Originally I meant to chronicle my Hollywood adventures on this site as I experienced them.
That didn’t happen – I was too busy experiencing them!
No matter – now I have a library of shenanigans to jot down. Allow me to proceed:
I enjoy managing talent because I become involved with many of their exciting adventures:
boob jobs, new businesses, public relationship scandals, cheating, lies, awards, wins, rises to fame, falls from grace
Yes, it seems like my life is a daily soap opera in a menagerie of personalities. Of course, often times their foils and fuck ups become my mess to clean up.
For example, I was recently in Hamilton (read: bumfuck) Ohio shooting a new YouTube series with a swath of the world’s largest male personalities on the internet. These guys are 18-22 years old and rich as hell, thanks to YouTube, but they’re boys! How could they not be immature? But what happens when you give immature boys a lot of money? The Justin Bieber effect.
Now when you shoot a series, you have long 12 – 14 hour days, so we wouldn’t get back to our fancy (read: shithole Courtyard Marriott) hotel until 9ish.
In a dilapidated town like Hamilton where only heroin goes to breed, the restaurants and bars close by 9ish.
So without a place to eat dinner or drink beer, I packed a rapper, a Minecraft player, and a man who has made millions off of Pokemon Go into my rented minivan and we caravanned thirty miles until we reached Miami University in Oxford, Ohio.
Miami University students all look a bit inbred and on this, Thirsty Thursday, the only happening club happened to be full of these inbred white folk – all decked in polos and khaki shorts. The theme of the night? Country.
We immediately walk in and glance around. Drunk midwestern girls and EVER SINGLE boy were belting Taylor Swift’s Our Song. The only thing gayer would have been a drag queen orgy.
It was going to take one thousand shots to have my talent (all of whom were from the UK) get into the country groove. Luckily, immature boys with lots of money can buy one thousand shots.
So he did. My minecrafter purchased one thousand shots of fireball for the entire bar, which consisted of 90% under-agers.
The bar smells like trash, farts, and shit – so I’m mostly just trying not to suffocate when I look over and notice some girl eyeing my rapper. She’s wearing a lumberjack button down over a tank top. Her dark messy hair is pulled into a loose bun and she’s wearing minimal makeup, besides askew winged eyeliner. I can tell she doesn’t know who my rapper is, so I play Emma and match-make.
We pull up the rapper’s twitter and the underage girl’s eye light up brighter than Vegas. His millions of fallers make her melt and suddenly she’s whispering sweet (read: dirty) nothings in his ear.
That’s when I book it home. I tell the guys remaining at the bar to take a cab and wake up for their early call times.
The next morning my 1000-shot Minecrafter is up first, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Shortly after my gamer is down. But my rapper is nowhere in sight!
I call his room. Nothing.
I call again. Nothing.
I call seven more times.
The front desk calls.
Finally i knock on his door a few times.
Defeated, I go back to my room to call him, a groggy, scratchy, British voice answers, “Oh fuck, what is it?”
I answer “Umm, Rapper, your call time is now. Time to get up.”
Click. He hangs up.
I rush back down to his room and knock on his door. Instead of answering it, he answers me from the other side.
“Fine. I’m getting up. Bloody hell. I woke up in my own vomit, man.”
And as soon as he’d finished washing his face, brushing his teeth, and shitting (still talking to me with door closed) he opens his room. A plume of stinky odor emerges and I see his white Versace outfit from the night before piled on the floor and covered in vomit.
The rapper smirks at me sheepishly and digs into his pocket, pulling out a card. I peer closer and notice it’s an Ohio ID. It’s the messy bun girl and it’s clear she’s not only lost her ID but that she was underage at 19.
I kick the rapper’s ass into a car and take him to set, only after picking him up some Pedialite and we head on to shoot a drone racing series for YouTube…
only to head back to Miami University that night where another round of 1,000 shots were bought and served buffet style, messy bun girl became stiletto-cat-suit vixen, and my production crew engaged in: bar fights, burglary, marijuana, and public urination.
I love this industry.