LOOK Effects and Venice Beach

March 19th, 2012. A toasty R.V. park suspended on a large ridge like hill, green and rolling. It faces upon the beautiful rolling waves of the ocean, white roam radiating throughout the deepest depths, a calm suddle time of the day, a sunset approaching the misty sun above, pink and red making an appearance as their tints approach the phenomel horizon...all this beauty, wonder and glory for the Great Creator. We travel inside a greyish sandy fiberglass rectangle, a motor home. And the scene is ruined by a dirty tile floor, heaps of clothes and papers, barbies, blankets, and bucketloads of random items, with an air mattress stretching horizontally, a futon, and no room in this makeshift bedroom. Classic books balance on a wood trim and the cushions leather material on one side, and on the other barbie shoeboxes and containers rest pleastanly above a raggedy haired child, a brown haired girl of ten. Spread out and comfortable, a red haired 13 year old breathes slowly and rythmetally. We hear the whizz of urine on a toilet as a 60 year old father washes his hands and moves his flat feet to his Toshiba computer, then sits down in the small  wooden chair, surrounded by cables and stuff, different technology and maps for the next planned venture of the Bourne family. Our ears wince to the sound of the click of a light coming on, as the mother turns the pages of a wonderful Amish story, a bestseller she just got from her stack of books she slowly digests on the big trip. Her newly bought iPad is also used frequently that morning. The red haired boy wakes up, as the mother goes to take out the dogs with him. They enjoy the beautiful morn that they find themselves in as the girl continues sleeping, the Dad, typing away, searching R.V. parks on the internet. As they return, anxious cold dogs dashing inside, running under the beds, the girl wakes up and is immediatley ordered to push her futon in. Relunctancly and after many askings she does what she is told, and then the narrator stops doing the over detailed introduction as Andrew steps in to tell it as he saw it happen. Go ahead, Andrew. 

Thanks, sir. I kinda liked being referred to as the red haired boy. Oh well. We took showers quickly and got ready for our appointment at Look Effects that day. That was our reason of taking the daring trek to Malibu, was to meet Mark Driscoll, who was friends with the Gould's, who Mom and Dad are friends with. It was a visit I was excited for and was to cherish, although Rebecca could not say the same. Mark Driscoll was in charge of a visual effects company, who make the graphics and animation for movies such as the Muppets and the King's Speech, but we'll talk about that later. For now, let us focus on the introduction. Mrs. Gould had arranged the appointment, and we dressed nicely for the time at his building ahead. I imagined a cubicle like setting, with business people in suits and offices, plush waiting rooms, fancy prim secretaries, and a stern business like boring man who smelt of coffee and money...boy was I ever wrong. 

Finishing that Ireland book in the morning, I now decided to read a quick one that Westin had given to me about a kid in the Civil War called Soldier's Heart or something of the sort. It was by an author I really hate the writing of, Gary Paulsen, who has gory terrible bloddy scenes and a lot of death and destruction, but hey, it was really short, would be a good transition from the last hard book I had read, and besides I had to read it because my friend gave it to me. So I took it with me for the longish drive to Look Effects. 

Nothing of large importance, or any importance, to talk of the journey. Just a few docks by the harbor, and some nice boats that we looked at, and a tree filled road down to it. The white sailboats with pasty finished paint and rich sails shined pleasantly in the noonday sun. We went to several neighborhoods and chunky set of buildings in the town, with painted stone and that regular urban style. This was of course after leaving the rural Malibu, that has barely a town, just a few people living around in houses. I read the horrid book of the Solider's Heart, with blood and battle, bayonets and fat black rounds, gunpowder and amputated legs. If I was a little queasier(I got less weak on the trip), I would have barfed at the grossness of it all. Paulsen reveals the deepest corners of grunge and goryness, not the beautiful parts of nature or the comedic mistakes of man, the vastness of an ocean, or the denseness of a pretty forest. No, Paulsen focues on violence and death. After surviving the whole ordeal of destruction and death in the Civil War, which is the worst War in American History, and losing a leg, the pitiful creature who ached for war in the beginning wanting glory, the main character ends the pain and misery and pulls a small Derrainger trigger to his temple. Ouch. I do not recommend the short book to anyone, and I was sad to read it that day on the way over. However, I would soon be cheered up. 

The Last Blog Post

Dear friends, family, and acquaintances;

It is my sad duty to report that after nearly a year of being home I have not been able to finish the blog posts and tell of every day on the trip. It is solely my fault and my responsibility I did not finish. However, I will tell you of what we did each day from the drive to Malibu Canyon and onward. I got so busy and now it is too far back to describe it in great detail. I have failed.

I can say that it was a wonderful trip and I had such a great time learning, going to museums and national parks, and enjoying the serenity and beauty of our great nation.

In the months of April, we took San Francisco by storm and my older sisters came by plane and spent a week with us there. We then did Oregon, Washington, Wyoming, and enjoyed the dazzling nature that the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone had to offer. In the Northwest we saw many mountains, including Mount Rainier and Mount St. Helens. Next, we engulfed ourselves in the West, such as Utah, Northern Arizona, and Nevada as we went to Las Vegas, Arches National Park, and the Colorado River. We drove a boat down the latter river, and spent time in the Grand Canyon, over in a helicopter and in on a pontoon boat.  I will never forget the ascent and descent, all of the wind around the small, tight contents of the metal aircraft, and the tints of orange and red we saw as the speckled dots of humans became larger and larger, and went into a pontoon boat guided by a Navajo Indian. Colorado and Arkansas were the last states to go, as we saw the Bill Clinton Presidential Library and the various tourist attractions around Denver and Aspen. Just seeing the purple mountain majesties and the amber fields of grain in our nation was enough to give me an insightful perspective of how immense life was, and when the trip ended I was glad to be home in my hometown of Roswell...but yet, at the same time, I regretted that  this eccentric, amazing, and pleasant journey was finished.

This great excursion gave me the infamous "travel bug" to always relish the joys of leaving your place of residence and exploring the vast world, to smile at those small, terrible gas stations, to feel the breeze in your hair at wide, open expanses, and to widen your eyes at the discovery of yet a new wonder. This is the supreme bliss of traveling in an R.V. for a year. We love the hum of the engine, the whine of the dog, the ache of the head, and the stuffed quarters of a motor home or small jeep. These may be surprising things to like, but when on a vacation or long trip, that feeling of freedom never escapes you. Never.

I hope however unfinished this blog may be, it has helped you understand this nation better, this land we live in, and provided you with a pleasant account of one family's adventures for a year. I will leave you with a quote...

"The world is like a book, and those who don't travel read only one page."

-St. Augustine of Hippo.


And now, I say for the last time...goodbye for now.


Sincerely and with thanks,
Andrew Bourne.

The Drive to Malibu Canyon

"Heeerrrrrrrrrrreeeeee's Andrew!"

Thanks, Von Handson for that very creepy introduction. I got that from some horror movie. Now, I usually don't like scary things, or anything close to them, but this day that I am accounting was very scary, if you believe me. Now, usually the blog posts where I recount when we drove to and from a place are small, concise, and boring. But not today. This would go down as one of the craziest rides of Bourne's Big Trip, and for more than one reason. Scary, jarring, dynamic, unnerving, and hairy. But it didn't start out that way.

Early in the morning Mom and I maneuvered our way through the bikes and the tucked in R.V. site to walk the dogs. Rebecca turned on the T.V., and was forced to push her futon in as we were leaving today. With great reluctance, I even put up my wonderful silky gold bed, letting the air out and deflating my great old bed. And then, I turned it up into the sofa, shaking my Mark Twain books back in forth, mostly the short stories one. I was almost in time for a new book. But not yet.

Detaching the electrical cord from the outlet with our leather yellow gloves, we then took the water and sewer, which I have described the process of in earlier blog posts and quite frankly do not want to again. Taking the slides in, our wide beautiful R.V. became skinny once more.

Then I looked at this mean R.V. park with weird children and unloving people for the last time, and if I had known how great our next resort and the one after would be, I would be hoping and very excited. We pulled out of Anaheim, the very close Hispanic neighborhoods, with the big palm trees and all the different Disney stores, and finally broke for the highway, of which was windy and loud and the wheels and the engines never stopped groaning and humming, like unsatisfied people at a meal. The day was the 18th of March, and we were making a course away from the very closed desert like interior of L.A. and to the coast of good old Cali, for the first time we would ever see the Pacific Ocean. It was to be a momentous event. I had only seen one ocean in my life (not counting the Great Lakes and Gulf of Mexico), and very soon it would be two. But not yet.

Where were we going? It was a simple answer. Malibu, California. That was a big peak by the coast of Pacific and had a great shortcut to our next little venture. The real reason we were even attempting to go there was to see Mark Driscoll. He was Mrs. and Mr. Gould's (friends back in Roswell) buddy and friend. He had struck out to CA to start a visual effects company and had since made a building and started a really big business. They knew Driscoll from Carolyn (that's Mrs. Gould) going to school with Mark's wife. He had invited us to tour his facility, and boy were we excited for that. I was going to get to go a real visual effects studio! Only a few days before I had been to a director's house. Now I was going to get another perspective of the movie business, the people who add the effects and post production. So I was about to get two parts of the movie experienced, the in production (director/ directing) and the post-production (visual effects and Driscoll). All I was needing was the pre-production. Only a day more...but not yet.

Open highway by Los Angeles soon gave to dense wet forest, rocks upon the sides of the grey road, and old rough road that bumped and rattled the engine more than a rattlesnake in Arizona moves it's tail. It was shockingly beautiful country. All of the crestfallen hills, rolling green peaks, and the ancient oak and brown trees made the territory phenomenal in sights and scenery. We ascended and descended many hills, the road bordered with a small rail sometimes over rivers, or grey rock right in the chunks of the dirt, sticking and intimidating us. The land felt like Ireland, and I was reading a book about the wonderful country and countryside, trying to finish the twisting fiction with multiple conflicts by the time we made to the R.V. park. Even though I was video-taping and blogging, I soon was intrigued by all the pretty greenery that surrounded our little fiberglass rectangle. The sunlight filtered through the canopies almost ceasing, and wonderment fell upon my pupils as my gaze took to a large hill, steep and horrid. Our R.V. rattled, cranked, and sank. This was going to be one of those moments.

An awful moment. The dogs' feet skidded across the tile floor, as it seemed all of reality was being grabbed by some magnetic force in the Earth's core, drawing us backwards into the back of the R.V. Dad shouted as Rebecca sat in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting clothes out of her plush pull out area to put clothes as a white big box, the Barbie apartment in Rebecca's toy world, came rumbling down upon her head. Cries were probably heard for miles. Mom wanted to comfort poor Rebecca, who  looked as if her head was crowned with a hot dog...(okay, maybe that's an exaggeration to a very small bump), but alas! we needed to get up this hill and Mom had a hunch that we weren't going in the right direction. Our GPS wasn't exactly for an R.V., but we would come to that shocking realization later. I stood to stretch after typing, and was rickoted back into the shower area where I slid upon the tile, creating bruises galore. Rubbing my head, and holding onto the shower handle, I came for the surprise of my life. We went DOWN the hill!

There and back again, as they say, as I almost flew to my couch, and Emma, my dog, barked and squealed as my head landed on 'er head. Then I flopped and hit the dust infected rug, where Dad barked for us to shut up and stop distracting him. Rebecca's watery tears and my seemingly fake rocking (oh it was real...this thing called gravity controls it) was really irking him, as he anticipated and got ready for the trials ahead. This was hilly country, and for a long time it had been flat and nice. If I didn't know any better, I could of mistake the place for rolling Vermont, the Vicious Vermont. Go back to the Vermont posts if you want to hear of our little misadventure there. But anyway, here came the terror of our lives.

The GPS, the built in one, wasn't actually an R.V. GPS, even though...IT WAS IN AN RV! We started paying attentions to signs as we continued the great trek downhill that remarked:

ROAD FOR THOSE UNDER 35 FT LONG. ALL OTHERS WILL BE ARRESTED. 

Our motorhome happened to be 45 ft long! It was possible that we could be arrested? Mom knew we were going the wrong way, and Dad openly cursed the GPS. I felt like throwing it out the window. There it would of ricocheted off into the hard grey rock, broke into tons of pieces, and fall into the green trees and leaves. A nice thought. However, breaking it wouldn't solve anything. We needed a solution. Mom was very frightened by this, because we could be arrested, but we couldn't possibly turn around.The cars were speeding to much in the other lane, going the other way, south. They were fireflies in the hot summer, zooming along the rutted road. They wouldn't give us time to turn around. and the road wasn't that wide so it would take a long time and by that time our side would be decorated with dents from countless automobiles. So, we pulled off to the side by the railing, and Dad and Mom undid the metal attacher from the jeep to the R.V. Mom came back, informing us that Dad decided to go find help. We all prayed for deliverance from our latest misadventure, and I can't justly describe the impending doom we all felt. Rebecca tried to act nonchalant, but Mom cried about it. I was sullen and pondered the actions about to play out. Were we going to die? Would our R.V. be wrecked? Who could help us? I sighed a whole lot. Even the dogs whined a little in their crate. Mom discussed what could happen as we prayed some more.

A black compact vehicle slid in a slanting matter in front of our motorhome, the wide huge windshield looking down on it. It was clearly the jeep, and Dad soon got out of it, and clanked his hand against the R.V. door, then opening it with a creak. 

"So what's the news?" Mom immediately asked. 

"A cop was pulling over some guy for speedin' and gave him a ticket and I went and asked him if he could help us turn around, and I explained the situation. He said he'd follow me. He's behind the R.V. and he wants us to turn the R.V. around like we'd normally do and go through the left lane. He'll block the cars with his own and then another trooper will block the lane coming to us by foot , saying to stop and all that."

 Looking in the rear view mirrors as Dad settled himself into his seat and cracked his knuckles, I saw the white and black patrol car. We began the suddell and excruciating process of backing up into the grass, going forward, turning a few angles, all the while bobbing back and forth and the rustling sucking noises and creaks and cranks throbbing in your head.  Then, the coolest thing of the day happened. As we stretched out kind of crooked, our fiberglass sides shining as we curved to our sides, we saw the patrolman skid his car in front of the oncoming traffic, beeping his car horn and flashing the lights on, in a megaphone addressing the situations. All of the good citizens, the Jeeps, Hondas, Lexus's and Chevrolet's, in addition to many other cars, stayed and responded wonderfully to the cop's orders. But one black rebellious Nissan tried to sneak away, perhaps thinking that he had a lot of other better things to do and was awaiting some meeting or something of the sort. The patrolman horizontally skidded in front of the bar, beeping and flashing the lights some more. It was so epic, like something out of a car chase in an action movie. And it was real, playing out before our very eyes. I'm not going to tell you I rubbed my eyes, but I did stare in intense wonderment, and my eyes glittered and danced with the exciting fancy.  We got to go down the road by a different route, turning around and all that. However, because of the close knit rock sides, dotted with different moss and grass but still however grey and jagged, Mom soon after drove separately in the jeep, as we came through the canyons that were still to test our wits and the power of the R.V., against the forces of nature. 

We were embarking in a mountainous region, and the sprawling green valley was steep and cramped, it seemed. The motorhome huffed and puffed, exhaust piling high into the air as a swift wind stole the fumes which exited the back of our rolling rectangle. The green hills, doubled by grey rock sticking out of the sides tremendously, strode high above us. The air was crisp and clean out here, and smelt of palm tree, mint, and a tinge of that grass and ocean spray. You could almost feel the sun's rays reaching out to you as the sun, huddled with a dense cloud, shone in the horizon and brightened the very surface. Forest, with the tall trees and steep sides, soon gave way to more rolling hills, grass covered and as green as my sister when she's sick...which is a lot as you have heard in these previous blogs. Back and forth, up and down, side to side we bobbed and drove, all the while tons of items in cabinets and countertops crashing to the floor, and Dad raising Cain about how we needed to secure everything and keep the things from falling. It was a lot of stress to place upon our father. It seemed that everyone in the R.V. had stress. Dad had to drive us in terrible places, plan ahead of locations, and book us places. Mom had to help him out with that, take pictures, post them, and edit the blog. I had to write the blog and keep up with it, which in the last 6 months of the trip I failed to do. And Rebecca, well I don't believe she has anything major. But any who and anyway, let's get back to the blog.

Just the three of us in there, Dad, Puck and I. Mom was trailing us in the jeep. We were nearing close to the ocean, as a few stray palm trees starting popping up and there was the strange noise of seagull mingling in the air. And then we saw it. The great, the blue, the wavy, Pacific Ocean. I had never seen it before. How calm, how wide, how mind boggling that it just went on and on and on, no stop in the endless blanket of blue fabric, a sprawling and alive burst of new energy in the world, a bright yellow sun raging above it, as a beacon to all live below. How many secrets must the largest ocean in the world hold? What was under the countless depths of water which no man has gone or might not descend ever? How many pirate ships, merchant ships, or military ships must be sticking to the bottom of the ocean floor, wet sand and mold and clams and sea urchins hugging the sides of the enormous vessels? These were questions which were not to be answered in any short time, and actually, may never be answered in entirety. Mankind goes to other planets and gains a wealth of knowledge of things in outer space, but however, we no naught of a place right beneath our noses...or our boats... The Pacific Ocean.

However it was beautiful. Nothing like the green crowded and tumultuous Atlantic, the Gulf of Mexico or the Great Lakes. This was clear, blue, and I was crestfallen at it's magnificence.

We kept hugging the rolling hills, then approaching a high up ridge far above the large sea, the grassy mountainside sprawling with green. We passed by a university that was very nice, grey stone and a nice big sign. It was small and so high up, right upon the hill of this hole plateau. We could barely see it up there, the big driveway and the large sign. It was a Christian school. Pepperdine was the name of this beautifully made building.  We would actually meet a lady later at the R.V. park who's daughter went to that school, a nice old curly haired ginger who was very kind to us in selecting a spot for us. But that's still a little farther off. Let us focus on now. Mom talked to us on the phone, her and I talking about her not being together with all of us a family, and that it was kinda separated.  A little sad. It was the first time for Rebecca, but her feelings were the same when she had seen the Pacific Ocean for the first time also. It's vastness, great color, blue expanse, all boiled together for the same train of thought.

Okay...I'll stop talking about the ocean. But I'm still mind boggling over it's awesomeness.

And then we saw it. Actually...no...we're not doing that again. I've said that too many times. It's so generic now. So I'll just say... There was the R.V. park. A gravel path of road up, right off of the green hill and at the top and several different platforms down, it almost zig zagged to the top and was connected by a vast driveway, if you will. There was a beachy shack at the entrance, and our long R.V. rattled and groaned, exhaust piling up the people behind us. It was a little brown building, wooden, with a few tiki's around and a good many paths after it, and another one floor long building with windows and a flatish roof, close knit by a few spare palm trees, There were a few bathrooms and a few permanent R.V.'s, also a small hill and little sites, electrical outlets and all, trailers being the surplus of the customers. Not too many nice ones, but there were a few odd out there. It was right on the edge, and as Dad and I walked in, I admired the little motorhome shop that they had in there, a lot of postcards and beach stuff, with a lot of R.V. supplies mashed in there. The aisles and shelves were filled with different books and beach things. A little counter, piled with computers and pictures on a big cork board was behind us, and too British friends, tan guys with thick accents, made their reservation and signed in. I loved listening to their broad accents, and talked to them in their native tongue before they went off. We had a good little conversation, as Mom came in from the jeep. She talked to the woman about Pepperdine and how her daughter really liked it. The woman had actually gone out to help her daughter get comfortable and land on her own two feet for the first few months.


We took a great site right facing the ocean, our broad windshield being able to face it every day. Oo la la! There was also a little weedy shrubby path in which we could walk down and make our dogs go to the restroom, but could not on the actual R.V. park. To the right of us was a nice R.V. and a dumpster, also a few showers. It was a nice R.V. park, but a little bit leaning toward the trailer park side of the spectrum. Still it was going to be better than Anaheim in many ways. After Dad had parked and I had helped him with the water and the electricity, Rebecca and I went off into the close knit set of buildings, as Mom and I would later do also. Down a wooden desk from the small wooden registration office was a little kiddy playground and a small shack, pavilion type thing with fuseball. We went and asked the man at the counter for a ball while passing the small slide and plastic playing ground. It was the only playground they had sadly, and there were no other kids there to play with anyway. It was going to be a somber existence. However, we would be gone a lot doing tourist like things so there was no reason to stay. I beat Rebecca a few times at Fuseball and then she beat me once. It was a fun game but soon we had to leave because your parents wanted to go have a family walk down the peeing area. We looked to the waves rattling back and forth as the dogs pulled on the dirt sloping path. It was rock and dirt to one side and the waves and open air to the other side. Birds were a constant dilemma as the dogs sprang into a fury, attacking them with full leash, yanking us in the direction of their "prey."Still though, we looked at nice white flowers on the right, and cherished their beauty as we spun around turns and continued further down. Tints of yellow and pink started far off in the California sky, We later tried descending down a steep brush filled slope, by some garbage and a small restaurant at the bottom road, but then continued back up. Dad had far left by this point, to go look at the R.V. Back on our little peak, we admired the height in which we were situated. It felt like we were on top of the world, generic as sounds. The ocean spray and the cars passing under us, the trailers right and left from us, and the large strewn path which hung between the forces of hill and ocean...such was the beauty of this park! As I settled down for the night I speculated on the fantastic journey on which we had found ourselves on, the wrong road, police blocking, the steep slopes, the crazy entrance in and the beauty of Pepperdine. It was actually one of the best moving days we had encountered. And I'll never forget all it's excitement, action, and good family time.

Bye-bye for now!

We could use those policemen on the offensive line as helpers to defend the quarterback. I think they would be really good at that. --

Andrew.

Tom Grane's House and Family

I'm really sorry I've been slow on furnishing these blog posts. I have been so busy and loaded down with activities and even on the trip took too long describing things. I will get all of them eventually, just keep looking on here. 

Alright, let's go back in time. This age is the 20th century, and we're going to the years my mom was in high school, 1981, the days when...well actually that a pretty conservative year. They wore khakis and shirts, not unlike what we wear today. Not very weird or exciting. But anyway, Tom Grane asked my mother out to go to the dance, probably by her locker, a scraped metal lock contraption with a combination on it. She probably blushed and then said yes, smiling a lot. I can just picture the scene now. Scraped metal compartments, smiling gals, and then...the Nascar Atl. Pace car! It was a shiny, beautiful, loud machine, generating exhaust more than a thousand factories. This green Ford Mustang excited and jaw dropped my mother, as they zoomed away to the dance, making people stare and gape at this wonderful mode of transportation. Imagine that! Going to the dance in a Nascar vehicle. They must of been the couple of the night. Parking, they came in, and danced, as was accustomed to being done at a dance. It was a great night. 

Then, Tom Grane moved to California, became a 

Alright, let's travel back to the 21st century, 2012. March. The 17th, St. Patrick's Day. This feels like James Bond subtitles. Does it to you? 

After years of not speaking, they contacted each other on FaceBook, talking of the reunion that Mom was not able to make because she was on the trip. Mom called him to tell him that we were in town, Hollywood, and then, Tom Grane, Pace Car owner extraordinaire, invited us to his house. WE WERE GOING TO A DIRECTOR'S HOUSE!!

You couldn't imagine my excitement. This guy had worked on movies, and wasn't just a special effects guy like the people we had met earlier...no, this man was a real director, in the field, and he had worked and talked with Steven Spielberg! As we drove all the way to the town of Sherman Oaks, in the jeep, all my video camera equipment around me(I guess I was gonna video tape some of it, but that video camera didn't work on any editing thing so I got a new one and all the video taping I did was for nothing.) I got ready to read more of my Ireland book. I wanted to finish it today, because it was St. Patrick's day, one of the biggest of the Irish holidays. I read the climax, and about the kid traveling around and all, and the stories he heard from different people around in the countryside, still chasing that old man. I was almost to the end of this very thick and intriguing, descriptive book. After a while, however, I came to observe the scenery around us. 

It was nothing like you would suppose a director's town to be...forest filled, wet, and relating to a rainforest. It was hilly, with many canyons and drops, gravel roads, and filled with one suburban tract after numerous gas stations and restaurants on the way. But don't get me wrong, the town was nice, when we rounded the corner and approached their house, all the other nice big houses on the street, and their large driveway, shut off garage, and garden with a stone strewn path up to a large grey house, plastered rock and a grand oak door, many windows in the stately house, two levels, like many houses that we have in Georgia. 

We parked on the street, the side of the jeep facing the house, and thereafter strolled up to the front door. I had only taken my Movie Speak book and a biography of King Vidor, just some old film books and then my video camera in a satchel/bag type thing. I wouldn't read these in front of the company, but I'd show them to Tom Grane, who I was sure when the day was over would become my new hero. He was a director from GA, me in the future, and he had been very successful! 

We rang the doorbell on the rainy day, and then it was answered by a blonde haired pretty woman, Tom Grane's wife. She smiled, and was very kind towards us, as another women left the front room. The house had a staircase in the middle of the entrance area going up, with a pretty chandelier and then a balcony going to the carpeted floors bedrooms. It was a massive block and under a little hallway to the rest of the house. Expensive paintings lined the walls, and to our right was a sitting room, piano, coffee table, and old wooden furniture, including nice plush leather couches. The window was enlightening and broad, and a black haired lady came and dropped off her daughter, thereafter leaving. Tom Grane came to meet us, and Mom and him hugged, saying the usual, "Oh you look great" "Wow haven't you changed bit" I was introduced and Mom mentioned that I liked acting and movie- making. He was very nice, mentioned his connections, as we sat down in the back room, filled with plush couches and by a fireplace and large flat screen TV. Opposite us to the right was a sparkly kitchen counter, with smooth pretty granite and a lot of nice cabinets. Then there were the open French doors with their white pane square separations. A shaggy large hairy dog immerged from there, led by Grane's wife as they left the grassy area. 

Dad talked with him about the economy, politics, as two girls game down from the long staircase. Grane had called for them, and Tom told them to introduce themselves. There was an 11 year old named Ella, who had brown hair and was rather tan, and Sophie who was a lot younger, littler hear but not blonde or redhead. An interesting carmel color. They said hello, like any other awkward feeling children when people they didn't know were invading their home. I've had the feeling many times before, where kids come over and they're not really my friends. However I have gotten over that by now and usually welcome friends and foe, as I met new kids almost every day in the R.V. But, they were cordial and smiled, and Rebecca went off with Ella, who aspired to become an actress, and had to go to a dance thing later today.Rebecca and Ella were rather nice towards each other. They saw her room as the younger kid hung out with her friend, who the dark haired lady had already dropped off. The house was teeming with life. 

As I waited to interject on the conversations of Tom(I had called him Mr. Grane and he now said I could call him Tom), Mom, Dad, or his wife, I walked around a bit, going to the restroom in a nice painted blue room, with a glorious gold sink and several other wonderful appliances. These people didn't need a large house to live in style. I saw some paintings in the hallway under the staircase, and several of them included naked ladies, of which I turned away in disgust the moment I saw them. However, it has been a long practiced expression of art and nobody in the household seemed to notice. Perhaps it was only a big deal to only me. 

There were posters on the walls, encased by frame, of some French movies that had action and girls and all that. One bust of Caesar was on a little stand. I went back to sit down to the blush couches, as Tom was finishing up telling Mom about the iTV. All this time the flat screen plasma was alive and teeming with pictures of Halloween, and of Sophie meeting Hannah Montana or Demi Lovato. And of Tom on a Hollywood backlot, with a bugle, talking to a number of famous people, just walking along. HOW LUCKY THEY ARE!! To grow up in this melting pot of famous people, to have so many connections, and to be able to say at school,"Yeah my daddy worked on Avatar last Easter."  or when they went to their grandparent's house and when the gold old folk asked what they had been doing recently, they could say, "Well, we went to Universal Studios over the weekend and had to sit in my Dad's office and watch a film being made. Sigh." They would consider what I would be fanatical about only an everyday occurrence. I wonder if they know how lucky they are! But, I wouldn't trade anything to go on this one year trip around the nation. 

But anyway, he told her how to get it and that all she had to do was connect a slideshow to a special software and it would run all day. It was connected to a desktop upstairs by many wires going through the halls. Sitting down, Grane's wife asked me about The Hunger Games, a book series, and then I gave my honest opinion about it as she nodded, getting a little afraid of my flustered spirit. 

I started out calm. "I honestly think that it is a really gutless, evil, really disgusting and gory book series, filled with romantic love scenes and a broken, dismal world as the location. There's no happiness at the end and" here came the flustered, "why did everyone have to die? I mean, this book is a TERRIBLE representation of American AND WORLD LITERATURE! Suzanne Collins is an evil atheist witch and it puzzles me why all of my friends enjoy this jarring and stupid book!" The conversation was thereafter dropped. 

I then asked Tom Grane where he had gone to college and how he had gotten into the business, after sharing some movie terms with him with my little MovieSpeak book. He told me, 

"Well, I went to USC, and then I became an intern for some people, using my resume and going into the film and directing classes. That got me more connections, and I just kept building myself up, rising higher with more connections and more people knowing me. If you play it right, stay with the right people, sign on to the right movies, then you can be a director like me. I then started my company, Mob Scene. Our logo is a fish with the Mob Scene in red on it." 

Tom Grane was now an inspiration to me. I will become him, and I will follow his advice, I will, I really will. Go to a highstanding college, then get an internship somewhere. He really inspired me. By and by in the conversation Steven Spielberg was brought up, and then I asked Tom if he had met him as his wife got all the different fruit plates in pallets that they had gotten(a delivery person had arrived earlier) along with fried chicken and a lot more great food. They were very hospitable and it was very kind of them to feed us. Tom said that he hadn't just met him, he had worked with him on several movies and Spielberg knew him and wasn't one of the millions who happened to meet him in their lifetime. That's so awesome!!!

Well, I went upstairs after a while and saw that the hallways were decorated with Incredibles, and Indiana Jones! Harrison Ford had signed the poster that was in the master bedroom! How lucky were they! To wake up and look at that each morn, to see that he had actually signed it...wow. Even their bathroom, littered with tooth brushes and nail polish, had a small movie poster of The Little Mermaid. The two little girls were sitting in their room, not paying attention to us. I talked with Rebecca and Ella in a nice room with a big bed and a window, her room. She was drawing with Puck. I asked what video we could make after we all decided we wanted to do that. Finally it came down to gameshow, and we eventually got the little girls to join in this. In the play room, with cabinets and barbies and toys abound, they made a sitting area with the couch as Rebecca was the host and Ella and I the two contestants. Sophie and her friend would throw things at us when we got the question wrong. Rather barbaric. I went to the jeep, got my camera and tri-pod, Grane asking what was up as I went upstairs, talking to them before I proceeded up. I videotaped a bit of Rebecca talking, and then Rebecca videotaped us answering the questions. My tripod was off balance, and there were too many cabinets and toys in the small room, with me stepping and tripping over them galore, but it was fun for a while before Ella had to leave to go to dance practice and the Mom came in and told she had to go get ready. We had lost a contestant, so shooting therefore ceased.

But it was time to eat lunch anyway. We feasted on the great scrumptious food of the Grane's, numerous fruits and sweet tasting flavors, all in an assortment of richness and color. Juicy chicken breasts, brown as bears and cooked as an old woman's skin, dominated the counter top island. Together with fat red beautiful strawberries and green silky lettuce and bread, we ate with a zeal and love for the tasty ingredients. Soon after we ate and digested, we soon saw it was time to leave. The mom had to leave to take Ella somewhere and the friend had left, so we got all the tripod movie stuff, and I collected my books. I then reluctantly said goodbye to Tom Grane. He was a very nice guy, and had given me many tips in camera work and directing, more than I can say or count. He led me in the way of my future career. We thanked him for helping us out and inviting us over, after we said goodbye to Ella, Sophie, and his wife. Those three were very nice. Shaking Tom's hand, we dispersed and left in our jeep. For the rest of the day I tried to finish the book as we went and drove to all these different places. It was very late when we had gotten home and didn't not allow for playing time with the kids of the R.V. As the night fall came we found something odd. 

Our two bikes on one side we're moved to the other, in the middle of our R.V. and another one, with a small granite area. This was most puzzeling, why he had moved that. He said it was his space in the letter. Made us sigh, and a little ticked, but we were too tired. You're probably reading quickly to see if I will tell you what the letter said. Alright, fine, I guess I will. 

Your bikes were up against your motorhome in my area. I moved them back. 

-Your neighbor.

Very frank, to the point, without any mean comments, but a little curt if you ask me. Too tired and worn out by riding around at different places, we retired for the night without making any fuss. This was the most claustrophobic park ever, and we had hated manuevering with the bikes there, trying to avoid the slid out slides of the R.V. and all the other stuff. Oh well. 

That was a great day. We got to go to a real director's house, meet his actress-aspiring children and Beverly Hills wife, and eat in company while admiring the movie posters and talking to his wife about The Hunger Games. It was an interesting day that ended in a bike mystery, and a creepy note that shook us in our sleep. The Tom Grane day. 

Nos vemos para ahora. 

"Yeah Steven, it's me. I was wondering if you could get me a coffee on the way to the studio. Thanks, dude." 

I wish I was that close to Mr. Spielberg. -----

Andrew. 

Cleaning Day; Dinner with Meg

Prepare for a pretty boring blog post. Alright, here's the game plan, we cleaned, and got ready for the arrival at our motorhome of one of Mom's childhood friends, Meg, whom she spent some time with in coming back to Glendora in her teenage years, after she had spent time in Georgia. After that we went out to dinner with Meg. It wasn't the most exciting thing, like the TMZ tour, but you know what we all need some down days, especially on an R.V. trip. (back here in Roswell almost every day is a down day). I was excited to meet Meg, whom I though was Mom's cousin at the time but was later told that they were friends and the cousin named Meg lived somewhere else. So confusing!!!

The morning was a little CNN, and sadly I stretched and then was told to let the air out and squish it in so Meg could sleep. I prolonged it by reading a little of my Ireland book, a book I was determined to finish by St. Patrick's Day, which was the following day. It was the 16th, and there's no special occasion for that day. You could call it an un-birthday, also. (Every person has 364 un-birthdays, and why don't we celebrate them too!) On this day Mom took out the dogs much against my will as I wanted to do it for her, and Rebecca made a fuss about having to push in her futon as her barbies might be hurt in the process. Ah, her large barbie plaza or complex, full of shoeboxes and numerous cabinets... she has so much more room than me and it is simply not fair sometimes... as we took papers places and threw trash away, dusted on our dirty tile floor and Mom made me put the clothes into the white bag in the back, Rebecca and I bickered and argued, about each other's space, respect, food, and television, or just argued about some strange subject. Oh, we angered each other a lot and were probably worse than Cain and Abel. But, here in Roswell, we barely ever fight, as there is a lot of room and several bedrooms between us to share. It is certainly enough. But, on the R.V., there was 45 ft and maybe a small R.V. park. But, as she was my only child companionship sometimes besides the kids at the RV parks, we had to play outside and also ride bikes around. However, we didn't do much at Anaheim that day besides cleaning.

Do I have to go into detail about the process of moving computers, putting them into cases, taking stuff off counters and stuffing everything in the back so that it looks like the R.V. has a lot of room, setting up chairs and all that cleaning and rearranging jazz? Because I'd rather not. In a few days we'll be doing some very exciting things.

The evening rolled around and it was tense as we waited for Meg to appear. Finally, in a black sedan parked across the street, we saw through the large wide R.V. front window the girl we had all been waiting for. She had blondish curly hair, more ginger, and also was large and not too tall. Dressed in a dress ish with a little sweater, she emerged as we all came out to meet her. Nothing she said or did was done in great exclamation, which I thought was odd. It was clear she was very shrewd as she hugged us and made witty comments the entire night. I like people who can say a funny line, you know. They talked for a long time outside by the car, and as Dad came we prepared to depart to go to a restaurant. We would probably end up going back to Downtown Disney, that shop/eat area from a few blogs back. Meg drove, and Mom sat in the back with us, as Rebecca bothered me in the middle. Dad was in the passenger seat. We then took off.

We drove all the way to Downtown Disney, in a parking lot and several areas belonging to hotels, trying to find our way in the dark night. The car zoomed rather fast, exhaust piling invisibly in the air, then moving on in the process of diffusion. She went up to a gate guard as we closed in to Downtown Disney, demanding a valet parking session. She didn't sound flustered, but tried to get her message across in slow words, and saying things like, "Ok, Joe, will you do me a favor? We want valet....what? I'm sorry? Ok....valet....valet?" He was on the phone with someone and she had to repeat herself. He then told her to go across the street and into another lane. He thanked her.... I mean she thanked him.... sorry, and then after that we went across the street to where those buildings were and that little ticket booth and those boats in the water and a man was waiting for us as we departed and he took our little cruiser and parked it. We then sauntered in the moonlight over to the paved area in Downtown Disney, past the sign, looking at the ESPN Zone. Did we want to go there for our long awaited dinner?

I think Mom and Dad wanted of something that was different, not the same old jazz, besides, it was crowded tremendously and all the T.V.'s and arcade games were bursting with activity. To the left was a restaurant with Spanish style architecture and wonderful brickwork, further on as we went into the paved walking area with numerous booths and shops, past the Rainforest Cafe. This establishment was named "Joe's Cantina" and was a Mexican restaurant. We had wanted to go here after we had done a full day of DisneyLand, but being too entirely tired, we carried on and went back to the RV, not even eating dinner. So we wanted to try it out again.

Unluckily however there proved to be quite a long line for this restaurant also, people sitting on ledges and in the long line to the podium where they put down their spot. We went all the way up there in the crisp and cold March air, my hands like the bloody hands of a pirate, red as the dirty scoundrels themselves. Well, Meg told us some funny stories, tending to be rather serious at points but still smiling and being nice. Mom and her talked of their old past and all the funny things that happened, also referring to a few old faces and what they were doing presently.

"How about your brother?" Mom asked.

"Same old same old...he's been really successful." She told us that she had gone to the first inauguration of President Obama and really wished he would be elected once more. In the wake of the present election we now know that her wish has been achieved. Sigh.

But it was interesting to learn she had been there, and it sure must of been a great honor to be part of his campaign and see this great event. She's a really big supporter and it probably was momentous to be in the historic moment of America's first black president. Wow. But anyway, we finally got in after her showing us pictures of her dog and the girls talking in one group and Dad and I in another. Finally we drifted in to the awesome restaurant, balconies around us, Spanish heritage surrounding us with the ivy going all around and the sandstone walls. On the ceiling.... well, scratch that.... there was no ceiling. It was crazy! Open air.... I mean seriously. We looked up at the smeared totally black sky, no stars in sight because we were in the city. Not like in North Dakota. You see stars as much as you can't see people. Haha.

That made it cool and breezy in there, which I enjoyed. Dad and I went to the restroom to the direct right of the entrance as they sat at a six seater table towards the bar.

 We got some of those hard chips in the basket in the middle of our table, and the Meg with purse settled as the waiter came to get our drinks. The witty Meg answered in such a fashion that was to inspire me to be funny towards the breed of hospitality servants. I now will be familiar and kind to any waitress or waiter I see. And I get that uneasy awkwardness filtering away and the funny familiar sense appearing from the Good Old Meg.

As Dad nibbled on cheesy nachos and Rebecca on soft tortillas later in the night after ordering drinks, (Rebecca and I had water, Mom had a margarita, as did Meg. Dad was a miller light man) Meg told us that as a school administrator she was going to be selecting a new curriculum called Common Core, that we had never heard of before. But Meg told us that a whole 38 states were already developing this new curriculum. Georgia was soon to be one of them. The deal about this common core thing was that they would have the same standards, I suppose, and so with this they would really be able to see what state had the highest literacy rate, or the smartest school. So this way it wasn’t Kansas learning one thing and Ohio another, you know. Rather interesting, I suppose, but very soon I got bored with this grownup talk and tried to change the subject to movies, Cali, steering away from the subject of politics and immigration and other serious conflicts.

I looked around, at moving Latino waiters as they placed plates upon the tables of the people they served, or at the white twinkles in the sky, barely seen by the overwhelming amount of fog in the Los Angeles sky. I people watched, seeing the reactions and different things like that of numerous people, and how they acted and reacted. But then I got bored and focused my ears once more upon the conversation.

 We talked of Eric, the piano man we had met in DisneyLand who was related to Meg, and after eating our very nice enchilada verdes and talked some more in the dim environment of the shifting people, the cool breeze and all the drinks and foods, we gave the bill and left.

Back in her car we quickly retreated all the way back to the RV. We sat on the couches in some silence…as our eyelids drooped in the hazy hot air, the dirt on the tile floor rubbing against my socks as my eyelids dropped and dropped, my head lowering lazily, more politic discussions moving around with immigration, democr… republi…. YAWN! My eyes were out first as the voices blurred and blurred, becoming rather dismal, and then, vanished. I was still conscious, still  thinking, but then stopped thinking, feeling, smelling, and started sleeping.

So that was the end of that day. I never got to say goodbye to Meg. Maybe it’s better like that. For, we‘ll probably see each other again someday… I don’t know. Well, Meg was very nice, smart, witty, and a good talker. I can see why Mom was her friend back in her childhood. They barely keep in touch, however, and their ideals and views aren’t the same, but hey, who cares! Meg was a very nice person and maybe in California when I become a movie person I’ll see ‘er again.

Speaking of movie people… the next blog post will be full of them. Actors, directors, show moms… all closer than ever before. And we’ll go to the house of one…read the next blog post to find out how, who, where, and why!

Do you want some nut with that Meg?,

Andrew.

TMZ Tour

(This blog post and some after is in the font of Courier because it takes place in Hollywood and Cali, and Courier is used by all of the directors and screenwriters in their movies.) 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MRS. CHERYL!!! YOU'RE SUCH A REALLY WONDERFUL MUSICIAN,LEADER, AND MENTOR! HOPE YOU ENJOY THE DAY!!! I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE COULD DO WITHOUT YOU AT CHURCH!!!

The paparazzi. They are the dirt of the world, the narrow minded imbeciles who feed on the shortcoming s of others, who love to get a juicy story of one of the world's most famous, and thereafter make them viewed as evil and ill in the respect, and even though normal day people do these things and it does not make the news, the paparazzi has to present them as terrible and inhumane, to ruin their privacy and to take pictures of them. They can be unjust and cruel, but, it is there occupation, and someone must do it, and so we must picture them as regular day people, as we treat doctors who love it when people are sick, therapists who enjoy the work of seeing people with problems. Someone must do the job, and their source of income comes from that, just like funeral directors need for there to be dead people. They don't love it, but they do need it.

I probably shouldn't have viewed them in such a respect, but oh well.

One of the big departments of these picture takers who contract their photos and their information, is called TMZ. It means Thirty Mile Zone, a thirty mile area that they cover, which is Hollywood, where most of the celebrities live, and so there is a lot of juicy info in there. I would not find out this until later.

The scene: the RV, dirty and packed with books, sheets of paper, and an over multitude of junk and random stuff. Dad clicks on his Toshiba computer, the wide black slick machine focusing in on the website of TMZ. The day: March 15th, the Ides of March. On this day thousands of years ago Julius Caesar was killed by his fellow people, as earlier he was portrayed in a bad light and over thirty of the people in the senate stabbed him with daggers, over 30 times. It is funny we went to TMZ on this day... because they attack people with words and pictures, and there phrases and juicy secrets are like daggers.

I knew of what it was, how they talked about everybody's bad points, and I also knew of the Television show they had on prime time, TMZ. But, it was rated TV 14, so I had never really gotten the advantage to see it. If it was that rating, then the tour would probably  be rather inappropriate, and that I would not enjoy, as I am not one to take pride in any of that imbecile nonsense and scoundrel joy. I tried to signal and tell Mom and Dad that we should best not take the tour, but alas, they were not familiar with the show and signed us on. Again, we drove to Hollywood Blvd., back to where stars are made and where they do things, and then to the Whole Foods with the tokens for the bathroom.(See previous post for more information on yesterday's adventure.) We went into the parking garage, went up through the entrance, and in no time were again in front of the Mans Theatre, with handprints and street pretenders wanting tips for taking pictures all around us. There was a small ticket booth close to the red and gold theatre, on the right side. We appropriated some tickets and waited until a bald guy with tattoos yelled out "NEED YOUR TICKETS FOR THE TMZ TOUR!!" and then we handed them to him. He handed the studs back to us as we strode and rambled over to the side parking lot behind the block of buildings, where we had gone the day before for the Hollywood Tour, which is another story. We then took sight of it. 

A slick, bulky, large bus shone in the hot Cali sun. It's black painted exterior with TMZ in large bold red letters, along with many swirls and a few famous people's pictures, was something of a spectacle. I could barely see through the black shaded windows, where inside is private(imagine the irony) but when your inside you can see all that is around you. This one had a large roof, and it was so much better, not all ripped up and open air like yesterday's. Oh, it was a beauty. There were two of these so vehicles, and one man, the one who had done the tickets, went in one with some other people. We were lucky not to have that gruff man. There was no sign of our current tour guide. We were sheltered inside and Mom and Dad sat behind the driver, with black all around us. Rebecca and I sat together, with me with the window seat.(very luckily, for I had the video camera and would enjoy this tour more than Rebecca would perhaps.)

Everything in the room was black. The leather seats, the windows, the posts that were by the outside seats, the back, ceiling, walls, everything was black. There was a blackboard and a large dashboard, and the blackboard was behind the driver, who had a black seat with a black uniform. He was Latino. Then, our tour guide finally came in. Dressed in a black collared shirt and black long pants, the young black haired woman was...another example for black. She had a blotched, acne filled face, but still was rather pretty, small, and had brown eyes. She spoke with a small mike and held on to the post as she boomed out, and I could see she was going to be a good actress. 

"Hello everybody, how are you all doing today?" --"Good" and some clapping from audience--"That was poor, but we'll work on that. ---cheers and better goods!, second time around-- "My name's Nasareen, and I'll be your tour guide for today. Welcome to the TMZ Tour. We're really glad your here today. This is your driver, Jose. He's gonna bring us through some fairly treacherous area, so you better be appreciative. TMZ is a show on some channels...you've probably heard of it, but in this tour I really hope that we'll see some stars, as we're the paparazzi. Now, sometimes we're given a bad rap, but all we try to do is get the truthful story out there about some of them stars. Who do you all want to see today?" 

"Lisney Lolan!" 
"Taylor Swift!" 
"Tom Sellec!" 
"Harrison Ford!"(This is me) We all raised our hands in saying this, and Nasareen made an interested face that I, a young person, knew such an old actor. She said perhaps we might even see them 

"So, where are you all from?" Some people were from Canada, a young couple, and another high schooler had just graduated, there with his older parents, but they didn't talk much as much as Rebecca and I would later on. Nasareen learned we were from Georgia, and of course like tons of other people across the nation she had said we were a long way from home. I told her about the trip in reply, and she said that was pretty awesome. Over the course of the ride Nasareen and I would have several witty conversations, her and I whipping each other with funny comments. 

"How old are you?" 
"I'm 12, and my sister Rebecca here is 10." She then asked us of our names. There was another twelve year old, and when it came time for her name to be known Nasareen looked at me and said, "Andrew... hmmmhmmmm... Yeah, Katie and you..." I blushed as red as a fire truck.

We then went upon the road, and Nasareen stayed standing, holding on to that pole. I just then realized and looked upon a television a little above Rebecca and I, and another right above Mom and Dad. It was huge and flat, and then after a little while of looking at the Mans and her talking about how Clint Eastwood didn't want a star and the whole business of getting one, a bald skinny guy, the star of the show TMZ, went up and talked about how it was going to be a cool tour, and not to video tape him talking, also to stay in seats, and all the other boring rules which must come out sometime in the early section of a tour. We then left the Kodak theatre area and went into the more club, shopping area of Hollywood. This TMZ tour was very professional, not as historical, and I wondered if it wouldn't be too bad as I had first thought it would of been. But then came Strike one. 

It was when we had just learned about a big skyscraper club, and the great TV's were once filled up with images as we looked at the great building by a small drop into another area, surrounded by billboards, restaurants, and liquor stores in addition to boutiques, which we would see later on. This was the Hollywood and Los Angeles of the movies, the ones everyone talked about. On the TV they talked about the club where you needed a contract and there was a huge waiting list, also a large bit of money you needed to also have. There were some pictures of the rooms, the large oak tables and desks, all the lush wonderful couches and sofas and the great views out the crystal windows, in addition to wonderful silks and a score of other cool things. We then started up again, leaving the building.

One of the many cool things about this tour was that it stopped and we got to see those videos, unlike the other tour yesterday where we sped along quickly and I could barely even hear him talking. It was great to see the awesome videos. But then we got across the street, to some bars, and a couple of restaurants with a thing called the Funny Club, where Steve Martin and some others had gone to make some laughs.We stopped in a chicken restaurant, with a big kitchen, and stopped as we watched one more video. It was like McDonald style, not really a nice or big restaurant. We watched a video, with several of the people from the show at their location with their desks and pens and cubicles, and the people on the show talked about how Brad Pitt had once worked there at this restaurant, as Nasareen sat down and said a comment before being quiet, as she would do many times in the tour. There was a picture of Pitt, as we saw in the movie, of him in a huge chicken costume. Everybody laughed that the future famous personality was once a teenager working part time... in a chicken suit. It wasn't exactly right to laugh at him as I have been a feathery friend too... I was the rooster, with the red gloves on a white hat... in E!I!E!I!Oops! So I have nothing on him. 

This wasn't the first strike however. I bet your wanting to know what that was. Nasareen had already told us that we should look out the windows to see if there was a star, and then she  would go out with her camera(it was attached to a black overlapping plastic thing that went over her chest and stomach, and allowed her to run with having it secure, also it could move around a lot, something that the professionals used. A Mexican man to our right in a car pointed to somebody, and then some people in the back of our bus said that it was Peyton somebody... but I don't know which Peyton. I forget so much though... Anyway so yeah... Nasareen got out of the car, opened up the door, and had her camera ready as she tried to snap a picture of him, but alas, his little Sudan car sped away at the last second. It was pretty action packed, and we were literally on the edge of our seats to see what happened, but she came back in and said it was a no go. It was really bold to go out there in the middle of all that cars and traffic, and was really the paparazzi in action. Pretty crazy.

That was strike one for the reason in which she tried to get in somebody's business. Nasareen was nice and very complementary of us when it came down to it, but still... I mean why do you have to get in that person's business. After a while the stars are probably flattered, but then they think it gets old. 

Nasareen and I played on each other for the rest of the tour, and she'd be like "I bet Andrew knows" and I'd say a witty line back at her. It was a fun and interesting friendship, and I got a lot of spotlight time. She would smile and we'd laugh at the things, and I think she was glad I wasn't one of those kids that was uncreative and wouldn't reply to something witty. She told us of a story as we went along of how in the last tour somebody said they saw Fabio and a lady said to drive on until they saw a real star. Nasareen showed her kindness when she felt bad for Fabio; as they drove off she could see his hair waving and a confused look upon his countenance... that brought a whole lot of laughs. It still makes me chuckle to this day. 

Strike Two, the more dire strike, was still on it's way, as we went upon some other crummy looking businesses, black walls and a few scrapped paint, some other things, and a lot of liquor stores in addition. Nasareen, smiled, pointed, and told Rebecca and I to close our eyes as she talked about the playboy mansion... as she said. I won't go into details. As I closed my eyes and covered my ears I heard the muffled sounds of "stripper" and names and also "prostitute" and several other ungodly words. That is really terrible. And to think they'd show it on this tour that kids were on. Nasareen later told us she knew we were mature but wanted to keep it kid friendly as she could, but if that's all she could do... TMZ couldn't be too kid friendly. Sigh.  I do not have to go into details about this part of the day, do I? 

Moving on. 

Nasareen... hmmm... such an odd name when you think about it... I've never ever heard that name before that day... huh. Such an interesting name. The black haired girl from TMZ. Nasareen. 

Sorry I need to get back to the blog. 

So, I asked that question about what TMZ meant, and she said in the tour it would be answered. I still had it racking in my brain. It was hard, but I managed to avoid the screen(we weren't allowed to film that because of copyright reasons) as I filmed outside. We went to several of the stars' hangouts, Tim Burton and Johnny Depp's cafe, where Britney Spears went bald(the people from the show in their funny tour video talked about that thorougly as we looked at the salon where it was done... rather interesting) and where Clint Eastwood played golf, but didn't manage to see anyone besides that Peyton guy that I didn't even know... my parents didn't either. Which was a bit of a disappointment. 

Then, we rounded the corner and entered Beverly Hills again, where the stars lived, not played and worked. We rounded a bend where a nice grove of trees and plenty of grass was, and saw a small building that we came onto after passing numerous boutiques where it was thousands of dollars to buy a shirt, because of the rich materials that everything was made of. Very amazing. Nasareen passed this fancy gold place without any trouble, and talked about a few stories of how no paparazzi were allowed in, which was surprising for her. But back to this building. It said Beverly Hills Police Department, or BHPD, and had some blue lettering on the sign. It was small, of a plastered stone material, and of only one floor. Nasareen, as she hung to the pole as we stopped and swashed about, told us that many a star had served time and misdemeanors for drunk driving to infidelity and other things. Britney Spears actually rammed her car, while under the influence, into the police department! That's really funny, 'cause by doing that she stayed right in that place. But of course, because of her celebrity influence she got out quickly, which is sad. We learned all of this on the video with the funny people, long haired and that main bald boss man, all in the video at their place. 

We went down this hill with a lot of ivy, where a hotel was in the distance. Nasareen informed us that this was the place where Michael Jackson had died, and the people on the video confirmed that actually TMZ was out in the parking lot looking for him and were among the first to know he was dead, who then tipped off the police. I guess paparazzi can be good for something. Then the video ended. It was sad to remember that he was dead. 

I remember that day, partying and being at the house of Mrs. Cheryl Rodgers, who is the choir director for middle school and other departments at our church. She's really nice and even has a studio in her basement. I'll actually see her today. We were watching the television and learned of his death in their living room on that summer 2008 day. Mrs. Cheryl's husband, Art, was actually the producer or editor doing the death pictures and story on Michael Jackson, on WSB Channel 2 Action News. Sad day, but I didn't even know who he was until after he had died. 

But, as we all know, MJ had some bad points to his life also, as most Hollywood celebrities do. We drove to the high school where he grew up at (and in the video several other people were talked about going to this school...some of them stars)and we looked at his picture in high school as we looked at the playground, from real thing right outside to the video. Nasareen, as the swings churned in their rusty metal, made the joke of,"I wonder what else Michael Jackson was playing with on this playground" inferring of what he was rumored of doing... bad things to children I will not speak of. I have only just been plunged into the world of inappropriate things, in the ghastly middle school, so I hate to think of all of these sexual references. Oh my.

Changing the subject...happy Veteran's day.

With a small automotive shop situated by the trees to our right, the bus stopped and we watched another video. It was about how some TMZ people on a tour had stopped and helped Cee-Lo with his little problem. The mechanic wouldn't do something for him and the TMZ person said all these things Cee-Lo would do if he didn't put down the price for the repair, but then the man didn't do it at all. Cee-Lo must hate TMZ now, but it was pretty funny to hear of the recounting of events with all those TMZ people in their little office. It's a constant blabber of  them talking, is what it is. We then passed on. 

Nasareen said the tour was almost over (ah, man!) but as we drove back we would play the "Finger and the Wave." It was when they saw stars and video taped them and we had to pick if they would wave or flick the camera person off. Such a depraved game, but one that I took with ease and an air of nonchalant. I smiled and first we did a really gruff guy, Mike Tyson. Would we wave... or flick them off? I knew from experience that they use tough people and you always think they'll do something mean, but in reality do something nice. I raised my hand, wanting the prize(it was a black TV shirt with white lettering of the TMZ tour) and said finger. Nasareen looked surprised and said, "Are you sure? He's a boxer...really mean?" I was staying by my guns, and after the seconds of him eating were over, he just slightly waved. Yay! Andrew 1 TMZ 0. Then it was the actor who played Frodo in the Lord of the Rings... he was in a subway, and Nasareen was trying to trick me. He was supposed to be a really nice young actor, and because Mike Tyson, mean, had done the wave, we were supposed to think he would do the finger, because this guy was actually nice. But, I was too smart for this. I said wave, and Nasareen said, "Are you sure? He seems like a pretty mean hobbit." 

"I'm sure," I replied, with a smile. 

And then.. the moment we were all waiting for... it finished running, and he smiled as the doors to the subway closed. Haha! Andrew 2 
TMZ 0 

Nasareen handed me a bundled up T-shirt, and I took it, victorious. I now have it in my closet, and I wore it a few days ago. Every time I look at I remember what it took to win it. 

We saw a few more star sights, but then found out when TMZ was founded and that it meant the Thirty Mile Zone, around Hollywood and Beverly Hills. We parked in the parking lot and dispersed. Telling Nasareen the blog, and her saying nice things about me like I was clever and funny, we left her as she told us to watch the show soon as she was going to be featured on it. That was really awesome she was going to be in a show! We left, and went to the Kodak Theatre a little, also to Papa Johns above the Whole Foods, looking down on that deep high sided seating area, and ate some good pizza. We tried to enjoy the street pretenders, star walk, the Mans Theatre and all those handprints for one last day, as this was the last time we were going to see Hollywood Blvd. on the trip. The next day was to see one of Mom's old friends...the notorious Meg. But that's a different story.

I really enjoyed that tour. Nasareen was a great tour guide, funny, nice, and really witty. It was fun to see all the videos and different places, and the opinion of the paparazzi as the evil minded fools faded as I begin to have a little empathy for them. It's their job, and their just people like you and me,and maybe it's a good thing for people's bad secrets to be exposed...so we can know the information and make our own ideas about the people. Nobody's perfect and sometimes it's not good to hide it. Ruining privacy isn't good, but every celebrity, or aspiring one, should know it's a public life, and if they don't want that, then maybe stardom isn't for them. Alright, well, I'll talk to you later.

There should be a paparazzi...for paparazzi,
Andrew.