07. Survived a violent attack on stage when a drink, thrown at my face, shattered off the microphone and planted tiny shards into me and my guitar.
Ugh. This one was traumatic. It was around a high point of my music. A small record label/management company was very interested in me. Their main focus was their punk band. But they wanted someone like me with a totally different style so there wouldn't be a conflict of interest when negotiating (or whatever). I shoulda known by the name: Lunatic Records.
My music was greatly appreciated by them, the guys in their punk band and many of their fans ... except one.
It was a CD release party at a club in West LA. There I was, opening for these guys -- me and my guitar, alone on stage, in front of a buttload of drunk punkers (and about 20 or 30 of my own friends). Most of them cheered me on. But one woman was so loaded and outwardly angry. I didn't even notice her [I sing with my eyes closed]. She apparently was circling the club raising her fists and flipping me off. When she got in front of me, she pitched her drink. It was a direct shot to my face. It shattered off the microphone. I felt the attack in slow motion. Microphone, glass, ice and booze covered me from head to toe -- mostly glass. My guitar still has glass dings.
I stood there, frozen. The room was silent. I tried to go on. But I was like, "What just happened?" All I heard was DON'T MOVE! I looked down, "what's on me?" I had glass in my hips, my waist, my eyelids, my hair, my neck, my arms, at my feet. It was surreal.
Four of my friends jumped on stage to pull the big pieces out of me. Two of my friends guided me off stage to the bathroom to get the rest out of me. I had to strip from head to toe.
Meanwhile, three others (two of which were from the punk band) hauled ass after the drunk woman down the city streets.
Lunatic Records told me it was an accident. The glass wasn't meant for me. Asked me not to press charges. Thanks for having my back on this one.
It was a long night. I didn't find out till later that it was fully intended to hit me. The woman could've been charged with attempted murder. As absurd as it sounds, it's something the managers should've taken care of.
Instead they encouraged me to get back on stage to show I wasn't about to let that stop me. I didn't want to. I wanted someone to make these decisions for me. So I did what they suggested (they were to be my managers after all). Everyone (everyone!) in the club cheered for me and watched the rest of my show.
For the next few days I was pulling out tiny shards of glass from various places in my body.
The club has since shut down in that location. The one in Hollywood is still open.
08. Appeared on six episodes of the TV show Wings.
It was my first month in LA. A few friends were working at Paramount Pictures as pages and production assistants. One friend called and said he'd heard that one of the regular extras on Wings had just quit. The season was just starting. So I made my way to Stage 29 and introduced myself to the 2nd Assistant Director asking for the job. No headshot. No prior TV experience. Just a BA in theater (means nothing in LA) and a smile (means everything in LA).
You can read more about it (and even see some still shots of one episode) here.
09. Was arrested during a raid and swept away in a paddy wagon.
I was 18, drinking at a beach party in New Hampshire. All I had to do was dump my cup and walk out. But I didn't know that. Instead I walked by the commotion, out the front door and past all the cops with my bucket of 99-cent mixture. Two cops looked stunned as I said, "excuse me" and kept walking. They let me go. But then they were like, "um, what's in that cup?" I was taught not to lie so I said, "Sprite." They eyeballed me. As if I could be smart enough to outwit a NH cop. Again, all I really had to do was dump it. Why didn't anyone ever teach us this? They asked, "Is that all? Just Sprite?" Again, no lying, "Well, there's Sprite in there."
All it took was one whiff and I was loaded on the wagon with my other dumbass buddies. Classic scene. Beth, smart enough not to get arrested, hung on to the bars saying, "I'll be right there. We'll get you out."
At the station, I was the last to be admitted. Mug shot and all. They didn't notice my backpack until they finished the paperwork.. They asked me to empty the contents. I was like, "Oh shoot. You might want to see this." I pulled out the rest of the wine I'd been drinking. One cop held it up for his partners, "Uhh, what do you wanna do with this?" They rolled their eyes. They didn't want to go through more paperwork. So they just dumped it. I was like, "Are you crazy? At least drink it yourselves. You're wasting perfectly good wine!"
We needed cash to bail ourselves out. We had the money -- but not cash. At this time all of the others were in a jail cell. I was hanging out with the cops. Soon Beth arrived with bail money.
10. Scooped dog poop every day for the past nine years ... and counting. [oh yeah, so proud]
I'm thinking this one doesn't really need an explanation.