?"  Fair question Tan Man.  "The City of Broken Dreams" is meant to capture the spirit of a generation trying to cope with the realities of the real world.  Virtually nobody I graduated college with is now pursuing the dreams and hopes I heard them once talk so optimistically about.  And I'm only out of college less than two years.  It's seems as if everyone  immediately settled once they got out of college.  In a country where jobs are scarce and student loans are bearing down on you, its completely understandable that overqualified college graduates seized onto the few paying jobs that were available.  Others panicked and decided that grad school was the way to go.  "For what I want to do, I need to go to grad school."  Others try to convince themselves that their current jobs are merely temporary.  But how long is temporary?  That's why this blog is called the City of Broken Dreams.  Everyday I encounter dozens and dozens of people, some my age and many much older who for some reason or another just gave up on their ambitions.  This is not a sad tale however.  Life is all about what you rebuild out of those broken dreams.  Sorry for the rant Tan Man, but what I hope to convey in this blog is all of the indecisiveness, concerns, joys, and experiences of that period of our lives where the road is not yet mapped out.

FUCK that was depressing.  So where did we leave off yesterday.  Ah yes, my goals for this my second year in Los Angeles.  In no particular order here are my four goals.

1. Act in something.  I know this sounds vague but I have considered doing some acting for some time now.  So far I have had two bizarre close calls with acting in Los Angeles.

• First, I was walking to my car when a neighbor of mine stopped me to ask some questions.  Next thing I know the guy's telling me his life story.  I'm fading in and out but I pick up some part about him doing the sound mixing for one of the later Devo albums.  SIDENOTE: people in LA have a tendency to overcompensate and exaggerate any achievements they may have accomplished.   You know inside they are sad that they haven't accomplished more so you just humor him.  When I finally gain consciousness after this twenty minute conversation, the neighbor is talking about some reality show pilot he's shooting.  Think hidden camera show.  And he wants me to be in one of the segments.  According to him I would be running through downtown LA during lunch hour while a dozen supermodels chase me and try and rip off my clothes.  The budget was really cheap and he needed a cheap actor for the part.  I agreed (unfortunately).  This guy was super creepy by the way.  Like "it puts the lotion on it's skin" creepy.  Next thing I know he's asking for my clothes measurements and shoe size.  Luckily, one day he disappeared and I never saw him again.  Also, NEVER tell your mother you got cast in a pilot because she will begin to tell everyone in your hometown that your a star when really your just an actor in your disturbed neighbor's Boner mixtape. 
• The other time I was walking to dinner when a female casting agent a little older than me stopped me and started asking questions.  I thought she was hitting on me when really she was seeing if I would audition for a new game show on the E Network. The pay was $500 and I never turn down new experiences so I said why not.  So I go to the audition and quickly realize that it's a new version of the show Blind Date and it's sponsored by Jerry Springer.  I asked to go to the bathroom and then proceeded to sprint to my car in the parking garage

2.  Write a complete script.  Every guy out here claims to be a writer, but I would like to FINISH a screenplay.  Fuzzy's already shot down my idea for an action comedy starring Al Pacino and Sean Connery as commercial airline pilots called The Buddy System.  Guess it's back to the drawing board.

3.  Move forward with my rib clips idea.  What are rib clips you may ask??? Well, think corn cob holders but for ribs.  Now you can enjoy the great taste of ribs without any of the mess.  Fuck you if you try and argue that being messy is part of eating ribs.  Just look at my first infomercial.  Picture a bride trying to enjoy her favorite food, ribs, on her wedding day.  But oh no! she's getting barbecue sauce all over her beautiful dress. POOF!  She appears eating her ribs with the help of rib clips, her dress still perfectly white. "Thanks Rib Clips!" she exclaims.  The infomercial will end of course with her tossing the rib clips over her shoulders to all the hungry bridesmaids trying to eat ribs next.  Do not even think of stealing this idea.  I have a patent pending and I've seen the Social Network.

4.  Lastly, I will try and seize on to every opportunity and adventure that presents itself over the next year.  Ambiguous I know, but since I've come to LA my goals in life have been demolished and all I know is that I want to gain as much different life experience as possible.  I'm hoping to be like a non-retarded version of Forrest Gump.

Well Bosbonites, we've had some laughs and we've shared some tears tonight.  Keep up with the feedback and please share the blog with your friends and coworkers.  I know this blog reads like the Wall Street Journal with its lack of pictures.  I'm working on it.

Till tomorrow, 

*Bosby* (Tune of the day: "People, Turn Around" by Delta Spirit  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTX8_FC9tp4 )

FUZZY IS FREE! and resolutions for the next year.

Whattt uppp! Bosby in the house!  Alright I will stop referring to myself in third person, but to my credit I am exhausted and delirious.  I just got home from work and after tiptoeing past a slumbering Kluie, I am now safely in my room writing this entry with a tub of orange sherbert in my hands.  When was the last time you had orange sherbert? Its delicious.  And fuck people who call sherbert sorbet.  "Sorbet" sounds like a french condom.  "Wi wi sir, I would like to fuck you but only if you are carrying a sorbet." or "O shit my sorbet had a hole in it.  Now you're pregnant."

Anyway, for those who can't sleep at night because of the notorious Fuzzy vs. the People of the United States case, be at ease. Fuzzy is free!  With only a 500$ speeding ticket, his driving record is as clean as his genitalia before he started college (far different case now).  Just kidding Fuzzy.  But come on doesn't the nickname Fuzzy bear a whole new meaning now?

I'll admit I have been drinking tonight, hence the now half empty gallon of orange sherbert in my lap.  I work at a bar that has a bit of a don't ask don't tell policy when it comes to drinking behind the bar.  What happens nearly every shift is that I go in with the intention of not drinking.  Then the parade of clowns ensues and I slowly sink into inebriation to cope with nonsense.  Hollywood should be called the USA network: "Characters Fuckin Welcome!"  Today I underwent an onslaught of cougars trying to reenact Sex and the City.  "Cosmos please!" There are several different classifications of cougars (this is a fact, I saw a special on it when I was high watching Animal Planet).

1. There are your standard true cougars.  These are cougars whose sole purpose in going out is bagging young horny men to satisfy their sexual needs.  True cougars usually travel in pairs (the most efficient pack number to bag dudes).  True cougars will never by their own drinks and rarely have to. 
2. Then there are your hyenas.  These are the women dragged out by the cougars to either keep them company or more likely to make the cougars look more attractive.  
3. Then there are your iCougars.  These are cougars that are ipod compatible.
4. And lastly, there are your Noogers (new name is patent pending).  These are your most common form of cougars.  Noogers are regular middle aged women disguised as cougars.  Noogers often have husbands and boyfriends, but when they go out with their girlfriends they become Noogers.  They'll drink, they'll dance, and they'll flirt with young naive men.  Rarely will Noogers go home with the man, but this does not prevent them from making complete asses out of themselves.  Your own mothers have been Noogers at some point I'm sure.  Wow, Nooger sounds absurdly racist.  I will need to come up with a new name.

So I was Bear Grylls tonight amidst all these cougars.  Instead of building a bed high up in threes to survive, howere, I had about 6 six shots of Don Julio just to get by.  Then the Elvis impersonator started his routine...  That's right an Elvis impersonator.  Some people were throwing a 50th birthday party and decided it would be fun to hire an Elvis to perform.  More shots ensue for Bosby.  Next thing I know its 1:45 AM and the bar is empty except for me and Elvis.  I start arguing with him about whether Elvis impersonators try to convey themselves as actual Elvis or if they view themselves as Elvis's little helpers (kind of like how mall Santas do).  Also never tell an Elvis impersonator that he looks like anyone other than Elvis.  I learned this the hard way when I insisted that he looked like Gene Simmons (he really did).

Hey more big news.  Fuzzy and I found a new apartment in Santa Monica.  No more elephant graveyard.  This new place is only a couple blocks from the beach and more importantly a couple blocks from the bars.  By committing to a new year lease, however, I am committing to another year in Los Angeles.  If I am going to do this I need to set some goals for myself.  Here are my three biggest goals:

Fuck it, it's almost 4 in the morning and I'm exhausted.  I'll tell you the goals tomorrow.  Before I go, I'd like to thank Jonesy in San Francisco for suggesting a new font.  Apparently the current one I had was too hard to read.  It took me about fifteen minutes to figure out how to change the font but here we are.  I hope it's easier to read.  Fick, an old roommate of mine has offered to upgrade the look of this blog so expect some changes in the future.  

Till then, you are all my little idiots.

I love you,

*Bosby*

Day Two and I Already Want to Procrastinate.

Ok so its day two.  I feel like I'm in college because I've had a few beers and already I want to push writing this post till tomorrow.  But that sums up my problem out her in LA.  LA is all about initiative.   So here I am typing.  Forgive the typos and run on sentences but I'm drinking and listening to "Monster," a leaked Kanye song from his new album that I only now just discovered.  I'm also chewing on a piece of paper from the my 365 Beers day calender.  Is that weird?

Alright so here's my living situation as it stands.  In a city with a 100 different diverse neighborhoods, I live in an area known as the Palms, which is virtually the elephant graveyard of Los Angeles.  No bars, no parks, no restaurants.  I live with a guy who for the sake of this blog will be named Fuzzy.  He works at an editing company and tomorrow he has his DUI trial.  Want hear a crazy story?  Well here's the play by play of Fuzzy's "DUI."

1. Man has two drinks with dinner at a bar in Hollywood.  Is on his third drink when a girl in Venice sexts him and tells him to come to a party in Venice.
2. So he leaves his unfinished third drink (remember this drink) on the table and makes his way towards Venice.
3. Man gets pulled over for speeding in a speed trap near Venice by two cops.
4. Cops proceed to administer sobriety tests.  Sober Fuzzy is bugging out so bad that they give him a breathalizer test.
5. Fuzzy blows a .07 (legal limit is .08)
6. Cops handcuff him and bring him to the station to administer another breathalizer test (impounding his car in the process)
7. Fuzzy blows a .05 at the station much to the cop's dismay.  So they can't keep him.  They need to release him into someone's custody.  Not going to be me because I'm bartending in Hollywood at the time.  The cops say "Hey didn't you say you were going to meet up with friends?"
8. Fuzzy replies "Yeah, but it's a party and they're all drinking."
9. Cops: "But can someone sign for you?"
10. Fuzzy: "Sure?."
11. So the cops drive Fuzzy to the party with him riding shotgun and handcuffed.
12. When they reach the party, the cops call the girl and put her on speakerphone (because Fuzzy is handcuffed).
13. After about five minutes of Fuzzy explaining to the girl that he's in a cop car out front (she refuses to believe him) she finally comes out and signs for him.
14. Fuzzy goes on to get shitfaced after the cops handing him down a bullshit DUI.

So that was a couple months ago and Fuzzy's court date is tomorrow.  Per the advice of his new DUI lawyer, Fuzzy has been attending AA meetings since the arrest.  Now dont get me wrong, Fuzzy's DUI was bullshit but the man was drinking and driving about three times a week.  So hopefully this was a reality check for him.  Based on the fact that he meets people for drinks before his AA meetings, however, I doubt the point is going to sink in.

Enough about Fuzzy.  Did I mention I have a gay guy named KLuie sleeping on my couch for a month. I worked with him in a restaurant in Boston back in the day and he asked if he could crash at my place for  a month while he figured out his shit out here in LA.  This makes the fourth gay guy I've ever lived (a lot I know). Forgive the stereotyping gay community but I have learned that for the most part gay guys are the best roommates you can have.  Here's why:

1. They're clean.
2. They're quiet (during the day).
3. They handle drugs and alcohol better than anyone.
4. And most importantly, they are the best wingmen EVER.  This is a fact.  All girls listen to the opinion of gay guys.  It's as if girls disregard the fact that the gay guy is your roommate.  If a gay guy puts in a good word for you then you're in.  

So that's the situation going on at the Palms right now.  Tomorrow I'll tell you how I intend on appeasing my mother.  You see I forgot here birthday for the second year in a row.  I know that sounds terrible but I love my mother.  I'm just terrible with dates.  Want to know what's worse?  You know who told me it was my mother's birthday a day late?  Not my father.  Not my two brothers (one of whom still lives at home) but a friend of mine whom my mother just recently friended on facebook.  If there's one reason to be friends with your parents on facebook (I declined her request), it's to be updated on their birthdays and anniversaries. 

Alright idiots,

See ya tomorrow.

Enough is Enough...

Alright so I have no idea how you ended up here.  But hey you're here so "How the fuck are ya?!"  Want to know my story?  Probably not, but you're reading my blog so I have the power to make you read whatever I want you to.  So here we go.  The story is a simple and a common one:

1. Grew up in New Jersey (South Jersey, not the MTV depicted clusterfuck that is North Jersey).  
2. Went to film school in Boston.
3. And like a million other ignorant assholes, decided to strike it big in Hollywood during one of the biggest recessions in national history.  

So I hopped in my car and drove across country to the City of Dreams.  Now I was not looking to act or direct or even be on a film set.  I could never stand those people in college and I was not looking to start in the real world.  No, my passion lay in the business.  I was an idealist who believed that I could find the new Spielbergs and produce the new classics.  Notice all the past tense.  That's because a year has passed and I have officially become the Hollywood cliche.  I work temp jobs by day and bartend in Hollywood by night.  As a result I have gained some perspective on the odds of achieving the Hollywood dream.  I have witnessed first hand all the casualties from grown up teen stars to burnt out rockers still clinging to that one song they had that went to #86 on the Billboard charts in 1989.  All the while I have undergone the Tinsletown crash course of drugs, booze, and characters along the way.

After waking up from a twelve day bender that saw me partying in Hollywood, San Francisco, and Las Vegas, I woke up and realized that enough is enough.  Every day I basically serve as bitch to the Hollywood hierarchy.  Whether its brewing coffee and picking up phones for assistants one year my senior, or making drinks for the inebriated Hollywood douche-bag aristocracy.  Everyday is the same: I give the polite answers while the truth that I really want to say races through my head never to be uttered publicly.  This blog is to vent the perspective of the guy under the bleachers who overhears it all.  Join me on my exciting and heartbreaking journey as I try and achieve anything respectable in this town.

See ya tomorrow idiots.

*Bosby*