They're Outta Get Me

On the flight back to New York, John Leguizamo sat right in front of me in first class. For some reason, it calmed me down. I figured John Leguizamo probably wasn't going to die in a plane crash that day, so I was safe.

I've got this thing about not talking to celebrities. Maybe it's not a fully formed "thing", but it's something that's turning into a thing. Under the right circumstances, I wouldn't mind talking to John Leguizamo or the guy who plays E on Entourage... but I don't want them to see me as just some guy on the street. I also don't want to go into an elaborate explanation of who I am. Best case scenario is getting introduced. Or sitting next to someone on a plane.

But I wasn't sitting next to him, so I didn't really say anything to Leguizamo. Except I had to get my suitcase out of the compartment over his head at the end, so I pointed and he moved out of the way. I wonder if he recognized me from the Writers Guild Awards. This is one of the reasons for the tattoos: so people don't just see a generic asian guy, they see a generic asian guy with very identifiable tattoos on his arms.

~*~*~*~
Quite a trip it's been, BLOG. The game's officially changed for me. This must be how it works for most people who make it in the entertainment industry. You're dismissed for years until you're finally taken seriously.

That's the most gratifying thing. Being taken seriously. By people inside the gates.

Right now, I'm a carefully kept secret. It's a calculated thing and buzz is being generated. But as soon as word gets out—and that could be before the summer's over—everything should get crazy.

And I'm actually a bit nervous about that. I know it's the part that everyone dreams about, the feeding frenzy, but I just want to work.

I want to work for a long time. And I'm about to meet a lot of people who probably only care about short-term rewards.

~*~*~*~
Let me show you around the suite they set me up in, @ the W Hotel in Westwood. This is the living room. I've never had a living room, in my adult life. I was running around this place, climbing on the couches. I should have had a party in there, but I just don't know enough people in L.A. yet...

Another shot of the living room, showing the minibar, the entrance to the bathroom, and the doorway to the bedroom.

I was tempted to go nuts with the minibar, but the pricetags were absurd and I wasn't sure if it would all be covered. (I've still gotta get reimbursed for some shit, which is always a pain.)

[Aside from the first night, hanging out with Eddie Vee, I actually didn't drink all that much. Something I'd like to rectify next time. Maybe I just need to hang out with Eddie Vee some more.]

This is a quick shot of the bathroom, which doesn't give a great impression of it, except that it's so much better than what I've got in NYC.

Probably a good THREE TIMES the size of my NYC bathroom. Which even then isn't saying much, because my motherfucking NYC bathroom is a goddamn fucking sight-gag of a bathroom.

And then there's bedroom. An actual, separate room from the living room, with its own door and its own four walls.

It has been years since I've had a bedroom.

And this fucking bed was the most comfortable fucking bed. I hesitate to say it's the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in, but definitely top-5.

Ah, fuck it. Most comfortable bed ever. Some people prefer really firm beds. This was just a plush, angel-soft dream. I spent an entire afternoon taking running jumps onto that fucking bed.

(Okay, I spent every afternoon taking running jumps onto that fucking bed.)

~*~*~*~
If it seems like I'm obsessed with space, I am.

I need a bigger home. I've wrestled with the "L.A. or NYC?" question in the past few days, debated it with several people, but the bottom line is: I just need a bigger homebase. It's a mental health thing, it's a creative thing.

I just don't think I can quite afford to move for a while. My lease is up in November, as it always is. A lot can happen between now and then, sure. But even when deals are made, it takes a while to get paid. And I've got debts I'm still clearing. I think it'll be cheaper just to swallow the rent increase that goes with renewing my lease... definitely cheaper than paying a broker's fee and finding a new place and incurring the moving expenses. Whether I'm moving a few blocks away or across the country.

I fucking despise the cost of living in NYC. I know the argument. You're paying for the privilege of living in this iconic city. But you've got to be making a lot of money to break even. And you've got to pay more to live alone.

The Fortress of Solitude 3.0 is going to be a proper home. I'm determined to find it.