Kevin McCallister

I’ve been here in California almost a week and still haven’t be able to shake a few feelings. All the things I used to love about this state have started to taste bitter. I used to love the sunny days, beautiful people, the film world, and beach culture. Oxford comma alert all you sexy grammar fans out there. The sunny days are a bit annoying, makes the people here soft and makes every single day feel there same. An empty void of sun that brainwashes its victims. Too dark? Fuck it, don’t care. Let’s discuss these beautiful people, I hate them haha. Alright, let me explain because now I sound like a sad single man with 26 cats and a gripe with the sexy folks of earth. That’s not my point, obviously because I’m beautiful myself (we can’t and should not deny that). What I hate is these people who look like they are on the way to or just came from an audition and have this smug look of entitlement because they are easy on the eyes in tinseltown. I want to whisper to all of them “these sunny days will melt your perfection away and you’ll never be self-aware enough to see how shallow and pathetic you are.” Woa! real dark! Not really. There are tons of people with great heads on their shoulders out here (have yet to meet them other than my friends). I’m the kind of guy who values intelligence, wit, boobs and a sense of humor. Sorry, I had to write something superficial to balance the heady rant. Heady? I don’t like that word, let’s say “deep” yea, I hate that too. Screw it. That brings me to the beach culture of it all, which is my jam. I love sunglasses, vans, skateboards, Hawaiian shirts, sand, ocean and relaxing. Here is my issue with it in California, you didn’t earn it. I could be on the beach working my dad bod, that term is funny to me but not totally accurate. Let’s say I’m working my Wolverine with a beer belly body on the beach. Like I said, these beach days aren’t earned. It’s always fucking “nice” here so you can roll your ass to the beach and enjoy with no real concept of the months you can’t. Maybe it’s because I was raised on my brother’s borrowed Beastie Boys Cds  but I firmly believe you need to fight for your right to party. I shoveled snow to get the privilege to lay on the beach with Brendan Powers and rant about what superhero movies are the best or how beautiful the horizon looks with a lonely sailboat on it. Sorry Brendan, I know that must get annoying. The California natives who inhabit the beach are like trust fund kids, you might have the means but you don’t properly appreciate how it came to be. Every grain of sand under my feet was scratch and clawed  for, I paid my cover charge to look at the ocean while the sun warms my skin. Now let’s get to the biggie (smalls) here, the film industry. I’ve wanted to be involved in the film industry since I first saw Tim Burton’s “Sleepy Hollow” it inspired me, sent me to film school and turned me into the movie geek I am today. Movies are precious to me, knowing how they’re made, especially written almost ruins them for me. I know the structure, tempo, peeks and valleys of most stories and seeing the matrix code doesn’t always make them better. What I’ve come to see here and seen glimpses of for years is the shallow and pure surface aspect of the movie industry. I’ve met a few people at bars and whatnot who have played a part in some shit movie and kept talking about it. I met a cool old guy yesterday at Big Dean’s (love this place still) and he was in “Protocol” starring Goldie Hawn. Pretty cool if you ask me, Me and Val (my mom) love Goldie Hawn. Here is my thing, I don’t want to act so that’s less appealing to me. What I want out of the film industry is to tell stories. I love to tell stories and entertain people, but at what cost? Do I want to be a production assistant? No fucking way. Do I want to be the bitch doing whatever just to say I lent a hand telling a story that wasn’t mine? NOPE! I want to tell my own stories, because that’s what I know and I believe I have the skill to communicate those stories in a fun and interesting ways. I also am great at softball, sorry I got a real bragging tangent so I had to break the tension. Holy shit, I just saw the most beautiful pregnant woman on earth in the Starbucks I’m at. Shit, that was crazy. That’s pretty LA, being hot AND pregnant, you go girl. Sorry folks, we got sidetracked, I blame the hot pregnant woman. Telling stories is really important to me, but how? Do I want to write movies (yes but that’s next to impossible to break into). So how? Maybe writing books would be the most fulfilling thing to me (that’s easy right? haha). I don’t have to worry how much producers want to change and trim, I don’t have to deal with fake people and above all, I could do it from Boston (my heart). Everyone is telling me to stick it out and get into a rhythm, I just got here but I have a great sense of who I am and what I love, I’m not sure this is it. This trip might have been the soul search I needed. It’s taught me what I loved about Boston, what a great life I had there. So I had a dead end job? That was my choice and honestly, I loved that job haha. I did. Dealing with dumb truckers and fucking with them was funny, I loved my coworkers, bosses and I made an ok living. I also had my family, which I miss a great deal. They say distance makes the heart grow fond, and my heart hurts. I feel like Kevin McCallister in Home Alone 2, lost in New York. I wanted my independence so bad, I wanted a new place, I wanted to do it alone. Why? to prove I could do it? Yea. Which I did. Look, I got a gilded pair of balls that most people would die for so why do I want to run away? Is it running away or is it realizing what I loved most was right under my nose the whole time. Kevin (McCallister) was having a blast in New York and flying high with limos, personal pizzas and hotel suites. When he realized he wasn’t home he did everything he could to get back. It’s been said that home is where you make it, and I haven’t given this place enough of a chance yet. I don’t even have my apartment for another 11 days. My new job doesn’t start until Monday but none of this is exciting, it’s annoying and not me. Maybe it’s not me yet but I’m planning my escape as we speak.

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We get it, it’s sunny here.

What did I do with my St. Patrick’s day? Got a delicious Acai (healthy LA shit) bowl at Dogtown Coffee, walked around Santa Monica then finally saw Star Wars The Force Awakens and I loved it. I’m not a huge Star Wars fan (sorry fellow nerds) but I had a blast watching it.

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yum.

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These were all throughout the halls of the Arclight theater and they’re dope (clearly).

After that I got a green beer at the best bar ever, Big Deans. Then I met up with Rubin and his pals to celebrate an Irish holiday in the least Irish place in the county. Do I sound bitter yet?

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It’s mean, green and Dean (s).

Benny met up with us and we tried to get into bars but the lines were stupid long. We went to one that had Rocky V on the TV which I saw as a good sign. Then we left to go to a more hip place that looked like someone’s house who’s parents had gone on vacation and they were throwing a huge “Can’t Hardly Wait” type party, a lot of pretty dames (who gives a flying fuck, they are a dime a dozen here and vapid wastes of oxygen). Sorry. That place was too packed so Rubin and I retired and I crashed on his couch.

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This place was odd.

Rubin has a great place less than a mile from the beach and the cutest French bulldog on earth, Frankie. Today I got up, went back to my weird Airbnb, packed my shit and headed to get get food. I haven’t been eating much the past 2 weeks so I need to keep an eye on that. I made my way to Lakewood to meet up with Chris because we are going to the Bruins game tonight, which should rule. Take me back to Boston Bergeron! Please! No, I gotta give this place a chance. But honestly, If i don’t shake this feeling by July, Fuck this. I know myself, I’m 32 not 22, wet behind the ears and taking my shot at a new place. I know what I love and what I’m made of. The shimmer of this shiny town isn’t blinding me, It’s annoying me. Give me a Boston fan, dropping R’s and saying “kid” any day of the week. At least it’s fodder for me to mock but secretly enjoy. That’s it for today folks, thanks for reading.

Keep Smiling (even when you feel incomplete in a weird place)

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Thanks Brittany.

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