“You want me to be Barney? As in Barney the dinosaur?”

”We don’t use that word in our profession it could get us sued. We refer to him as a ‘ purple dino type.’ Now let’s work on some balloon animals.”

By now, you all know that I AM a Purple Dino Type… But perhaps you’re wondering how I became a purple dino type.

Well, once upon a time in Los Angeles, there was this guy who was down and out on his luck (me). I had witnessed a woman commit suicide by jumping off a bridge onto a freeway, my 3 year old nephew had passed away and my roommate decided he would do us a “favor” and blow his brains out. And this all happened within a 6 month period. Good times.

After much debate and inner turmoil about whether or not to return home to New Hampshire, where going to Walmart is considered exciting, I decided to give good ol’ LA another go. But I was going to need another job. After all, what actor in Los Angeles doesn’t need more than one job?

As it happened, my pot-head friend Stan had been trying to convince me for the past year and a half to give kids’ birthday parties a chance. Kids’ birthday parties? When I was a kid, an exciting birthday party was one where we got to go to Burger King with a group of friends and wear a paper crown for the day. Here in LA, an exciting birthday party apparently included a bounce, a petting zoo and an entertainer to make sure all the ADD kids are kept out of their parents’ hair. Because God forbid they should have to actually parent their kids. That’s where the “purple dino type” enters the picture.

So in my desperation to remain in LA, I decided to let Stan talk me into fooling his bosses into thinking that I was a kids’ party pro so that I could perform at a party the next day. His bosses had a reputable company, and would obviously be reluctant to let a complete stranger perform at a party for their clients without being assured that this person was competent. And so the lessons began: Clowning 101 was officially in session.

Stan went over basic balloon animals: cat, dog, horse, hat, sword and glasses. Strange that these were the “basics,” I know. He gave me a quick overview of the basic flow of a party. And with that, we were ready to go meet the bosses.

“Oh, by the way,” Stan said, “I told them you’ve been doing this for years. So put on your actor’s hat and pretend you’re a pro, OK?”

I drove us there in the pouring rain, the whole time going over balloon animals in my head. OK, I can do this, I thought to myself. When we arrived at the house, the bosses were apparently having a party of their own. We wandered through a sea of people until finding them, and then Stan made his big introductions.

“Jason, meet Ross and Rachel. Ross and Rachel, meet Jason.”

After the introductions, we made some small talk. It didn’t take long, however, before Ross dove right into the 3rd degree.

“So what parachute games do you play?”

Parachute games? What the fuck? Were these kids’ birthday parties or espionage? I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, and I’m sure the blank expression on my face gave that away.

“Which ones do you like?” I asked him hoping to get the heat off of me. It didn’t work.

Ross went on to say, “Oh you know, the regular games.”

“I make balloon animals,” I quickly interjected, trying to point out something I actually did know.

“Really? Before or after you do the parachute?”

Son of a bitch! Now he was just being cruel.

By now it was so painfully evident that I had no clue what he was talking about that it was even killing me. I wanted to throw my hands up and call it a day. “You got me. I have no fucking clue what the fuck I’m talking about. Game over. Thanks for playing.”

But miraculously, just when I thought Ross was going to call my bluff, he smiled and said, “Have fun at the party tomorrow.”

Did that really just happen? Was this really my introduction into the world of kids’ parties? You bet your ass it was.

Back at Stan’s place, he pulled out a parachute and showed me what it was and how to use it. It was literally a parachute, except that instead of being big and white, it was big and very colorful. Maybe this was espionage after all.

As I was leaving Stan’s, he could tell I was nervous about performing at my first kids’ party ever, so he offered some words of “comfort.”

“Remember, you’re an actor. So act like Barney.”

“That’s Mr. Purple Dino Type to you,” I replied, as I walked down the stairs and onward toward an adventure where the good guy always wins. Well, usually, anyway.

I AM The Hollywood Clown AKA a Purple Dino Type.

Crawling under houses to bolt the house to the foundation is most definitely not a glamorous job. And it can from time to time involve digging. When we replace the concrete foundation it involves us having to jack the house up, secure it, and dig…a lot. We have to destroy and dig out the old concrete foundation only then to dig a trench around the house for the new foundation. This trench can be anywhere from 9 to 12 inches wide and 18 to 24 inches down.

I know you’re thinking to yourself, “That sucks.” And yes it does.

But every once in a while we find buried treasure. It’s kind of like being a modern day pirate (with a little less rum). But in our case we never know what we might find.

Today I was digging my ass off like a mole being chased by a rabid dog (not like a pirate because I like to change it up from time to time) and I stumbled upon something very interesting. (See Photo)

These two items were buried side by side about 5inches below the ground surface. Three thoughts came to my mind.

One, how long have they been here?

Two, how did they get here?

Three, what happened to the child that was playing with the Lego’s?

I have plenty of time while digging at work to come up with scenarios of what “might have happened.” I would love to hear other people’s thoughts on the subject. Have fun with it.

In the meantime, I’ll keep digging.

I AM The Hollywood Clown

“On July 29th 2008, at 11:42am, a 5.4 earthquake shook Los Angeles. It was centered near Chino Hills, about 30 miles South East of downtown L.A. Throughout the day there have been 50 aftershocks, the largest measuring 3.8 on the Richter scale. It was the largest quake in a populated area in 14 years. We’ll be keeping you updated throughout tonight’s news broadcast.”

As an actor in L.A. the best advice I was ever given was, “Make sure you have at least three skills under your belt to help get you through the hard times.” Because as an actor, there are LOTS of hard times.

I took that advice, and have become skilled at more than three things to support myself. Currently, one of those skills is in a field of construction called Seismic Retrofitting. “What is Seismic Retrofitting?” you ask. Well, it involves working in the crawl space of houses (i.e., crawling on your belly or back for 8 hours a day and digging a hole to piss in) and connecting the house to the cement foundation, thus making it current with California standards. For those of you who can’t – or don’t – want to picture the working conditions, I’ve included a photo of me at work.

Nice, huh? You get used to the spiders, darkness and the occasional dead, or – shudder – living things that you run into on a daily basis. This brings me back to the topic of “Earthquakes.” When the quake hit I was at work.

I started house bolting four years ago, and have been very fortunate to never experience this natural disaster that is synonymous with Southern California. I don’t know how many of you out there have ever been in an earthquake, but if you think it’s scary inside a house, try being under it.

Luckily, none of us on the seven-man crew were injured in any way, other than emotionally. Our boss gave us the option to “call it a day” and get paid for half a day’s work. Only one of us took him up on his offer: the one guy who had never experienced an earthquake before. He was so shaken up (no pun intended) that when he came into work the next day, he told me that he had gone home and done some serious “soul searching.” Earthquakes have a way of bringing up that kind of inner soliloquy. I’ve known many people in my 16 years of living out here who, after an earthquake, have just packed up and moved back to wherever they came from, leaving their hopes and dreams behind to pursue another day.  I, too, did some “soul searching” of my own after our little shake up. “Maybe it’s time to move on to another one of my many skills? Or maybe learn a new skill?”

Don’t get me wrong; my current job was shitty even before the quake. Everyday I feel as if all the creativity is being sucked from my body, oozing onto the ground I’m laying on, in a puddle for someone else to crawl through. Lucky them. The only reason I do it is for the same reason everyone else on the crew does it: auditions. We’re all actors, and as actors it’s hard to find a steady, well-paying job that not only allows us to come and go to auditions freely, but also allows us to take time off for the “golden ring”: the occasional acting gig.

Normally, I would’ve quit by now. But between the current state of the economy (thanks, George) and the fact that I have a kid on the way (thanks, fast-swimming sperm) I don’t think that’s the best idea. What to do? What to do? To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. But I do know that I want out from under the house more than ever.

I’ve thought about putting my acting on hold until things settle down with the Screen Actors Guild and the AMPTP (look it up) renegotiation’s. The writer’s strike really hurt us struggling actors, and we haven’t yet fully recovered.

What to do? What to do?

Time to think outside the box. My resume’ is available upon request.

Nothing like a good earthquake to provoke a little “soul searching.” (Thanks, geology)

Reporting from under a house… For now. I AM The Hollywood Clown.