I Want My Grave To Read:

As I get older (and aging so amazingly I might add) I sometimes get disheartened when I attend concerts. Ever since I really got into the independent music scene and began going to smaller concerts, I, along with many like-minded fans, would get arrive at the show for “Doors Open” to watch every band on the evening’s bill. In a time before MySpace where now you can click on a band’s site to hear new music or discover groups, you would have to get there early enough to discover the smaller up and coming acts.

I’ve come to notice music fans presently, especially the younger generations (who most of the time have no appreciation for the music which influenced the newer bands), arrive late to the show, just in the nick of time to catch the headliner. They don’t show any respect to the other bands on the bill.

Nothing instilled a stronger hatred towards my younger compatriots more than at Taste of Chaos earlier this year. While Pierce the Veil was on stage, the lead singer Vic Fuentes, kept telling all of the band’s many teenage minions to make sure to stick around to watch Thursday. He dedicated his band’s success to Thursday’s influence and contribution to music. What happens however before Thursday (the tour’s headliner) took the stage? Half of the crowd leaves. These ignorant little bastards took a sold-out show at the Palladium in Hollywood and left the grandfathers of post-hardcore feeling as it they were of no importance. (I’m assuming since the drummer Tucker Rule was in the crowd with me watching the earlier acts.) It really upset me.

However, last night gave me a glimmer of hope. A trip to the House of Blues on Sunset Blvd. brought me back to the good old days, watching an ocean of kids/fans/music fanatics standing in line for “Doors Open”, anxiously awaiting to bust thru the door. The House of Blues was practically a full house from the drop of the first note that was pounded into the crowd’s skulls.

From the opening breakdown served up by Architects (UK), stretching into the Andrew W.K.-esque antics the lead singer of Oh, Sleeper mirrored, followed by the immediate Wall Of Death mind fuck which is Bring Me The Horizon, and ending with the quadruple cranium crush bestowed on us by Every Time I Die, the crowd, ranging from teenage scenesters to myself and my fellow seasoned veterans, kept the energy alive for a solid four and a half hours. Pure metal at it’s finest.

Needless to say, this eye-opening experience renews my faith in the younger generation of concertgoers. It was a good night.

Rather be forgotten, than remembered for giving in…

I Was Going To Sign It "Berries And Cream"

Yesterday was a pretty momentous day. I spent my afternoon in Oceanside, California, hanging with two amazing people: JP and Andrea Holeman, the co-owners of Holeman Surf Designs. The Holeman’s home / HSD shop is a rad little spot walking distance to the ocean which they share with Andrea’s cousin, Derek, and their vicious guard dog, Lola. But don’t let the size of the HSD headquarters fool you, their clientele reside everywhere from Southern Cali locals to as far away as the East Coast.

I met the Holemans during my recent stint producing Season 3 of Rad Girls (Andrea was my amazing assistant during our tour through San Diego). During my mini-vacation (back) to O’Side, I had the extreme pleasure watching the berth of my first custom surfboard.

The first part of my day was spent in an electric-blue shaping room. It was awe-inspiring seeing JP take something as simple as a slab of Styrofoam and shape it into an instrument of wave domination. Unlike industry giants like Rusty who use machines to shape their boards, JP shapes each board by hand. I spent about two hours in the air-conditioned chamber, watching and snapping photographs of JP carving, sanding, and pretty much covering the two of us in a fine white powder (no). Seeing someone with such talent and skill work up close and personal is pretty amazing.

What makes this board even more special for me is JP basically created a new design for my board. Holeman’s bread and butter is building short boards; he informed me in the shaping room in the beginning HSD made primarily long boards, but has since evolved.

I love giving artists freedom to do something original which gets them exited. When it comes to my tattoos, I give DaveR a simple idea (“I want a bear on my arm.”) and let him design and apply to my skin what he wants to see. He gives me a completely original piece, and I get the thrill of having the artist be as excited doing the work as I am watching what unfolds. JP shared the same artistic thrill. He was not only shaping a length of board he hasn’t done in a while, but he also fashioned a new style for the Holeman line (in theory) called the Magic Slipper. And I have the first of its kind.

To cool off after our stint in the blue room, I skipped down to the beach with the two lovebirds, taking my first dip in the Pacific Ocean in 2009. (Yeh, how fucking sad is that. I live four blocks from the water and I have YET to get wet. I have no excuse. I’m an asshole.) We did a little body surfing while keeping our eyes peeled for sharks. (Apparently a woman was mildly attacked about two miles south of where we were.) The water was super clear and a comfortable seventy-three degrees; warm enough to keep your testicles the proper size, yet cool enough to still be refreshing.

Post dip, we returned to home base and I sat down with Andrea, the artiste who does all of the artwork for the Holeman surfboards. Andrea whipped out a seven-inch thick color swatch and I picked out a slick little color scheme of Electric Blue and Sunbeam Yellow. Also, Andrea is going to take the Holeman logo, the silhouette of a phoenix, and trick it out with a lot of flair. So stoked.

I never want to take for granted the people in my life who share their amazing talents with me. I love to give credit when credit is due. I live to support my friends in all of their ventures, be they in development or already established in their line of work. The anticipation I have waiting to see the final product when Andrea and JP drop my brand new, original, custom surfboard off at The Hotel is only surpassed by the excitement leading up to catching the first wave on The Magic Slipper.

I’m falling down, but I should find my strength in this… A light that burns to reconnect my heart for what it’s meant to give…

"You're Putting People's Lives In Danger," She Screamed

There were only a few Fridays left on Parental Control, and Walter, our location’s guy, finally had a slow enough workday, he could go grab lunch. He still had a lot of work to do closing out his paperwork on all of the houses he scouted this season, so we opted to go someplace close to eat instead of my usual Friday grubbery, The Whaler. We settled on Barney’s Beanery on the Promenade with its New York Time’s length-ed menu.

We were immediately seated at the outdoor patio facing the impending action, which was about to unfold in front of us. Our waitress flew right into to take our drink orders. We ordered a pair of Pabst Blue Ribbons (because even without the blue ribbon, it’d still be Pabst… HA!). Before she had a chance to leave the table to bring us our order, the most alarming phrase was heard:

You’re putting people’s lives in danger!

Everyone on the patio craned their necks around trying to see where the “dangerous” warning came from. There was an elderly woman screaming as a homeless (or just completely insane) guy who was throwing shit into the tree right next to the Beanery’s Patio.

What the hell are you doing?! You’re putting people’s lives in danger!

Again. What the hell was the guy doing? Was he throwing a brick into the tree, leaving the woman afraid it would crack someone in the skull leaking their brain matter all over the sidewalk? Nothing that intense. The guy continued to launch a water bottle into the tree until a basketball-size bees’ nest crashed down and exploded on the sidewalk, unleashing an army, nay, a horde of bees into the air.

I can see why a lunatic woman might yell “You are putting people’s lives in danger;” a lot of people are allergic to bee stings. We could have had a record setting number of people going into anaphylactic shock right in front of us. Or if I played “Shout” we could have had a record number of people doing the “gator” from Animal House.

A few people looked nervous about the bees, but for the most part, they flew around a bit and then dissipated to regions beyond.

But that’s not the best part.

The woman continued to scream. And then something awesome happened. This portly passerby walked up the rabid homeless man and asked him why he would do something like that and “put people in danger.” The degenerate’s only response was to grab the innocent passerby by the collar of his shirt. The passerby said calmly to the loon, “Let go of my shirt” several times before the homeless man took it upon himself to take a swing at the nice man.

Next thing we all knew, they were rolling around right there on the Promenade like two sixth graders fighting after school. And they went at it for a good ten minutes before any kind of authority figure showed up to break it up.

First on the scene was a Promenade security guard, and thank god, because someone with a “badge” needed to be there to keep on eye on things until the real police arrived.

Shortly after the real police showed up, they pried the two wrestlers apart. The now enraged homeless man made what could be interpreted as an aggressive move toward the cop, so the cop did the most rationale thing he could think of: zap the fucker with a taser. And wouldn’t you know it, that crazy old man just wouldn’t go down. The officer had to offer up a second helping of juice before the bearded madman finally went down.

The cops then drug him to the other side of the sidewalk for no apparent reason except to make it harder for the patrons of Barney’s to watch the man get handcuffed. Fuckin’ pigs.

I mean, could that lunch get any better? I say only if the waitress had brought up our beers instead of going to call 911. Oh well.

I watch the stars as they fall from the sky… I held a falling star, and it wept for me… Dying…

I Might Actually Have To Go See The New Twilight

My thirteen year old cousin, Daniela, lives in Italy.  Recently she had the pleasure of being an extra in the upcoming sequel to the Twilight movie, New Moon.  She wrote a piece (an extremely long piece) about her experience and I found it very interesting.  She really wants to become an actress.  I posted her piece here for you all to check it out.  Sit back and relax, grab some peanuts and some carrot juice, maybe a beer, this may take a while (this is longer than anything I've written to date), and enjoy the tale of Daniela's day on set.

Everything started in Denmark… (yeah… pretty strange…)

Mom was reading the magazine “Io Donna” and she read an article on the sequel of Twilight: “New Moon”, that was going to be set in Tuscany.  Since I love acting and since I absolutely LOVE Robert Pattinson (main character Edward Cullen) she asked me if I wanted to go and see the filming and I said yes!!! (Who doesn’t want to see Robert Pattinson?!?!?)

I was so excited!! But, like in all Italian stuff, there wasn’t a lot of information, in fact they didn’t say when they were filming.  So I/Mom made a lot of phone calls to the Town Hall  of Montepulciano to get some information.  The people were very nice and they told me that it would have been better to do the casting to have more of a chance to see the actors than to go just as a fan…As the security would be very tight, and all access to the town banned, if you did not have a set pass.  

So we got other information and me and Mom went down to Montepulciano at end April to do the casting.  We stayed there for 2 days but it would of taken longer if it wasn’t for Maurizio Cusano, the director of the casting, who was staying in our same hotel!! (what a coincidence!!)

So the  morning of the second day of the casting we met Maurizio at breakfast.  The first day 1600 girls showed up, the most ever in history, we think. So we smartly went the 2^nd day.  We talked a lot at breakfast and he said to meet him at the casting at 9.00 am that morning so he would let us pass in front of all the other people.. (ha ha).  

The casting wasn’t as I expected.. I don’t know how to explain.. it was quick and boring.  We went there, we signed many forms and authorizations, as I am a minor, and a parent has to be with me at all times, we handed in my resume, stating I am bilingual, I took 2 photos with a number in front of me, and that’s all.

After that we drove 5 hours  back to Milan waiting for the CALL…  (this is what got the casting director’s interest, that we drove 5 hours to get there…in fact he took another girl who was staying at the hotel with her Mom, as she too drove 5 hours from the South of Italy to get there, and get this, they are a Polish family living in Italy, so two Polish blooded girls got in together—must be divine intervention of our Polish relatives, they prayed a lot in the olden days, Mom says.)

The days passed the phone didn’t ring..

But on Wednesday, 13^th of May my phone rang and the number was a 0578, that means it’ calling from Montepulciano… yeah!  I was soooo excited!! I was screaming!! I had to calm dawn before answering.  I picked up the phone… they said that I was in the movie!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Than they asked to talk to Mom… and while she was talking I was jumping up and down, crying, laughing, rolling my self on the floor…  I even talked to the casting director, he said he kept his promise, which he did.  Mom sent him  a thank you case of wine…

I was so happy! The filming started on the 27^th  of May, but we had to send the forms to Rome for Monday,  17^th… so we had to rush and fill out all the forms, authorizations from the doctor, the school and from my parents as, I’m a minor.  I was a complete chaos that weekend.  But on Monday we sent all the forms to Rome by courier with written on it PRIORITY in CAPITAL LETTERS.  And in fact it arrived the same day at 2.00 pm.

Mom and I left for Tuscany on the 25^th, even if the filming started on the 27^th because it’s a six hour drive and you get really tired and your butt gets squared.  We had so much luggage you can’t imagine…as we were staying for a week.  The trunk was completely full and even the back seats were full! Thank goodness we were only in two people!

The trip was horrible!!  We got lost near Piacenza because there was an accident on the highway and 8 km  of traffic back up… we couldn’t get on the other side of the Po river  because the bridge had actually fallen down,  (this is Italy, bridges fall down, and stay down) and we had to go all the way around Piacenza to get an other bridge… we lost an hour.  Finally we got on the other side of the river and we went down to the town of Reggio Emilia BUT then we got a flat tire  so we had to go out Reggio and look for a mechanic.  There we lost an other hour…  So we thought it was destiny not to get there, thank goodness we arrived one day ahead of time, to be able to catch our breath.

After those terrible moments we finally arrived in Montepulciano at 10.30 pm!!!  I couldn’t take it any more!  We didn’t stay in a hotel but in a apartment so the owner came at 10.30 to show us the house.  It was a huge, beautiful house with a very big garden an a huge terrace.  Thank goodness we had one day to recover, otherwise I would of slept on the set!

We were able to walk around the town the day after, and see what was going on, where to go, and we got the phone call that day, for the next day, we had to be on the set at 7 am!  The life of a star is tough!  Others had to be there at 4 am to wait in line and give their names, details, etc,, can you imagine, but since I am a minor, we got off easier.

Finally the day of the filming came! I was so excited!!  At the casting I met the Polish girl that they also selected,  so I met with her on set and we had really fun together!

The first day I started filming at 7.00 am!!  First we were sent to the costume room, and  we got our red wool capes and then we went on set. We walked out of the cast holding area, and that was neat each time we did it, as there were hundreds of screaming young girls, taking our picture and asking us if we saw HIM  (meaning Robert).  It felt like being on the red carpet at the Oscars.  Bouncers and security everywhere….holding back the flood of girls.

There was at least 500 people not counting the directors & co… in the main square.  It was so hot, almost 30 degrees and we were wearing wool capes!!! ☼☼☼

That day we waited and waited under the sun but the director forgot about the minors so we didn’t film that day… (very sad).  But fun anyway, just to be on the set, as we got to watch them film some scenes with Bella, the main girl character.  A lot of waiting around, and then the director says, Silence!, Lets Roll! Action!  And then you hope he waits to say Cut, as you have to do the same scene 20 times.  And a scene lasts about 30 seconds. So all of this preparation, hours of waiting, for a short few minutes of filming.

Then that evening  Dad arrived by train, and then  the following day we started filming at 2 pm, which was better,  and until 4.30 pm we didn’t shoot, but we saw a lot of actors!!

Finally they called us, and they placed us on the set, and we started filming! WOW!!  I didn’t do too much, but sit where they told us and be silent, (however, it was VERY EXCITING), but it was still a big thing for me, as we were surrounded on the set by the huge cast and all of the movie technicians and the directors!!  They shot the same scene several times, in the morning and in the evening, to have different lighting effects, but we don’t know if the scene I am in will be selected or not, till we see the film.  While we were filming we had to keep our hoods on and just look at the saint’s statue and wave our hands and smile alot.

When we finished the directors took a lot of photos and we even did a video that, the directors said, will go on the extras of the DVD. Wow!!  Sort of like the end of the film GREASE, where everyone is on the set and says goodbye.  That was the best experience of my whole life!!

But the adventure doesn’t finish now!!

The next day a friend of mine came to visit me even if I wasn’t filming any more but Bella, the main character, was filming right down my street so we went to see her…

We ran all around Montepulciano to see the filming and finally we stopped right in front of her hotel and we got squished in the barriers waiting to see the star.  I had ready my camera and my notebook for autographs and then she came out of the hotel!!  Everybody was screaming and then she started signing autographs…. And SHE SIGNED MINE TOO!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  OMG I was shocked when I saw it!!! That page is worth a fortune!!

I have to thank Mr Cusano for this great experience, he is a really nice guy and a good friend, he even came to our house one night, to hide out from all of the people bothering him, as he was always being asked if he still needed any extras on the set each day.

Since there was the weekend and then there was the 2^nd of June long weekend holiday, we decided to stay for a few couple of days more.  We visited a lot of beautiful Tuscan cities like Siena, Cortona, (famous now for the setting of the book, Under the Tuscan sun, by Frances May) San Gimignano, Pienza, etc.  Tuscany is a wonderful, magical place.  Living history. The cities look as they did in olden times; and the landscape is just sooo beautiful, rolling hills, tall cypress trees, vineyards, cheesemakers, farms, etc.

Then after 3 lovely days of touring, it was time to pack up and go home on  June 1^st.  But there was one little problem, the luggage!  Now there were 3 of us, and we had even more luggage! Mom and Dad sat up front with more space, I think, while I (the star) was squished in the back with no space for legs of rest of body!! I had to do 5 hours drive with the computer on my lap, with food under my feet and praying that the big suitcase wouldn’t fall on me!! Awful!  But worth it!  Finally, we arrived home without a flat tire or without getting lost in the countryside!!

This was one of the most beautiful experiences in my entire life and I hope to do another film someday!  There should be a good possibility, as I am now on a casting list, and have this experience of one film.  And now I have done a theatre piece in June, at then end of my acting class,  a humorous version of Cinderella.  And I will attend an acting camp in the USA in July.  So I can compare movie making to theatre.

It was very interesting to see the movie set from the inside, and how the entire filming process really works, and now I can understand better why movies have such huge costs and take such a long time to make.  And why they need so many extras and doubles for the main characters.  And yes, I met and got autographs from the doubles, they have become famous in their own right.

The film comes out on 17 November, so mark your calendars, to go and see it. 

Oh, I forgot to say, for those who do not know, it’s a nice love story between two teenagers…..he is an  18 year old immortal “good” vampire and she is  a 17 year old girl, who is “normal”.  But they are different, he lived his 18 years for 180 times, and she lived her 17 years for the first time.

There are 2 more films after this one……Called Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. 

The books are better. (I say… but you’ll be the judge..)

I love trying to make conversation when I could care less of what you are doing...

Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers In Your Hair

I haven’t written in a few weeks, so I feel like I really need to get something posted up here.  I haven’t come across any annoying articles or politician’s remarks lately to write about anything of real merit.  I could always comment on all of the celebrity deaths, but I feel that should be left up to assholes with pink hair that get punched in the face.

What I would like to comment on, however, is my recent work-trip to San Francisco.  Work related stories aside to protect the innocent, I think I found my new favorite city (outside of Philadelphia). 

I feel what makes the city so great is how pedestrian friendly it is.  It was actually more annoying to drive around SF in a car than it is in LA.  San Francisco may have the best public transportation I have seen in any city; New York City’s subway system being it’s only rival.  What mode of transportation do I even begin with?

I love walking around cities I visit, and people love to walk around San Francisco.  There is so much to see, the architecture is beautiful, the bay is gorgeous, and the towering Bay and Golden Gate Bridges are mighty bookends to the skyline.  It made my five-mile runs each afternoon around the Esplanade so much more enjoyable.

After reading this bit, you all should know how much I enjoy bicycling.  Again, there was no shortage of cyclists cruising around not only for enjoyment, but you’d easily see pelotons (yeh?) of sport jacket and tie-wearing business men with cuffed pants cruising to the office on any given day.  Cars were giving cyclists the right of way.  It was a breath of fresh air to see cyclists not having to constantly cut in between passing motorists.

All I need to mention about the busses is they are zero emission.  That’s right.  A massive grid of electric wires crisscrosses and spider-webs its way across the SF landscape.  Each bus has a spire attached to this wiring system, which allows the busses to operate solely on electricity.  For all you tree-huggers out there, zero-emission busses are a brilliant idea.

Finally, my favorite mode of transportation is probably the historical San Francisco Cable Car; not to be confused with the trolley, which is also a fun little way to jaunt across town.  Like taking the chocolate factory “tour” at Hershey, I had to take a ride using the Cable Car system in San Fran.  So cool to see the conductor actually have to grab the cable (duh) running under the street to make the vehicle move.  We learned an actual fire is started as the Cable Car braking system grabs the cable to slow down.

All and all, whoever designed San Francisco did a most excellent job and I hope lots of people bought that person a beer.  (I could probably Google who the city planner was, but I’m going to be lazy and let you all go on a little adventure of your own.) The citizens were great to be around, and I am confident to call all the working contacts I made while I was visiting, friends.  I had a blast exploring this great city and I look forward to going back there very soon. 

You don’t want to see this.  If you did, you’d surely disbelieve it…

Home Is Where The Heart Is... On The Bus

What is home?  I mean for me.  Home is where I grew up: on the edge of a neighborhood called Westford Crossing adjacent to Beaver Creek.  A lot of you hear me call “The Hotel” home, my west coast Shangri-La. I know I tell my roommates all the time I will see them at home.  But for me, when people ask where I came from, where do I go when I “go home for the holidays,” I always say Philadelphia.

Now, I hold no grudge against either Harrisburg or Hershey where I spent my childhood.  I had neighborhood kids I hung out with, we regularly had neighborhood barbeques, I know I loved the swimming pool I spent every summer at from the age of six on up, and god bless wing nights.  Unfortunately, that place doesn’t exist anymore.  Thanks to wonderful urban sprawl, the farmland I used to ride my old Huffy mountain bike through is now covered in strip malls and town-homes.  It’s not the same place I grew up (except for the Eagle Hotel; it still has the best buffalo wings I’ve ever tasted). 

I always say I’m from Philadelphia because the person you know and love today is from that city.  I was Mike (god I hate that name) while growing up in the suburbs of Harrisburg, but once I got to high school and I began going by Mallick more and more, and then graduating and leaving that world behind when I went to college, that’s when I became the well-adjusted alcoholic you all know and love today. 

See, growing up with my folks and my sister, I was always in my parents house.  I grew up there, but it was their house, their rules.  Once I was away at college, I was on my own. 

Philadelphia is where I discovered all of the great music I am in tune with today.  It’s where I met my college buddies, some of the closest friends I have today.  It’s where I developed my ideas about religion, or lack there of.  It’s where my career in television began, and where it spring boarded with the help of a little town called West Chester.  From Big-5 basketball, to the Phillies and Eagles, to cheesesteaks, to the Schuylkill River, everything about Philadelphia is what shaped, and literally created, me.

I have always been of the school of thought, which believes a person is in constant flux.  The person I was in grade school is different from my high school persona, from my college party machine, from my young professional relationship in Philly, from the “adult” who now resides in Venice Beach.  Still, I feel the basic, underlying character was forged during my tenure in the city of brotherly love. 

Again, don’t get me wrong.  I don’t regret or loathe anything about the eighteen years I spent outside the “Sweetest Place on Earth”.  But each time I look toward home, back to where I came from, the memory, which always crosses my mind, is the picture of my life in Philadelphia.

I want you to show me the way…

Your Sister Works At The Castle?!

It took only two hours after returning from Ireland for reality to set back in.  The familiar odor of The Hotel transported me right back into life here in Los Angeles, and immediately made me “homesick” for the land of leprechauns and red heads.  (For those who don’t know, Johnny, Joe Fever, and I spent a week plus exploring and falling in love with Ireland.)

The trip we took gave me a new perspective on life and the world around me.  I can now appreciate, and more importantly, depreciate, the immediate world I live in. 

I stepped into Gold’s Gym Monday night to get right back into my workout routine.  After changing, I stood on the balcony outside of the men’s locker room and looked at the floor below and thought to myself, “Look at all these assholes.”  It’s sad.  All of the people working so hard below for the perfect body; they need to look more attractive to their partner, maybe to meet the sexiest woman, or to appear better than the person standing next to him, and sadly, I was there with them, working out to make myself look better.  I actually enjoy running every night.  Running with headphones blasting music is my meditation.  For two hours every night nothing can bother me.  But what is the underlying goal?  So I can be in better shape than the guy next to me and appear slightly superior.  What a horrible and self-centered underlying reason.

People in Ireland don’t look at you that way.  Hell, during the entire trip, we didn’t come across one gym, and I might have only seen two or three people running.  And I guarantee they weren’t doing it to be better than someone else, but rather to only improve upon themselves.  (I wish that were my only motivation.)  I have a certain expectation I must live up to here; a certain character I have to play in my life.  In Ireland, the locals had no preconceived notion of who I was supposed to be other than to be a friendly and respectful person.  They didn’t care what I did for a living; they only cared about the kind of person I was.  I was free to be anybody I wanted to, and I chose to be as honest and authentic as I could be.  And I felt more like myself than I have for a very long time. 

There is a standard people here have to live up to in the States which is shoved in their face every day.

American men see athletes going to every extreme to be the best they can be, even if the only way they can be the best is by cheating (I’m looking at you Bonds).  You see typical L.A. douche bags wearing scarves in the middle of summer because it’s the new, “hip” accessory.  They walk around with faux vintage t-shirts which probably cost more than a small car and were made last week.  They have a stench of superiority, not giving a rat’s ass unless you are up on what’s “hot” that week.  In Ireland, men aren’t in competition against one another, they just want to have a good time and share a pint.

American women compare themselves to the actresses they see on the cover of magazines at the grocery store.  American women (and this is a broad generalization from my personal experience) four out of five times care much more about what you can do for them or how you look on their arm than getting to know you.  If your looks don’t live up to the twisted ideal of the “perfect guy,” certain women won’t even give you the time of day. 

One thing specifically I did notice was how not in-shape a great deal of the women there were.  Now, I’m not saying they were fat or anything like that, but rather a little less tone. (I hope that makes sense.)  And honestly, it didn’t take away from the attractiveness factor at all.  Women in Ireland are amazingly genuine and there is no air of superiority.  You will see the most beautiful woman with a below average guy (by US standards) because the woman sincerely wants to be with him.  She probably sat down and really got to know him and cares much more about what makes him tick than what he looks like on the outside.

I didn’t see any kind of unhealthy, unreachable standards in Ireland. 

And honestly, taking this all into account, it makes me not want to date another American woman again.

On a small transitory note:  Comparing the population of Ireland to Los Angeles, they differ by only about a million people, Ireland being the larger of the two.  Decently comparable.  In Los Angeles, of all the women in the city, only about fifteen to twenty percent of them are attractive, and of that percentage, only about five percent of them are actually approachable.  In Ireland, about eighty to ninety percent of the female population is attractive and all of them are approachable. 

One of the first things Johnny told me on our first night out was, “Hey man, I know you can talk to pretty much anyone, but here, you really can talk to anyone.”  At the first pub we hit, a group of five women were sitting at a table and Johnny told me to go over and talk to the broads.  Instinctively, I refused because if it was a group of five women in the States, if I didn’t live up to a certain preconceived standard, I wouldn’t have even been acknowledged.  One of the ladies broke off and came up to the bar and Joe immediately struck up a conversation with her.  And she was more than happy to entertain all three of us world-weary travelers.  I was blown away.  At the moment, I had to throw out my L.A. goggles, and embrace the openness of Irish woman. 

There are no egos in Ireland.  People genuinely want to talk to you and get to know you for you.  Paul and Barry at Farrington’s in Dublin were more than hospitable, treating us like we’ve been posting up at their pub since we reached the legal drinking age.  I made so many new friends, both male and female, just by saying, “fuck it” and sparking up a conversation.  Hell, if I didn’t say “fuck it” I wouldn’t have gone back to the Front Door Bar in Galway to spend time with Siobhan, the most beautiful woman I have ever met (which led me to meeting her fellow bartender, Declon, a very cool dude who just so happens to be spending his summer working in Philadelphia). 

Outside of the great people, their world is generally a lot cleaner than ours.  I can’t walk a block in Los Angeles without seeing a piece of trash on the ground.  We have litter laws here in the States, which, from what I can tell, are never enforced.  In Dublin, you see a garbage receptacle every fifty feet with a butt can for cigarettes attached.  I didn’t see one cigarette butt tossed in the gutter in Dublin.  I found four beer cans in the bushes outside my apartment this afternoon. 

There are occasionally instances where you’ll find litter, such as outside Hillbilly’s Fried Chicken in Cork.  After a night of pint-pounding, the whole mess of drinkers meets at this fried food establishment and chow down.  This frenzy lasts for about forty minutes before everyone disperses, leaving the ground peppered with wrappers.  A major cleaning crew takes to the square and spends the next hour sweeping everything up as if no one had ever been there.  It seems Ireland knows it benefits their citizens as well as the image of the towns to keep clean, making it a much more enjoyable place to visit and live.  As much as I love Los Angeles, its citizens sometimes are so self-involved, showing respect for their home is the last thing on their minds. 

I live in a city whose major export is ego.  I know I’ve used this word a lot, but it’s sad that I am so assimilated into the way things are run around here.  It's a shame.  I know after returning from my time abroad, I need to take a good look at my US based shortcomings.  I must try to embrace the warmth and humility the Irish people showed me and incorporate it into my own life.  I want to go back to feeling like myself.

The US needs to get its priorities straight because having the sexist body or the best looking girlfriend is the last thing we should be worrying about.  We should be more focused on being better friends than just being better.

I must leave what I left far behind… So goodbye, sweet Roisin Dubh… I say goodbye… Until we meet again…