Prelude to a Big Break

I don’t know where to begin.  So I’ll begin at the beginning.

On February 14th I sat on top of Runyon Canyon and wrote that I was “Louis The Dog away from being home.” Apparently, I was right.  What a weekend.

Saturday:

6:00 AM — Driving rain woke me up.  When it rains in California, it rains angry.  My alarm was set for 6:00 AM because Lou was due for Air Canada Cargo shortly after 9:00 AM Eastern.  If my Uncle and my Mom needed anything, it was responsibility to be awake and alert.  So I was.

10:00 AM — I sat around and read a script / watched “The Wire” (this is important) for 4 hours.  Lou’s on his way and I have an audition at 12:30.  That’s the thing about Pilot Season…  You have auditions on Saturday.   My buddy Nate had an audition today (Sunday).  Unbelievable.

10:30 AM — Target.  Dog Bowl / Mat for dog bowl / Toy that he can’t destroy immediately / Treats / Swiffer Sweeper and pads / Towel rack (nothing to do with Lou) / New collar (that doesn’t fit) / Food / Food scooper.

11:20 AM — Over to Johnny Bennett’s to exchange the Smart Car with a Ford Escape.  This is the first instance where a friend of mine stepped up – like a friend should – this weekend.  The first of many.

12:30 PM — Somewhere in Studio City for an audition.  A great audition.  A killer audition.  You can build momentum through Pilot Season.  The actual auditions aren’t interconnected, but your craft is dependent on repetition and confidence.  I dismantled that audition.  This is factual.

1:30 PM — Italia Ricci.  She’s Lou’s owner… just ask US Customs.  And she gave up her afternoon to help me pick him up at LAX.  Italia: I love you.

2:15 PM / 3:00 PM / 4:00 PM / 4:25 PM — WAITING.

4:40 PM — Louis.  (Italia calls him “Hand Bag”.  Brilliant.)

5:30 PM — Lou and me hoofing it around Hollywood Blvd.  You’re not going to believe this, but he was excited.

7:00 PM — Arrived at Capitol City (a spectacular sports bar) for the second half of a great college basketball game.  It was also the opening weekend party for a US wide Gay Softball League.

(11 Drinks later…)

9:00 PM — Pre-party for the lovely Italia.  She’s filming a show in Toronto as of next Saturday.  Party, hearty.

10:00 PM — Let’s not understate this…  The Gay Softball Players got me drunk.  My buddy Dave (pictured) was simply trying to shepherd me back towards the soberland.  (Mixed results.)

12:00 AM (ish) — My thought process: “My buddy The Lou is at home chillin’.  I should get out ofDID THEY JUST DELIVER A BOTTLE OF VODKA???”

Sunday:

2:00 – 7:15 AM — Slept with a black guy.

7:30 AM — My head…  MY HEAD…  I couldn’t wait to take Lou to Runyon Canyon.  Get him out…  Get him running.

7:50 AM — Remember when I borrowed Johnny Bennett’s car?  Well, now I’m out on my street and his car is nowhere to be seen.  Seems it touched a red zone and got towed…  To South Central.

8:10 AM — Johnny – miraculously, he’s awake – and I are zooming along with 101 towards South Central. Friends.  Being there.

8:20 AM — South Central.  Tow Yard.  We decide the man guarding it is an Alien.  Picture?  Taken:

9:30 – 11:00 AM — Runyon Canyon brings Louis The Dog to his knees. 8 hours later he’s still a mess. Nothing makes me happier than a tired pup.

12:00 PM — Did you know that Canada and the US were playing for the Gold Medal in Hockey?  It was on television and everything.

12:40 PM — Warren (my buddy and high school roommate), Italia, Davey, Vanessa and Chantal (by proxy) start cheering.

1:20 PM — Robbie Amell rounds out our booth.  We’re exactly the same.  Ask anyone.

2:40ish PM — 24 seconds left in the game — It was my understanding the bar was approximately 65% (US) – 35% (CAN).  Not so.  More like 94% – 6%.  When the US scored with 24 seconds left to tie it, Capitol City erupted.  We sat there with our hearts in our stomachs.  We waited.

OVERTIME (I don’t know what time it was.) — This is tense / don’t get caught too deep / This shouldn’t be 4 on 4 / JUST SHOOT IT / I’d like a Budweiser and some Heroin / Crosby’s diggin’…

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There was a delayed reaction from our booth.  As in: “Wait a minute…  Is that puck in the net?  It is?!?!?!”  At which point, we yelled.  We screamed.  We held it six beats too long.  We punctuated with hoarse calls across a deadly silent room.  Sidney Crosby — our very best player — scored in overtime for the Gold Medal and one fucker of an exclamation point on the Winter Games.  YellScreamYellHugYellPauseYELL.

Then you sit and relax.  You tell the waiter to bring you something Canadian.  They bring you Canadian Club and you kill it.  The medals come out and you start making fun of yourself because you’re crying.  Your cousin snaps a photo:

3:45 PM — Everybody leaves but me.

4:00 PM — A girl from Vancouver at the bar.  She’s a lawyer with a Canada shirt on.  Patron, more Canadian Club, Patron.  An actor from “The Wire” rolls in and we become buddies.  ”Hey Man…  Last time I saw you they caught you with 20K in cash.”

4:30 PM — Quiet moment thought process: “Sidney Crosby scored the overtime winner.  The Golden Goal. The greatest moment in the history of Canadian sport.  Paul Henderson should light a cigar somewhere and think about his 38 years of undisputed glory.”

5:30 PM — Again, Lou’s at home.  Strolling down Hollywood Blvd. with the sun crashing over all the buildings that L. Ron Hubbard owns.  My apartment, my Pup, an audition tomorrow morning.  It couldn’t be more beautiful outside.

I pass 3 Canadians surrounding Alex Trebek’s Star on Hollywood Blvd.  They aren’t there by accident.

4,300 KM away from Toronto.  Home.  (Capital H.)

EDIT: Just because…