Me, Tom Cruise and My Mother's Vindication !

Tom Cruise is in his late 40's, listed somewhere between 5 foot 7 and 5 foot 9, my guess 160-175 lbs, hazel brown eyes, brown hair and a whole lot of sexiness!

Alejo Ramirez (me) is in his late 20's and is 5 foot 11 (&1/2). That half is very important. I generally float between 185-195lbs. I have dark brown eyes and dark brown hair with a whole lot of not bad looking.

Tom Cruise is world famous.

Alejo Ramirez is well known in his hometown. At least recognizable to some in his hometown.

Tom Cruise has over 1.5 million followers on twitter.

Alejo Ramirez has 23.

Tom Cruise has a 10 minute video on his website trying to show you that he has talent.

Alejo Ramirez thinks he has (some sort of) talent but has no propaganda to display the argument.

Tom Cruise is an international movie giant.

Alejo Ramirez wants to be an international movie giant. well, sort of.


let the comparison begin !!!!













look at how intense we are!

As you can see the parallels run deep between Cruise and myself. Okay, maybe not. But since I was a little boy my mother has repeatedly told me that I, Alejo Ramirez looks very much like Tom Cruise. I know, it's funny. HaHaHa. It's not that funny. I have tried to convince her otherwise. Not because Tom Cruise is a bad looking guy but because I don't look like Tom Cruise. Ben Stiller looks more like Tom Cruise than I do and I don't look like Ben Stiller either. My mother is very persistent. Even when discussing it with family, friends and strangers that disagree with her, she holds steady and firm. She is like an oak. As I get older, she is more certain that I look like Tom Cruise.

I've have mentioned this to friends over the years and the typical response is disagreement. Only a couple of times have people found it funny and my friend Seth likes to make Top Gun references when I have a short but not too short crew cut hair style, similar to the style of hair Tom Cruise had while playing his famous Maverick character in Top Gun. "Engage Maverick, engage!" Seth will shout. It's funny. He does it with charm.

No one else has seen the resemblance but others, when told the story, can maneuver their way into agreeing with my mother. There is the, "oh, yeah, I can kind of see it." But no one other than my mother has ever has flat out said. "You look like Tom Cruise."

Until a week ago. It happened. I was at work.

I was at the register of my Starbucks taking drink beverage orders. A nice woman named Karen ordered a chai and by the time we had finished our social and financial transaction she kindly says, "How often do you get the Tom Cruise thing?"

"Excuse me?" I replied.

"How often do you get the Tom Cruise thing? You look a lot like him. I know, I worked this distance," making a hand gesture of about 6 inches, "away from him for about 3 days." She finished her story and I could do nothing but laugh and then tell her the story of my mother's persistent crusade of reminding me and notifying the world that her son looks like Tom Cruise.

Maybe I just have to swallow my pride and look like a world famous movie star. Damn! But I've been told throughout the years that I look like other celebrities too. Rivers Cuomo (lead singer of Weezer), Jason Schwartzman, Mo Rocca, the guy from the "Can you hear me now?" Verizon commercials, the guy from the UPS white board commercials, the guy from the new State Farm commercials.... AGH! Let's not forget the monthly, " You look like a guy I went to high school with. Are you (insert name) from (insert place)?"

Apparently, I look a lot like a lot of other people or they look like me. Too bad for them. Or! I remind a lot of people of other people, which still isn't good for them and it's not great for me either. Hmm....

There can only be one! I don't mind if Tom Cruise wants to look like me. (Insert false ego) Sure he can still try to play parts meant for actors in their early 30's but I have yet to reach my early 30's, so suck it Tom Cruise! You and your fame, your success, your attractive girlfriends and wives and all the other really cool stuff you probably have! Yeah, I've got nothing. (insert real disappointment) Well played Tom Cruise, well played.

Mom, I guess you were right all along.

till next time.

This-Is-LA. Where the Party At?

This weekend is Coachella weekend. So the party is at Coachella.

Coachella does not take place in LA but in Palm Springs. From what I gather, Palm Springs is a couple hours away from LA. I have no sense of direction, especially in a city I just moved to, so I really have no idea. Coachella is a music festival full of attractive, hot, sweaty people with other less attractive sweaty people grooving to righteous tunes, doing drugs, drinking drinks and kicking it, all in the hopes of a good time.

I am not going to Coachella. Of course not. It a simple case of funds. I don't have funds for concert, stay, and good times. I just moved to California and I work a job that doesn't pay me in exciting festival tickets and then some. I accept the short comings for now. But let's face it. Do I really want to go to a place that is hot, filled with 18-40 year old people drinking lots of beer and what not, half naked people everywhere, dancing, and mischievous behavior? Of course I do. Do I want to be at a place where normal people and undercover cops walk around asking you if you want shrooms or assistive products for your enjoyment? Do I want to see the Black Keys (represent Ohio baby!) rock the house/festival? Do I want to hear the throws of passion between one couple in the tent next to me? Yes, Yes, and sure.

I've been in LA for almost two months now and I haven't seen the bar where bad things happens. I say, "bad" meaning cool and I say, "bar" meaning any place where there is cocaine in the bathroom, someone fucking in the stall and a famous person making it rain with something other than George Washingtons. Where is this place? For years I've heard of the excess that LA throws at you but I have yet to see it.

In truth, I have yet to see it because I go to bed most nights by 11 (PM not AM). I don't go to that many bars because it is an issue of funds. I don't have funds for lavish beer activities and friendly socializing with complete strangers. Not only do I go to bed at 11 (PM not AM), most nights but I don't do cocaine and have no intention to start. I don't have sex in public bathroom stalls nor do I know any famous person who will make it rain anything bigger than a $20. Just saying. Do people still make it rain? Is that a cool thing to say still? I don't even know what is cool! So it makes sense that I don't know where the party is at or where the drugs are or where the sex be taking place or where the celebs waste their fortune on the little people like me.

Maybe my naivety just led me to believe that the party happens everywhere in Los Angeles. It's the city of angels and demons. Good people doing virtuous good things that good people do that make you feel guilty for not being as good as they are. Demons doing naughty, naughty things that you wave your finger towards but inside you say to yourself, "man, I wish I could do that and not get caught." Jokes and the egg yolks are on me because the only angels I see are made of stone and plaster inside pier gift shops and the only demons I notice are on the 405, typically behind the wheel of the faster moving vehicles.

So I'll have to live without the fun and adventure of extravagant living. I'm almost 30! I may not exactly always act my age but I certainly act my wage because I cannot afford to party. Maybe not affording to party is affording me the time to work on the various projects I neglect? Hmmm... Is it possible by working hard now, I can party later? Why do I have this fascination to party?I like to party. Everyone likes to party. Sure I might be turning 30 sooner than later but I fear letting go of the youthful spirit that has made me so much fun to somebody who thinks I am fun will just bring out the bore in me. I don't want to be lame. I know going to bed at 11 (PM not AM) is pretty lame. I might already be lame.

Oh fuck it! Why am I complaining? The most fun times I've had are hanging with two or three good friends in quiet bars, at the movies, in pool halls, playing cards, at a show or around someones house. I've always resigned to the notion that it's not what you do but who you do it with that makes it fun. Who cares about the party because it is the company you keep. Yeah!

(pause for effect)

right?

right?

yeah, I'll go with that for now.

till next time.

The Journey for An Apartment - A Tale of Two Friends, part 2.

So I called Yuri.

I called him and asked If I could come down to his place, use his Internet and make a call or two. It was easier than trying to find a cafe with free Internet and a place to park. I know there are cafes everywhere with free Internet but unfortunately there are not a lot of places with free parking. I did not want to worry about something like parking, plus I had only been in Los Angeles a little over a week and I really didn't know where to go or how to get there.

To bring you up to speed. I was feeling down and out. A friend, who I had known for a decade just left me hanging without a future residence to reside, with no explanation and no way to get a hold of him. I was a little crushed.

So I drove to Yuri's. I gave him the low down, the down low, the 411, the cut and dry, the skinny, a general update on what had recently occurred. He was kind enough to provide dinner and some wine. I explained my story. He listened. He was sympathetic to my problem. Yuri even offered to let me sleep on his couch for a couple of days till I got settled.

At this time I was confused and a bit flustered. I had to start work the next day. I was starting my old job at a new position, so I was starting work without a place to live. I wouldn't get a real chance to find a new home till the next week due to my work schedule. My sadness was starting to turn to hard boiled frustration. I wanted answers. Unfortunately I could only conjure up various scenarios for how this happened. I could not test my theories or come to any concrete conclusion which also sucks.

Thankfully, Yuri was kind enough to let me stay at his place but his place was an hour away from Los Angeles. My drive to and from work was frustrating most of the time. Making a six or seven hour work day longer by 2-4 hours of driving. I couldn't just go around the corner to see an apartment or house. It was a bit of nuisance to email, call or text listings for residence and try to set up appointments around the same time or anytime I was in the area. I know my life had really hit rock bottom.

I'm kidding. I know it wasn't that rough. While all this was happening, the economy was still looking down the barrel of a gun, Japan just had an awful natural disaster and then some, and whole bunch of other awful things were happening across the globe. It wasn't that bad but it was difficult for me. It wasn't, "oh holy lord, save me from this hell" kind of bad but again, it was difficult. What made a difficult situation a much easier situation was the friend who didn't leave me stranded, Yuri. Sure, I could have slept in my car. Sure, I could have spent money on hotels or hostels from time to time. Sure, I could have found the first shit hole in Los Angeles and just moved in. Sure, I could have done anything imaginable and made my situation work but I didn't. I didn't have to.

Let me give you some back story. Yuri and I are old college chums. I came out here to visit back in September and back then he was courteous enough to let me crash on his couch. He knew I wanted to come to LA and make it big. He supported this dream. Not only did he offer any assistance to the cause but also provided constant positive reinforcement during the winter months as I plotted my return to southern California. He has had my back the entire way. I cannot thank him enough. The best thing Yuri gave me other than support was the opportunity not to fail. I could have started out rough, maybe set myself up to fail but the simple act of welcoming me into him his home was good enough to remove the bitter taste from my mouth due to the previous abandonment and start fresh.

My stay was more than a couple of days. It took me two weeks to find an apartment and another 12 days to move into my new home. I could not buy Yuri enough dinners or thank him enough. Not just him but his other roommates as well; Nick and Lance, who were both very kind to me.

I don't know how to quite think of Rick yet. It is hard to let go of a friend you've had for ten years but at the same time after all this, it is a friendship hard to hold onto. I don't know if he chickened out or if he had no real plans of moving. I don't know if he felt guilty over the rejection for the apartment. I don't know anything. I haven't heard from him. He called me the day after we were rejected while I was working and left a voice mail. The voice mail said, "Hey, this is Rick. Call me back." Did I call him back? You bet your sweet sweet ass I called him back. He didn't answer though. He didn't answer the next six times I called over the next few days. The last voice mail I left explained how I was making my search for an apartment a solo adventure. I was on my own but then again, not really. I thought he might have been dead but his twitter and foursquare account showed activity. (useful stalking method, don't judge)

I only know three people in LA. Most of them are involved with school, work and/or business adventures that take up most of their time. I'm a shy guy that was never great at meeting people so it would have been nice to have that 4th friend to do things with but oh well, sometimes the cookie crumbles.

Now, I move forward. I have a place. I have a nice roommate and friendly landlord. I am in the heart of it all, well, west of the heart of it all. My story isn't a sad one. Apparently, this happens a lot, so I've been told, by many people. I am just doing what I've been trying to do the past couple of years and that is, do the best I can with what I've got. Now, it is time to make other dreams come true. Rick and I had some dreams. We talked mightily about our ambitions. Now, it's just me. I have no connections and don't know what I am doing. Our adventures of being awesome together have shifted to ... to...? I don't know yet. I know what I want but I do not know how to get it or where I am going but I'll be sure to fill in the blanks.


oh well, till next time.







thank goodness for good friends and couches. Couches not necessary.

The Journey for An Apartment - A Tale of Two Friends, part 1.

I arrived in Los Angeles on February 19, 2011. It was a Saturday. It was raining. Sunny California? Not yet.

I had just driven in from Flagstaff, Arizona were a snow storm made the drive much more adventurous. It was adventurous since not a soul in Arizona knows how to drive in snow nor are they capable of understanding that snow, ice and general wetness can cause the roads to be slippery thus hazardous to cars and the passengers within. I being from Ohio knew how to handle myself appropriately but feared for my life due to the many idiots on the road.

I had started my journey in Ohio the 14th. I made my first stop in Missouri . The next day drove to Oklahoma. The next day to Flagstaff, Arizona. I stayed in Flagstaff so I could see the Grand Canyon and hang with a friend. It was worth it.

So I arrived in LA on February 19th. I happen to arrive the same day a good friend arrived from Florida. Not really a coincidence like I make it sound. He was a good friend and after the events I'm about to tell you, I'll use the adjective "good" less frequently. I don't want to mention his name because that might be rude but for all intensive purposes we will call him Rick because his name is actually Rick. So Rick arrived from South Florida that evening. I picked him up from LAX then we met a friend of mine for drinks and dinner. We didn't have a hotel yet but I was confident that finding one would be a task as simple as breathing. After dinner with my friend Yuri, Rick and I went off to find a hotel because we had no place to stay. We had not found our apartment yet. I say 'we' because Rick and I were looking for an apartment for the both of us. It took us 3 hours and stops at over 20 hotels to find a room because they were all booked due to the NBA all star game. At first it was frustrating but by the end it just became one of those Rick and Alejo adventure stories that are just so awkward that they can only be funny, maybe only funny if present at the time.

The next day Rick and I started our journey to find an apartment. We checked out Craigslist.com, we looked up adverts in the local papers and mags, we drove around, we walked into open houses, we even walked into some locked houses. We asked around, we made phone calls, text messages, sent emails and even thought about combing the area via air balloon. We met people, shook hands and did follow ups on the places we liked. We ventured into Hollywood, West Hollywood, Silverlake, Echo Park, Culver City, Los Feliz and other hip type places around the Los Angeles area. We got feedback from friends and advice from strangers. We searched high and low, far and wide, narrow and thin, in and out, up and down, around and about for an apartment, duplex, house or whatever. Well we searched from like 8am to 4pm, so it wasn't that exhaustive of a search. I am fond of a little hyperbole. Come on, give me a break. We were new to LA and we wanted to kick it old school and free style with new friends, hot destinations with our silky smooth style. Ok, 2/3 of those 'kicking it' methods are true.

Eventually, we set our eyes on the second place we found. It was a cozy little duplex on the edge of Hollywood and West Hollywood. It set the bar when we found it and nothing surpassed it. In the end, I think we got a little tired of looking and staying in hotels. Rick dealt with our future landlords. I don't know how or why but that is just the way it happened. He got the phone calls, made the phone calls and set up the meetings. Within six days we had filled out the applications and on that Friday, Rick gave me the thumbs up for our new place. We got it! We got it! We got it! I could breathe again.

The next morning Rick was on a plane to Philadelphia to meet with family for a few days followed by a trip back to Florida for oral surgery and then hitting the road to Los Angeles to meet up with me to start this adventure together. An adventure that included international jet setting, music maestros, film geeks and super cool dudes that drink fine wine and enjoy the company of fine people. OK, only part of that is true but it sounded good, right? It's good to have goals.

On Monday we were signing a lease. I stayed in a hotel for two days before signing, elated that I was going to have my first California home. I did nothing while I waited those two days. I slept. It was glorious. I didn't care that it was the weekend. I was on cloud 9. If the elevator went any higher I probably would have found myself on cloud 187 (out of 187).

So the Sunday before our lease signing occurs, I text Rick to see if everything is up to snuff, kosher and set to rock and roll. He didn't reply. I didn't fret. He could have been busy with family. Nothing to worry about. I text him the night before. I get no response. I thought, maybe the time difference from Philly to LA was causing some snafu in the lines of communication. I wake up 7am west coast time that Monday morning, the Monday morning, the sign the lease Monday morning. I text Rick again but there is no response. I call him an hour later, and an hour after that, and an hour after that and still no response. I was in panic mode. I contact a mutual friend to see if she had heard from Rick the previous two days but nothing. I check his facebook and foursquare pages (thank you social networks for providing some type of useful stalking) and nothing there was to report. I was a bit worried. Okay, very worried. I left a voice mail asking for some type of explanation. Somehow I got myself together and went to my new place with the intention or more appropriately the hope that everything was cool, that the paperwork was already done and ready. Hoping that Rick had gotten a hold of our new landlords and gave them the skinny on what was going down.

Nope. Hopes dashed.

In fact we hadn't gotten the place yet. No paperwork was at all ready. Nothing was set in motion. Our application had yet to be accepted. I played it cool, though the landlord of what is now the place I didn't get shared how obvious my confusion and disappointment was. Poker face? I think not! So I called Rick, very sad and confused and left another voice mail.

I didn't know what to do so I went to the movies. I didn't want to see something sad or profound. I wanted to see something stupid. I wanted a distraction. So I saw Hall Pass. Unfortunately but not unexpected, the movie was not a very good distraction or maybe it just wasn't a good movie. No, it wasn't a good movie and it wasn't a good distraction. As the previews started, I got the call that our application was declined. I won't say why but I can say it wasn't my fault. So the movie was over. I was sad. I had no place to go. I couldn't get a hold of my friend. I was feeling like a big shit or like someone had taken a big shit on me. Even a trip to my favorite record store to do some uplifting shopping did not help. I didn't know what to do or where to go. I was stuck or lost. I was baffled and distraught. In summation, I was fucked.

What to do?

I called Yuri.

to be continued...

Steven Speilberg !

So I met Steven Spielberg. Yes, I met Steven Spielberg. Well, I sort of met him. No, I didn't see him at a distance, like down the street or thru the window at some department store. No, I didn't see him give a lecture about film making. No, I didn't see him shooting a scene for his latest film on Hollywood Boulevard while security swarms him. I met Steven Spielberg.

It is a benefit of working at a magnet beverage and food outpost at a key location. Apparently he is a casual regular. When I say casual regular, I mean he comes in from time to time, like every so often, like now and then, like pops in once and a while. All I can say is he ordered a grande 3 pump, no water, no foam chai latte.

It was exciting. It was very exciting. It was very exciting for a guy who doesn't even really like Spielberg's work that much. Come on, does it ever get better than Jaws, Close Encounters and the first Indiana Jones film? I think it's hills and valleys after that with more valleys than mountainous peaks. In the end, we didn't talk about that.

I had an urge to debate film with him. I had wanted to tell him that many of his films are simply frustrating and that he sells out far too often for the most powerful film maker in the world. Oh and he is the most powerful film maker in the world, there is little debate to that. If he wanted to do a film about peanut butter, squirrels and shag carpet, as an allegory for the economic struggles we are facing, he could. The Peanut Butter Tales of Tobey the Rabbit would be green lit in under eighteen minutes. In the end, I didn't debate film with him but on a lighter note, part of me also wanted to say that Animaniacs ruled!

No, I didn't bring up the movies at all. I didn't even bring up my own film pursuits or that it would be a dream to work with him. I didn't tell him how much I love the last hour of Jaws or that I read his autobiography as a boy. I did not tell him that my father and I have a close connection through movies like he and his own father. I didn't tell him anything personal about myself. I wanted to. I wanted to ask him for his autograph. My father thought I should have asked. I didn't do anything a starstruck person should do. Yes, I was starstruck. How could I not be? I may not like your films that much Mr. Spielberg but I'd be a foolish fool in failing to recognize that you are the most famous and powerful film maker of your generation and that is impressive whether a nobody like me likes your movies or not.

What did we talk about? I simply asked him for his order, double checked it, double checked it again because I had it incorrectly written on the first cup, asked about his morning and what may come throughout the day. I might have said something silly or stupid that caused a polite chuckle out of him. I don't know much other than his order but I do know that he was polite, soft spoken and just like you or me. All of which made the experience far greater.

Maybe I am a coward for not advancing my career. Maybe I should have made an attempt for an autograph. Maybe I should have done more? Then again, maybe by treating him as a normal person, I did the right thing. I think I did. Would it have been nice to get noticed? Yes, but I still have some dignity and can respect a man just trying to start of his day with a little chai.

until we meet again Mr. Spielberg.

oh well...