A Moment of Reflection

There are times when you are left alone with your thoughts. I guess that is what I mean. Those moments when you are lying in your bed at 4 am and cannot fall back to sleep. Those moments in the shower where you gaze into the porcelain wall for what seems like an eternity. You're reading a book and your mind is set adrift, not about what you are reading but of something else and you find yourself at the bottom of the page not remembering anything you've read. If you've met me before then you know those moments when I stare off into a place unknown.

It's amazing what can spark a memory. Tying your shoes, a song, a meal, the way a beam of light peaks through the curtains. I've been struggling with  a lot of these moments as of late. I don't know what they mean. I'd like to think that my time here is improving. I am gaining momentum, friends and opportunities. Maybe since things are improving nicely,  when things go a bit sour the fall seems a bit more drastic. It is very possible that I am over analyzing. It is very possible that I am not allowing myself to be happy.

No, that cannot be it. I am a relatively happy guy with little to complain about. I think my father worries that I worry too much about the slow pace of progress in my life. I do worry. I worry often. But I try to tell myself that any progress is good progress. I think I am making progress and a progress I am growing more and more comfortable with.

With this progress I wonder what I could have done differently. I wonder what I could have done differently a year ago, 6 months ago, a week ago and yesterday? I wonder what it be like if my good friend, Rick hadn't left me here on my own? I wonder what it would have been like if I came here when I originally hoped at 25? I wonder if i would have even survived? I wonder what it be like if i lived in this part of town or that part of town? If made this friend, talked to that person, cut my hair, worked harder or worked less, went to that party, took this risk or that risk,  made a leap of faith or invested trust in something or someone, or just simply stayed back home?

Don't get me wrong I am happy to be in LA but to deny these moments of reflection would simply poison a central part of me. To deny an errors or regret would be as harmful as neglecting the moments you are proud of. You learn from the bad as much as the good. Right now my mind is trying to teach me something I just don't know what.

Change?

So some inquiring minds often wonder what I am like these days?

Not, what I am doing with myself or what is going on but what I am like...?

As if, I have suddenly changed. Or Maybe not so sudden? I suppose it is possible. A move, a shift to the west coast might change a guy. I'm still relatively young and impressionable. I can be swayed, influenced, manipulated and coerced into various situations, both positive and/or negative creating a change, twist or slightly altered self.

Have I changed? I don't think so. I still feel like me but that is a really dumb statement. I have not become rude like a fair amount of Los Angelinos. I don't throw money to the poor sales clerks at my local pizza shop. I also don't talk on my cell phone when I place my order. I still open doors for people and say thank you when it is done for me. I try to smile and be polite and don't offer a meaningless apology when I do otherwise.

Have I changed? So far, I don't think so. I have not adapted to California pizza. I don't like In-N-Out Burger. I don't surf. Despite a promising love affair with the Dodgers, I have not converted to liking any LA sports teams and that includes the Lakers. I don't wear black all the time and I have not perfected the five o'clock shadow from yesterday, for today. I don't own Ray-Bans. I still use my turning signals while driving. LA people like to try to get into elevators before you or anyone else in the elevator gets out. I still enjoys zoos and hats. I also find it a bit odd when restaurants and bars have out door heaters when it hits a temperature below 70 degrees. Maybe that is the Midwest in me that is still telling me 65 degrees is not cold.

Los Angelites also tend to say a lot and back up very little. They want to get to know you, work with you or hang out with you or at least they say they do but a lot of times such things never happen. I understand what Chili Palmer went thru in the film Get Shorty. I say what I mean. Far too many in this town sugar coat, bullshit or simply lie and then insincerely apologize afterwards.

All of this kind of stuff sounds like LA bashing but I have met plenty of good people in LA. A large percentage of the time they are from somewhere else but beware, when you come to LA, it can change you.

Maybe I haven't changed or maybe I don't want to think of myself that way. I still have a desire to buy more music and movies than I can afford. Thankfully, I don't. I still kill any plant I buy. I'm trying hard not to. Stupid Orchids. I still root for my Midwest and east coast sports teams (Go Browns, Buckeyes and Red Sox!). While dancing to my own tune, I still play too many air instruments in public. I still try to maintain my shape and fitness. I have started to wear Top-Siders but will not let go of my various Chuck Taylors. I still enjoys zoos, hats and useless information. Thankfully, I live by one of the few Wendy's in this town and I cannot resist a spicy chicken sandwich from time to time. My hand writing is still a bit messy and I don't read as much as I should but I still buy books in the pursuit to look smart.

Sure, there are a lot of things that haven't changed like my fear of almost anything or my over excitement for childish type things. I haven't gotten taller and I haven't purchased a new nose. I don't have a tattoo, yet, but since everyone here has a tattoo my desire for one has somewhat faded.

So with 6 months into this trip, I guess I haven't changed much but maybe just evolved into a cooler, sexier, more talented, crime fighting, lady loving man. I've also become quite good at using a thesaurus and exaggeration, some might call it hyperbole.

Going Home

So a couple of weeks ago I went home. I moved to LA in mid February and was returning home for the first time to attend a wedding as well spend time with family and friends.

It was interesting to come home. In fairness this isn't my first time returning home after leaving it. I've lived other places than Cleveland, Ohio. I left as a teenager. I left for college. I left to pursue love. Now I'm simply gone. I left for me and tomorrow.

Going home is interesting and not at the same time. It is interesting to see old faces and encounter the changes that have occurred in your absence. It is fun and arrogant to think that the result of certain changes were due to my departure. A town in shambles, a people longing for my return are all self satisfying fantasies that are not true but I think most of us somewhat wish it were just a little true when we go off to see what is beyond the horizon.

In truth, Cleveland and the small suburb I grew up in are very much still the same. Visiting my family and friends while on vacation unfortunately becomes something centered on recalling old memories rather than creating new ones, catching up on lost time and dishing out plans for the future. At times it feels like a progress report. A memo to remind people that you've left, you've done this and that, and what may come up. Sad to say going home wasn't as enlightening as I'd hope.

I cannot count how many times I had to explain the move, what it was like in LA, or what I was doing with myself on the west coast. Unfortunately, not everyone I know reads this blog. So sad.

I loved seeing my friends and family. I had fun. I had fun in ways I had yet to discover in Los Angeles. I had been reminded of what I had been missing the previous five months. A part of me still longs for that life. But it takes time to make friends. There is work involved and a bit of patience to make good friends.

My trip also reminded me that with great friends and loving family, there is no recap or loss of momentum. Not seeing my close friends and family for months had no effect on our relationship. Five minutes after a quick 'hello, how do ya do?' it was as if nothing had ever changed. You pick up where you left off until a moment arises when you think to yourself, gosh I've missed this. I've really missed my friends and family. That notion led some to believe that I wouldn't want to leave. They were wrong.

Despite those tender sentiments by the end of my trip I was longing to return home. Not back home because Ohio will always be my hometown but it's not my current residence. I enjoy my life in Ohio but it is not the life I want to have. I may not have all the pieces to the puzzle. There are several thousand pieces to this puzzle and all of them came without a box to guide me. With any large puzzle certain pieces are bound to wind up missing underneath the rug or couch. Some bent or some not fitting quite right because they were forced into an incorrect slot at an earlier date. All i have to do is keep arranging them to create the picture I'd like to hang over my fireplace. Right now, I enjoy piecing together the puzzle.

Writing.

I haven't been writing in this blog as much as one would like. The one would be me. I have sort of hit a wall. If I knew the components to building a solid fortifying wall I would go on and on about this wall that is not safe guarding my creativity but keeping my creativity from escaping.

I like to imagine the wall has layers like a Dairy Queen ice cream cake that happens to be 72 feet high. That's a lot of cake. For looks we can add a moat. The wall is high and dangerous. I think I'll find myself a twelve year old with a vivid imagination and an obsession with Lord of the Rings to help me with my wall construction.

I haven't been writing here because I don't have too much to report. I feel that maybe I should put myself in more adventurous situations. Maybe I haven't been writing in my blogs because I have been stressed with my own writing. I moved to LA to write.

I am trying to write a script. I know. I know. Such a cliche. young stud(?) comes to LA from small town, nowhere USA and wants to write, live and die. I guess it could be worse. I could be an actor. So I am writing a script. Is it Sunset Boulevard or Hiroshima Mon Amour? Not exactly. Megh, it's not even close. But I've been stuck. One scene that has been rewritten more times than I have fingers and it still stinks. I haven't been able to figure it out and because of that I have ever growing doubts. Cliche strikes again! Another writer unsure of his abilities is the story of my life. Well, I'd rather be that guy than the arrogant prick who writes for the sake of some self serving prophecy.

Some days I stare at my computer like the girl at the bar I know I cannot get. If you know me that means I'm sitting at the bar with no intention to go up to that girl and even try. Cowardly? Yes but even worse, it's unproductive. I have felt uninspired. I might as well have be typing with a piano.

I don't need blocks. I have my fair share of distractions, frustrations and confrontations to handle. This blog entry alone is just an excuse to exercise certain demons. I am writing today. I will write tomorrow. I will write on Tuesday. No time for excuses and running low on time for results.

I vented. thanks blog. Off this crazy thing called love and onto the next topic.

It's been a month. I'm still alive.

So I noticed about a week ago that it had been 3 weeks since I have posted anything on this blog. Shame on me. I don't want all my adoring fans (I'm thinking 14) to miss out on my adventures. It's not that I am lacking ideas just working on other things in my life.

So a quick update. Still working, at home, at coffee shop and picked up a second gig moving furniture for the month of June. The plot to turn my normal body into a sexy one is still stuck in the second act. I went to Hawaii with my father. It was fabulous. A much needed vacation (debatable) with much needed time spent with family (not debatable). Thanks pap.

I got a ukulele. I hear all the chicks love guys who play ukulele. Why else would lead singer of Pearl Jam, Eddie Vedder release an album of music featuring the ukulele? If ukulele becomes the hottest thing of the 2011 summer and I get no love from it, I'll be super pissed. So far, I would say I am better at ukulele than guitar. It has taken me years to become less than mediocre at guitar while it has only taken me about a month to learn most of the songs I already know on guitar. By the by, I'm not being modest when I claim to be less than mediocre at guitar. I can only play about a dozen songs, most of them less than four chords.

I've been writing a lot. You might not be able to tell by this blog but I am. I even took the time to write my first poems in about 3 years. Oh yes, back to writing love lusting poetry fit for high school teensters... that's me! Also made another failed attempt at reading Camus and contemplating revisiting Moby Dick for some reason. It might be because I'm reading The Whale: In Search Of Giants of the Sea by Phillip Hoare. I don't know, I'm so good at barely reading that it seems silly to push myself? (please note sarcasm) I really should read more things other than music and movie reviews, blogs and the occasional newspaper.

What else?

Other than trying to turn my apartment into a home, becoming more familiar with the LA landscape, making new friends and drinking a fair amount of cocktails, not much is new. No new revelations about life other than I might take an acting class in the fall. I am toying with the idea because everyone insists I should. Is it sad that the only reason I am hesitant to act is that I don't want to become an LA cliche? Oh well.

till next time

Networking.

Networking. Meeting People. Making connections. Getting phone numbers and planning meetings. Parties. Networking. Golf outings and cook outs. Dinner with drinks afterwards. Business propositions. Networking. Smiles, sometimes genuine, sometimes not. Similar situation involving laughter. Networking. Hand shakes, high fives, thumbs up and fingers used for imaginary shootouts. Networking. How do you do's? What do you do? What are you going to do? What can you do for me? Networking.

I think you get the idea. I have moved to a place where I know no one and have little to no idea of how to do, what I want to do. So, I network. I have never ever networked before. I don't know what I am doing. I don't know how to meet people or make connections. I don't belong to country clubs or have passes to hot night clubs. I'll stop mentioning all the things I don't have.

I knew networking was involved. I knew networking was an involved process where the level of commitment can effect the type of result. I know networking can help me get to where I want to go.

I am a shy guy. I can be loud, zany, and quite comical but that is for show. I am a shy guy who is uncomfortable with myself much of the time. I cringe at trying to meet girls. I find it hard to make new friends. I am not your brochacho and I am not your sexual fantasy. I keep to myself much of the time. Networking is a daunting challenge for me. I am so good at being alone and doing things on my own that the greatest challenge in moving to California is not the move, or leaving my friends and family, or even finding a job but having to network.

A week ago I went to a party. It was fun. Industry people were in attendance. I knew 2 people attending and my knowledge of them was an hour spent with them previously at a cookout two weeks prior. So I was a lone wolf. I met people but didn't really get to know anyone. I left the party as I entered the party, a lone wolf. Side note - I think this "lone wolf" thing would sound cooler coming from someone else. I don't know if I made contacts but I told my story and heard others. Got some advice and shared my opinions. I was nervous but I pulled through. What happens next? I have no idea but hopefully something.

Yes I know. It's sort of big baby thing to cry about but come on, cut me some slack. It's a hard thing to do when you've never been comfortable with who you are and you need people to like you. Absurd as it may seem, this is who I am and I know who I want to be so sacrifices to my comfort level will just have to be made for the sake of my hopes, dreams and ambitions.

till next time.

Yes LA, I Am From Ohio

As if you couldn't tell from the title of this blog, I was born and raised in Ohio. I've spent 24 years of my life in Ohio. I am just over two months in on my LA adventure and I continue to meet new people; meeting people at work, bars, beaches and wherever I roam.

At times I have a very open, loud and boisterous personality. I dance, shout, sing, use big hand motions in public and in private, either to get a laugh or simply to stretch my body or my vocals. I like to think that someone or something is watching me at all times so best to put on a good show or at least put 100% effort.

Often times my friendly nature gets called into question. It was called into question in the fall of 09 when I last visited New York City and held the door open for a lady at a restaurant. She was shocked and questioned what I was doing. I told her, I was simply being polite. She was startled, I think startled, or maybe confused by my decent human fabric. I don't think she knew that sort of kindness existed. It's not like I rescued her purse from a thief or rescued her from a burnig building, I just held the door open for her.

Because of my personality and after living in LA the past two months I am hit weekly with comments like, "you aren't from here, are you?" No, I explain and tell them that I'm not from LA. I was born and raised in Ohio. Why are the big city minds questioning my behavior? I believe in acting like a gentleman. I admit that though I may waiver from this mode from time to time, the route is one I travel often. I believe in holding doors open, calling men "sir" and women "lady" or "miss." I don't do it to seem better or because I'm uptight, I simply do it out of respect. I try to walk on the street side of the sidewalk when walking with a lady as well as helping ladies out of cars when necessary. But generally I try to smile, be happy, respect people's space, say compliments when needed or truthful, do the best I can with what I've got and work within the philosophy that every day above ground is a good day.

Are people in LA jaded? I don't know. Have people in big cities lost simple notions of common courtesy? i don't know that either. I don't have an answer but maybe that is why my Midwest attitude is found as shocking or refreshing to those who reside here. Either way I'll take it as a compliment. The down turn is that I do meet the occasional person who says, "you aren't from here, are you?" I respond. I proudly declaring that I was born and raised in Ohio. With such a declaration I'll get something like, "I knew it. You can tell these things. Us Midwest folks are special people and it takes one to appreciate another."

I guess that is a compliment. I smile and politely agree. Maybe I agree because yes, we Midwest folk kick ass and we are not as superficial, arrogant or self indulgent as other people. But wait, then I think for a second and then I think a bit longer... what these people have been saying to me in our brief moment of Midwestern camaraderie is nothing but arrogant. Yes, we just had a little pow wow, a chuckle, a riff, a moment, about how you and I are so much better than everyone else because we are from the Midwest and it takes a "special" person to recognize it. Ugh. I feel so dirty. In the end is it really bad that I am proud of where I am from? I don't think so. It can be a tippy tight rope when discussing pride and arrogance but I am generally pretty humble and often down right self depreciating guy.

What's the lesson in all of this... I have no idea. I meet a lot of people from Chicago, Indiana, Ohio, Pittsburgh, Minnesota, and other places around the Midwest and there is comfort in that. Often times people leave where they are from because they cannot wait to escape. I left to pursue a dream and it's good to know that there are people who left their home to pursue that their own dream in Southern California.

till next time.

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...

A Quiet Night

Sunday is reserved for rest. Cliche? God, I hope not.

This past saturday was my one month anniversary in LA. Lame to celebrate? I didn't celebrate but it was kind of nice to acknowledge it. I didn't get myself a cake or anything. I didn't pat myself on the back for surviving this long, even though to some it is quite an accomplishment. I simply was happy about it. Saturday I had a function. Went to a charity event for a school of which a friend's niece attends. I was supposed to volunteer but was given little responsibility so I rubbed shoulders with people that have far more access and responsibility than I. I dressed well, behaved in an agreeable manner, a little dine and dine here and there, with a drink everywhere in between. It was fun.

I had worked earlier that day then after work I had ran errands with my friend for the evenings gala event. Gala. Really? Well it was in a fancy room at a hotel with a 20's theme so.... yeah, gala, fuck it. So despite being my anniversary I didn't do much for myself except have a good time. I know, I am so selfish.

What did I do sunday? nothing. I slept. I slept like 10 hours after the party, took a three hour nap in the middle of the day sunday and went to bed by 10. It was fabulous. Let me say that again. It was fabulous. I didn't want to remove myself from the couch. I was a vegetable. I don't know what vegetable is heavily rooted into the ground but I was that vegetable on growth hormones. Sure, i've had days like this before. I've done nothing. There's been nights I called it early, especially if I had to be at work at 5 am but this day was kind of special. I choose to do nothing. I wasn't being lazy. I was a little. I wasn't being unproductive. I was a little. I wasn't even bothered by the white flag I threw in for the day. Egh, nah (throw in a bunch of other sounds that don't make up words) not really. I had done nothing. For once, I wasn't going out to meet the 1 of the 3 friends I have in this town. I wasn't getting ready for work. I wasn't looking for an apartment or a job. I wasn't working on a project. I wasn't invested in anything or anyone except sleep.

Sleep. There are times I neglect you. I am sorry sleep. When I neglect you, I am really neglecting my body. I am sorry. I don't mean to hurt you but sometimes I am busy with responsibility or fun and that is just life but I promise to take a Me day from time to time and give the rest of the world the middle finger.

Oh well, till next time.

Am I an Actor ?

Am I an actor ?

My immediate response was no. The response days later is still no. Then I got to thinking. Am I an actor?

I have been asked if I was or am an actor several times in the past week. People at work see me, hear me, meet me and ask me if I am an actor. No one ever asked me this in Ohio. In LA, people ask me this 3 times a week. I asked one gentleman why he asked me such a question and he explained that it seemed obvious since according to him, I had a, "fearless social quality." I wish that were true. My friend Diana suggested it was a compliment, a great compliment. I have a hard time accepting it because I know it's not true or at least I do not see myself having a, "fearless social quality."

Am I an actor? At this moment no. Am I acting? Do I act? Have I acted? No, not really, yes would the answers to those questions. I am not currently acting or working in the acting field. I do act from time to time in a way, the way that involves the masks that each of us wear in social circumstances, situations, blah, blah blah and all that bullshit. I use to act in high school. Yeah, I was in high school theatre productions and drama club. I was deeply into it and I was not very good. Crap, I sucked. I was never a good actor in high school. The lack of roles and the size of the few roles I had been given indicate the talent I had.

In high school I was an awkward kid who thought drama and theatre would allow me to break out of my shell. It did not work. I do not know when I broke out of my shell but it was not in high school nor was it due to acting. Sure, I told myself 10 or 12 years ago that I did not care what others thought or that I can act. In truth, I, like so many other high schoolers constantly cared what others thought and I could not act.

I stopped acting before college. I didn't have the courage, the stomach for the stage, or the ability to withstand the constant rejection that would come with audition after audition. I could not stand to hear people tell me that I don't have the right nose, wrong hair color, a nasally voice, too short, too tall, big footed, not expressive enough, too quiet, can't really sing or dance, too robotic, not natural, not good looking or not distinctive enough to act. I thought this for a long time and long ago abandoned the notion that I could ever act or be an actor.

All it takes is a handful of strangers to ask, "Are you an actor?" and the notion floats in and out of my mind like Armada ships at an old Spanish navy port in 1588. Could I act? Should I try? What caused this change? Why and where do people see this fearlessness in my personality when all I see when looking at a mirror is a boy masking fear, paranoia and disappointment? Woah, that got a little deep there, Sorry. When did I stop caring what others think? That's not true. I never stopped caring what others think. Just ask me if I care when another girl or another job rejects me. I care. It hurts. Despite all of this, maybe I should say next time someone asks, "Are you an actor?" I should simply smile and respond, "No, but I'd give it a try."

You never know. oh well, till next time.

Timothy Busfield !!!

So I work at a Starbucks somewhere on the west side of Los Angeles. I choose not to tell you or else all these women will stalk me. Probably not, but hey, I need some privacy. Plus, since this blog will focus on one celebrity in particular, I choose to keep my location private.

Oh my gosh, Timothy Busfield just walked by my store!

yeah, am I a geek? Probably. I told my co-workers and they were like, "Who?" Shame on them. When I came to visit last September, I think I came across Bruce Willis or someone that looked like Bruce Willis. Timothy Busfield might not be a huge star but I know who he is and that is good enough for me.

My coworkers asked me what has he done and all I could think was Field of Dreams, Sneakers, the West Wing, and Studio 60. Sure, he is probably best known for his work on ThirtySomething but I forgot that part.

In case you were wondering... did I say anything to him? No, I didn't. He was walking, my back was turned. I recognized the voice before I saw his face. He was walking and talking with someone so I choose to be polite and not shout out, "Hey, Timothy Busfield, love you in Little Big League!" I do but if I said that, he might think I was a jackass.

All I can say is that in 4 days of working, I've had a Timothy Busfield sighting and overheard an executive talk about the new Cameron Diaz production. Holler !

oh well, been holding that in for like 3 days. till next time.

Transplant LA and A promise

So I moved here not too long ago. It was decades in the hoping and years in the making. Many of those years were talking about things that never happened. 5 years ago, I was moving to LA. 4 years ago I was moving to LA. 2 years ago, 1 year ago, in a year I'm moving to LA. Why now? Does it matter?

Isn't the most important thing is that I left? That I am in LA? I think so. The surprise was the support. I don't know what horrible thing that happened in my life for me to believe that people are selfish and horrible because that is wrong. I am not saying everyone is just delight and peachy but many showed their support in my adventure. Many giving their encouragement in the pursuit of my dreams as well as restaurant recommendation and safe travel wishes. It was flattering. Many expressed how bold, daring or frightening my move was and is. That might be true. I am scared. Maybe this is the boldest thing I have ever done but in fairness, there are countless amounts of people here who made the same decision to move from the comfort of home and pursue the adventure of finding and building a new home in Southern California.

As I meet more and more people, it makes the adventure more comforting and at the same time more daunting. It is comfortable to know that I am not the only one but at the same time so many pursuing a dream of stardom that I must question what separates me from the rest.... I don't know.

All I know is that I am not alone and my journey is not better, harder, worse or any different than countless others who seek to live in LA for more than just the weather. People come here to do business, make business, sell something, sell themselves, develop something, become something, be something or be somebody. Maybe I can be somebody. For many reasons and from many different locations, people come move to LA.

I find it funny that many people consistently tell me not to forget the "little people" or "where I came from." I could never forget any people who had an impact on me or forget where I come from. I was born in Ohio, parents from Colombia and friends from everywhere. I am here on the shoulders of many and to forget those people would simply mean I have forgotten myself. If I do anything in this life, it will because of those who have supported me and unfortunately those who doubted me.

It is a shame not all of us can reach the top. It is a shame that we all cannot be stars or even be successful. Maybe that is not the goal and anyone who simply seeks fame and fortune doesn't deserve it. I don't quite know what I want and what I am looking for, but I search every day and I won't stop till I do.

till next time.

Casual Observations 2/24/11

Casual Observations. Today we focus a little on LA and a little on me.

LA doesn't seem like any different place while seeming like a completely different place. Sure there is traffic. There is actually quite a lot of traffic. It takes forever to get anywhere. This doesn't bother me, what bothers me is the few gas stations that are available in the city. My paranoia level goes from green to orange when I am down to my last gallon of gas and I have no idea where to find a gas station. urgh. So was the case a couple of days ago. You think if you drive down a busy street like Santa Monica boulevard there would be more gas stations. No, I was like a duck in water freaking out.

Just a tip if you are driving thru town and you accidentally get stuck in a crosswalk be prepared for angry skater hipsters crossing the street to give a stare down and then menacingly ask you, "what are you looking at." I know, being a car stuck in the crosswalk is a no-no in this town but it was an accident. I was stuck in heavy traffic, at an intersection which forces you to do one of two things of impatience, wait or cross. If you cross then you might not make it across and then you are stuck in the middle, with cars honking, middle fingers waiving and you are the dick that was too impatient to wait. If you successfully cross then you feel like you just won bingo and what's better than winning bingo? If you wait then the people behind you wonder why this asshole (me) isn't pushing it to the limit. I failed in several ways. I crossed but not entirely as I was stuck in the crosswalk which resulted in an angry young man's evil glare. He will probably go off and strangle some pigeon or tell his friends about some jerk who doesn't know that people walk crosswalks. George and I try not to be rude but things like that happen. Good thing I have a moderate threshold for arrogant douchebagery.

Now to something completely different. Why, in LA do women wear black all the time? Is there a special on black clothing here? Are they part of a cult or union that wear black all the time? It's a pandemic. I'm scarred. No it's not just the hipsters who wear layer and layer of black or the pale goth vixens that wear little black to cover their light skin, it's all types of women. While driving the streets on tuesday I tallied 72 woman wearing nothing but black and only 4 women wearing other colors. This study was not professionally handled. It was a relief yesterday to see women out and about wearing some yellow, blue or even white. a relief.

either way, the air of LA is still with me. I love it. Yes, I said "air of LA." It's the equivalent of lofty words or phrases that people use to describe the "energy" of New York City or the "juno se qua" of Paris. I may be a small town kid but I've seen the big city. I am not overwhelmed by all the things LA has and Ohio doesn't because that would just simply be stupid. There are people here, movie theaters, malls, bars, ladies who are scared of chihuahuas and airports. By the way, yes, while walking down the street with one of my mates, a lady turned the corner saw two sweater dressed chihuahuas, clutched my friends arm, said, "oh no" and with giddy fear quickly turned the corner. I had never seen such a little dog evoke so much fear into a person. Maybe she was allergic, maybe she has strange dreams involving her tiny nemesis and some strange scientific sexual torture, or maybe she is just a cat person. I don't know but it was kind of awesome. Yes, i find pleasure it mid 30 year old ladies being frightened by chihuahuas in sweaters. Maybe she is horrified by the dogs fashion sense? hmmm.....

This is a great place. Is it perfect? It doesn't have to be. I'm looking for a home and a life not the holy grail. Oh well. till we meet again.

Welcome. How do you do? New Adventure? Thank You

Hello.

I greet you because maybe you've never heard of me or maybe we've known each other for years, either way I find it appropriate to be polite.

As you can assume by my not so clever title to this blog that I am an Ohio Boy recently relocated to Los Angeles. Maybe you didn't pick up on the recently part since that is not mentioned in the title. My move is so recent that I have yet to find a permanent address. It has only been 3 days and hotels though expensive have been good to me. Hotel over crashing at a friend's house seemed to be the best option. It allows a certain flexibility, wake up late or early, come home with the same options. No invasion of space. Invasion of space is quite important in certain area of the home like the bedroom, bathroom, and couch. I choose to leave the awkward moments alone. Unfortunately Jennifer Anniston's residence was not available.

Anyway, I'm here and I've always wanted to be here. Since I was 12 or something like that. Maybe 11 or 13, but then again something like that. I've always wanted to be here because of the same reasons everyone else wants to be here. It may not be original but it is my dream. I've wanted to write or be behind a camera, on stage or making something from nothing for the entertainment of people. Since I was a boy I've wanted to entertain in my own way. I studied film in college and write little rumbling in my off time, play mediocre (that's being kind) guitar and I am trying to learn the vast of art and philosophy of becoming a Dj. Wild isn't it?

Who knows? Maybe I can land a commercial deal since I've been told over the past decade that I look like the Verizon "Can you hear me now?" guy, the UPS white board fella, and as of recently the State Farm Insurance dude.

I don't know. I choose to live my life the way I always do with complete optimism and fear. Optimism because I am pretty open minded about things and fear because paranoia takes over. Will I become the next Rudolph Valentino? Except for an early death at 31, I'd hope so. That doesn't mean death at 33 is acceptable or anything like that. I don't know what it takes to be big or cool. It seems these days it takes luck, connections, hard work and being at the right places at the right time as well as magic to make it anywhere in life, especially Hollywood. I don't know, maybe I'll give myself a movie star name, grow awkward facial hair and have a persona that is captivating yet disgusting and then I'll be HUGE ! Or maybe I'll just be me and see where the cards fall.

till then, I'll write an update here and there about an adventure I care to share for those who have believed in me, those who sadly want to live vicariously through me and those who doubted me for all the years. Till then, best wishes.