WRITERMAN

Posts Tagged ‘los angeles’

Posted on January 12, 2010 - by writerman

Mr. Unlucky wins Champion Screenwriting Competition

Got some good news to kick off 2010. After a series of near-misses, short-lists, semi-finals and finals, Mr. Unlucky finally stepped up to the plate and hit one out of the park. That’s right, my little screenplay about leprechaun gangsters, true love, road trips, diabolical corporate executives, game shows, breakfast cereal, a 1960 Plymouth Valiant and the unluckiest guy in the world is the official Champion of Champion.

Righteous!

Now let me tell you – this is my kind of screenwriting contest. Prizes were handed out over beers, fortune cookies and steaming plates of Kung Pao on a Friday nite in Hollywood. The next two days were a blur of high-fives and bourbons at the Coach & Horses, a weekend crash course in screenwriting (courtesy of Mr. Jim Mercurio) that featured a cold reading of our scripts by the talented and ever-so-handsome AJ Quartermaine, and finally taking my beautiful out for a steak dinner at Musso & Frank’s to celebrate.

And just in case you were worried that this sudden success will go to my head, allow me to share a little story. The Falcon was in the shop that weekend, so the very first thing I did after winning the contest was slide the winner’s check into my pocket, walk down to La Brea, and wait 45 minutes for the bus to take me home. In the rain. Damn right it’s glamorous being the Writerman.

Just watch for me on Entourage next week, baby.

Thanks Jim!

Posted on October 1, 2008 - by writerman

The most delicious donut in the universe

This morning, I ate the most delicious donut in the universe, courtesy of my man Bob:

Bob also supplies the hottest coffee in Los Angeles. Seriously. I stopped by Bob’s on my way back from an early morning surf. The next 30 minutes transpired as follows…

9:15 am: Purchase one small coffee & one raised glazed.

9:16 am: Eat donut.

9:17 am: Joy.

9:18 am: Pull out of the Farmer’s Market parking lot. Drive East.

9:24 am: Park Falcon at home.

9:32 am: Drag board and wetsuit up stairs into apartment.

9:36 am: Return to car and grab coffee.

9:38 am: Sit at desk.

9:39 am: Burn the shit out of tongue on first sip of coffee.

Will I never learn?

How do you do it, Bob, you deliciously evil genius?

Posted on February 27, 2008 - by writerman

I’m so bored with the USA

Ok, actually i’m not. Not one bit. But these guys sure were.

Honestly, some days living in LA is ass, but today was all radness. Why?

1. Because I hit the hollywood farmer’s market and treated myself to a burrito the size of my head, a first-rate cup of coffee and the world’s biggest $5.00 bag of oranges. And, I learned a thing or two about how to hook it up with the ladies from my main man Cash. Seriously, the girls could not keep their hands off the Cashman. Dig his sweet moves:

2. Next, with a belly full of carne asada and veins full of caffeine, we hit up Amoeba Records across the street and walked out with a bag stuffed with new cds and vinyl, including an amazing reprinting of The Clash’s first record, with the album art pressed right on to the vinyl. It wobbles like a Weeble when you play it, but the cover art is so awesome I might just frame it and hang it on the wall. OK, to be fair my sugarpop will probably do the framing, but I’ll help her hang it, I promise. Check it out:

Sorry, my scanner isn’t big enough to fit the whole record.

yay LA!

Posted on January 11, 2008 - by writerman

The roof the roof the roof is on fire

Dude, an apartment building just around the corner from us is on fire!

Right now, as we don’t speak, that mother is burning down. All the way down to Chinatown. Streets are blocked off. Smoke pouring into the sky. Firetrucks all over the place. I didn’t see any dalmatians, but they’re probably busy running around the inside of flaming apartments saving old ladies and babies and half-eaten egg salad sandwiches.

You ever wonder why firemen like to party with dalmatians? The other day, someone told me that it’s because they’re prone to deafness. And, you know, cause they don’t hear good, they don’t get all scared by the sound of fire. Which makes a lot of sense, cause if my job involved busting into burning buildings, I’d totally want my parter to be four-legged, high-strung and deaf.

Anyways, there are also 4 or 5 news choppers hovering above the neighborhood, likely hoping to see a bald Suzanne Somers or Britney Spears come running out, covered in coke and lighter fluid. Personally, I’d like to imagine that Jack Johnson or Sting will be carried out of the flames in the arms of a big, strong, mustache-sporting LAFD officer, crying over his lost yoga mat and macrobiotic grow-op in the basement. Damn, I am such a hater.

Seriously, though, it sounds like no celebrities or regular people were hurt and they’ve got the fire under control.
Alright, I have to go hose down all of my belongings now.