Don't start with me!

[Butterfly Man]

Wakarimashtika, bitch?

Life was good … I lived in one of the most beautiful cities in the world … made a living doing what I loved to do (for the most part) … and was in love with a beautiful young woman (also, for the most part). I’m not saying she couldn’t be a total bitch, but being married to a Jap did have its lighter side. When she became really mad she would scream at me in her native tongue. I thought it was very cute and since I never understood a word, it always made me giggle … Come on! … War’s over babe … I mean, hey, you guys lost, OK?
And then, that would make her even more angry, and, well, so on … and so on … you get the picture.

So I had a seemingly balanced life … a home in San Francisco with equal measures of street and stage … money in the bank (safe deposit box) and underneath the mattress ($100 travelers checks) ... sweet. And then, out of nowhere, the assiduous Asian goes and gets another one of those JOBS … What the fuck? … I thought we had this all worked out! … those things bad … job no good… Wakarimashitaka, bitch?

This time she signs up with a goddamn airline and has to go off to train in Minneapolis for 6 weeks … 6 weeks cooking and cleaning and taking care of myself… fuck! … how long does it take to learn to fold a godamn’ blanket, I ask you?

Anyway, the day she graduates (top of her class, of course), she gets told she is stationed in LA … we had to move there in 8 hours, no shit. It could’ve been anything … Boston, NY, Memphis, even (shudder) Detroit … too bad it wasn’t Honolulu though, then I’d be so stoned, you wouldn’t have to read this crap.

So we move from the foggy, leather, chardonnay, cock-ring crowd to the rollerblade, bodybuilder, butt-thong capital of the world … Venice Beach.

First thing I did was join a gym (actually it was to find a pot connection, but we don’t have to tell her that, do we?)… second, enroll in acting class … third get an agent … I was gonna be a star right? I’d need representation then, wouldn’t I?

I did all the clubs (The Comedy Store, Laugh Factory, both Improvs … started off with good intentions too … “only new stuff”, I said.
Fuck, I was doin’ my box routine and eating fire before the month was out … sigh. Hey, you had to do your best shit here … no experimenting, like up in SF at Cobbs or the Zoo.

I also started doing commercial auditions … sometimes two or three a day … every hot, fuckin bumper-to-bumper 405 afternoon, I’d find myself up in Hollywood barking like a dog or pretending to be a turkey vulture while delivering some boring copy about how bright my smile was now that I bushed my teeth with Maxi Pad gel.
That old wig (I made for the Japs) came in mighty handy too, ‘cause nobody wanted some freak with a bug on his forehead hawking their stool-softening Bran Flakes. It was the worst.

Nothing … after like 200 auditions … nothing … then, out of the blue … I got my first call back …

[Butterfly Man]

Out of OZ

Almost every variety artist I know came to LA convinced that they “ended up here for a reason” …

The reality hits hard quickly … nobody gives a rat’s ass that you can shuffle off to Buffalo while you spin on your head or do a back flip while you twirl thingies in the air … it’s all about OZ (TV & Movies) here … and everybody wants to be fucking Dorothy (literally).

All the really good variety performers that were here when I came, are all gone now … back to where they can afford a home (or 2) … back to where their talents are appreciated ... back to where they can make a living, doing what they do.
No one gives a shit in LA about anything but movies and television. That’s it … if you ain’t into that, well then, you’re out of OZ.

Other than that, everything else is the same here … you have all kinds of people here (street performers included) … the only difference is that there’s more elective surgery/sq. mile. Fuck, even Tony Vera (the Fireman) now has a perfect upper and lower Colgate smile. I, myself, am seriously thinking about derma-brazen.

When you first arrive, you easily get caught up in the buzz … "Hey, did you hear about ...? I think they're interested ... They want to meet ... I could introduce you ... They' might come” ...
then 5 years later, you’re over at Lockbone’s place doin’ weed, an’ tellin’ your ol’ lady you’re doin’ a callback for that Pizza Hut spot.

That reminds me … yeah, my first callback … fuckin’A … so I got the gig … yippee … a fire eating spot … for Pepsi !! … it was a national shot … I thought to myself then… “I knew I ended up here for a reason”.

I don’t want to talk about the purple frilly frumpy faggy outfit (complete with hat) they put me in … I don’t want to talk about how it took 5 fuckin days (full whiteface makeup every day) to get to shooting my .5 second segment … I don’t even want to talk about the blisters on my mouth from the 17 different takes they took of me shoving a goddamn fire antenna down my throat …

What I DO want to talk about is the fact that, the day it was supposed to air, a Pepsi Cola bottle was found on some supermarket shelf somewhere with a syringe inside … it made national news … apparently me shoving a metal antenna down my throat wasn’t the image they were going for anymore … I’m on a shelf somewhere (with Paul Rodriguez) in a can labeled “Hot, Hot, Hot”.


Don’t get me wrong I’m not bitter over the fact that to join SAG, the union, it cost me almost twice what I received from my day rate as a principal (see, I learn fast) … it’s just that, well, things just got worse and worse …

Oh, I’m not saying I didn’t book a few things. Maybe you remember my two episodes on the Spanish channel’s kiddie show, XUXA … how fuckin’ humiliating is that? Or perhaps even my spot in the feature film with Jeremy Pivin … wow, that was so popular it went straight to video. Or possibly you recollect that other film (where a little dot on the screen gets shot and falls down … that was ME!) … fuck, even I can’t remember the name of that one! Or maybe you even checked out my appearance on LA Law (if you were sweeping up the editing room floor, you might’ve) … and oh … let’s not forget those huge, career-advancing credits from American’s Funniest People or my win on the Extreme goddamn Gong Show …

Then, as luck would have it … just as my career was about to skyrocket … an earthquake hits …

[Butterfly Man]

It's ALL about ME!

The whole suburb of Northridge was in shambles. The I-10, the most traveled freeway in America, was snapped in two … yet, nothing really changed … the traffic sucked a little different was all.

No one cared, because in Los Angeles, it’s all about YOU ... the “ME” part of YOU.

LA is definitely the #1 “it’s all about ME” city on the planet. After you live here for about a year, you will, through no fault of your own, look in a mirror one day and see only a human moisturizing flesh monkey.

Speaking of skin-deep primates, it was Mickey O’Connor who steered me to my first (and only) acting school. Mickey learnt every dirty trick in the book (most of them from Cyrus) on his way up as a juggler/mime/pickpocket … but he’s best known for his ability to smile and pretend to be your friend while he is screwing you behind your back. With those sorts of qualifications it’s no wonder I took his recommendation.

I started with only one class a week … it was way up in Studio City and I’d have to fight rush-hour traffic but hey, Mickey said it was the best and it’s only one day a week.

In those days, I decided to treat myself seriously (hahahahaha). I joined a gym … even stopped smoking pot (unbelievable!). I showed up to class punctual and prepared. Invariably, I was the only one on time. Almost everyone else in the class would stumble over their lines and spend the rest of the time talking about “getting an agent”.

I thought everybody sucked ... the students and the teachers as well, but what did I know? I knew nothing about acting. The extent of my theatrical training was a bit of juggling and a bit of begging.

Strangely, I grew to enjoy the non-threatening atmosphere of the school … it was all so new to me … I was being taught “The CRAFT” (it always made me think of cheese).

I was an eager student. I started adding classes to the basic course … Camera Technique/Thursday night … Cold Reading /Friday … Voice Over/Saturday … soon, it seemed like I was always up in Studio City … two three days a week, it was (hell) … I did it for almost three (damn) years …I didn’t learn jack (shit).

During all this time, Mickey was scoping out the best spots to do street shows in LA (and not telling anyone). You really got to hand it to that shallow, self-serving, superficial prick because he was the first to crack 3rd Street Promenade. The slimy weasel also managed to suck some obsequious cock and get paid to “provide talent” for Universal Citywalk as well. It must’ve cost Mickey almost a buck in phone calls to book Citywalk all those years … I’m sure he worked very hard during that 20 minutes.

So, I think you are getting the picture now … Establishing shot: I’m on a dressed set, making a clean entrance for my two-shot … when I come up with this really unique choice: …
Right after I cheat the boom and hit my mark, I’ll step out of range of the double broad, find Mickey O’Connor (at his secret spot between the dinosaurs) … and insert my first Oscar up his scrawny little white Emmy ass, while Gazzo barneys his screams.

… Fade to black

[Peter Voice]

God, it must be quiet in LA LA Land at the moment, Robert. Haven't you got a party or something you can go to? Is Kumi out of town?

[Butterfly Man]

One last word ... before I go ...

I stand before you a juggler by name and fame... I keep things in the air and spew my pithy banter to counterpoint my physical trick with some intellectual dexterity so you know I'm not just a circus monkey... so through my wit you see the depth of my soul and my mind beyond the naked tattoos that make you jump to your conclusions...


Okay, so I rip and goof on the punters who jostle around my pitch and laugh and clap at my old stuff that's new to them...


Yeah, their tourist obesity applause is the juice I live on... and I resent them and need them and hate them and crave the love they give me with the one dollar bills they place in my hat with a "see what I'm giving you" smile after an hour of my sweat made them forget their mortgaged driveway emptiness... did you get your fucking dollar's worth, didja?...


And so I stand here now and curse them for their vapidity... for their name brand name t-shirts... for their sexless marriages and their satellite dish refuges... I mock them for their broken dream realities... their unused gym memberships... and their disappointed decline into fading youth...


And with each shot I take I reveal my biography of tears... I unveil the tombstone of my hopes... and sing the eulogy of my youth...


Yeah, I'm a juggler... did I entertain you?... did I make you laugh?... well put something in the hat, motherfucker...

[Doctor Eric]

[bump]

"Now go immediately over to who's who and post something in someone else’s or your own thread

... don't fuck with the Fly!"

Alright, this is someone else's thread. This stuff is very interesting to a blossoming performer like myself, are you going to post some more stories? I'm doing a thesis on street performers for college this semester, and am very interested. These stories are so "real"!