Day 5 — Featured Perp: Danté Spencer

The prosecutor in this case was clever enough to think that there might have been a motive beyond the 15 minutes of fame that the average field intruder seeks. He searched YouTube relentlessly before the trial, and was rewarded with the official video release from the perp himself (since deleted.) It shows the accused out-running security guards for quite sometime while wearing a straight jacket. The above cell-phone video was taken by a fan. In fact, many fans recorded the event individually, each with their own one-handed drunken technique.

The accused is one Danté Spencer, aspiring TV producer/actor IMDb, who had staged the stunt in order to create a viral video that would promote his new show, Straight Jacket. He described the show to me this morning as a "psychological Jackass." The jury is still out on wether or not the the show will air in the fall, but you can catch Danté's live act for the next 20 days on the streets of The Wood.

Lost Night's Sleep

Dear Bum Under My Window at 3:30 am,

Once, you were somebody's little boy. Your mother fed and clothed you, made sure you went to school, and did what she could when you started hearing the voices. But that was many years ago, and now you have decided to use the awning across the street as an acoustically perfect amphitheater to rehearse your rambling monologue, that I have tentatively titled, "Hagum Gagum arag Gagah!"

It's a powerful 20 minute piece, and after hearing three versions of it, I''ll have to say I liked number two the best. Perhaps you have peaked, and are over-working it.

Day 4 — Musings

You get the the idea, it's 13" long, realistic and has a suction-cup base. I fully understand why a person might be drawn to such an item in the shop, but why on God's green earth would one need to tear open the package in the parking lot and throw the box on the ground? Ok, it must have been an emergency, but consider there are children playing nearby. And the photo on the back of the container is life-size and downright frightening.

Day — 4: Exposed! The Secret Formula

From the color lab, deep inside Hollywood Beautification Headquarters, I have smuggled out this photo of a heavily-protected mixing ratio. The subtle color of all-purpose graffiti cover-up paint is now yours!

Day — 4: Hot and Dusty

Hollywood weather today, 88 degrees with humidity well below zero.

While sitting in the shade on our luxurious 10 minute break, my new friend Hector and I were lamenting about the lack of pretty girls on our crew. The only one we thought was calienté was also married to a body builder, and both were there doing community service for a bar fight they were involved in. The family that throws down together, stays together.

So Hector, being a philosopher as well as a drunk driver said, while wistfully gazing at another woman, the somewhat chunky Rita, "Sometimes when you don't have bread, you have to eat tortillas."

The stories are true, and the names have not been changed because the stories just aren't that interesting.

Day 4 - Lunch

Yoshinoya is the worst fast food, bar none. That's all I know about
that.

I make more than our Chinese helpers

Considering that I've found $21.25 in the streets of Hollywood over the course of three days, I am a higher paid worker than those making our plastic home necessities in China.

Workers in Guangzhou province receive $120 a month base salary, plus performance incentives that can gross over 62 cents a day at times! Talk about cushy. Thank god Walmart was able to negotiate a better rate for us, or we could hardly afford dinner at Sizzler.

Day 3 - Spicicles, etc.

This is Victor. I asked permission to use his name and his face; and in a thick Moscow accent he replied, "Use my fucking phone number, I don't care." Victor is a crazy Russian artist, which is a triple redundancy. Notice the device on his left leg. That's an alcohol monitor. It can detect any amount of booze that Victor consumes. It does so by sampling Victor's sweat. He has to wear this thing clamped to his shin for three months—and not drink any alcohol. For a Russian, it's worse than the death penalty. Why is he here? From what I could gather, there was dental surgery gone-awry, DUI, hit-and-run, and resisting arrest.

His teeth were hurting so much that he just had to, "drink and drink and drink." The police came to his house after he got home without knowing how, and when they tried to arrest him, he could not hold up one of his hands because of carpal-tunnel (his day job is graphic design.)

I was not aware that you could buy a popsicle that had chile pepper and salt suspended in it. I was expecting a refreshing melon treat after sweeping the Boulevard, but this thing made me want to eat it faster and faster to quench the fire. In the end, my mouth was kind of sore and I had brain freeze. Good though, and only 85 cents at the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and St. Andrews Place.

Day 3 - Lunch

Me and the crew are going to do a great job today—especially in front of this building. The Luis B. Mayer building is the new home of the Independent Shakespeare Company. Those great folks who bring us Free Shakespeare in Barnsdal Park every summer from June through August. It's the best cheap date in the city, and where the night of The Incident began.

Pump it

As long as everyone agrees to use this knowledge only for good and not evil, I will tell you how to break into a car silently and quickly. Say there is the cutest chi-poo trapped in a Lexus at the Beverley Center. He's hot, you need to get him out and fast. Insert the cuff of a blood pressure rig along the top edge of the door near the corner farthest from the hinges. Pump madly. The door should flex just enough for you to reach in and unlock the door. You're a hero!

Day 2 — Box wine recap

I woke up with a headache, which is odd. Ok, I had to get underwear at Target, so I figured, 'How bad can their box wine be?' Only three liters to go and I can go back to Charles Shaw.

But aside from the headache, today was a good day. I only had to scoop up two condoms. One was brand spanking new, the other, not so much. And I was less bored than riding in the truck with Willie. It seems moving around, walking, and having people in their cars point and stare can really make the day go faster. Here are a couple of photos.

Aren't they scary? This was my crew today. They are smiling because either, the day is over, or I just bought some hand sanitizer and passed it around. There was one alcoholic in another crew who refused to use it. I feel sorry for that guy.

I have a prison crush on the one in the middle. Great sense of humor, smart, and broom skills second to none.

Apparently this van can, and does, move around the city. Does anyone know the story behind it? If I had to guess, I would say that the owner is crazy. Just a gut feeling.

Day 2 — Lunch

Found a twenty in a pile of rubbish on a side street, mixed in with some underwear and the usual cigarette butts. Bought lunch for my crew at El Pollo Loco. I won't get shivved today, no sir.

Day 2 — Break

False alarm, I thought we were heading out onto the highway, but the standard issue yellow shirts were still in the dryer. I guess they needed a way of keeping track of us in the meantime. It's going to be more street sweeping today. Right now we are at McDonalds off Santa Monica Boulevard, having our morning break. We have yet to do any work. I met a guy who is an actor, and his day job is stealing cars. He always gets this far-away-look in his eyes when something shiny passes. I'm resisting the urge to ask him how he does it.

Day 2 — Morning

We are all in the yard waiting for the crew assignments. I'm not supposed to have a cellphone, let alone live-blogging with an iPhone. Damn my thumbs are imprecise under pressure. The bad news is we were all assigned orange vests. This does not bode well.

Day 1 - Recap (from home after 2 glasses of box wine)

It took about two and a half hours to get processed before the actual beautification of Hollywood could begin. Standing in various lines to get my finger electronically scanned, t-shirt issued, rules agreed to, etc. I had to practice a bit of pranayama to stave off an anxiety attack. Though, I did meet a nice man in line who told me never to talk about 'what you are in for.' As in, what you did to 'catch a case.' He claimed that when he was incarcerated, they planted a guard in his cell to listen in on the boasts of his cellmates. Who were then, horribly, convicted of even more crimes!

So now my pat answer to the question, "Mister, why are you doing community service?" Is "I was in a fight with a guy, and I had to stab him in the neck." Not true of course, but it ends the chit-chat.

We are broken into several 'crews.' I get assigned to my 'trustee' Willie. Ok, I'm embellishing, but I love prison jargon. Picture Granny from the Beverley Hillbillies, except black and male. He is about seventy-five, thin, and smokes a couple of Winstons during the day. Nice guy, but will pull a grumpy when necessary to keep the 'virgins' in line.

So out we go into Tinseltown!

But first another glass of box-wine...

I think we actually got started working at about nine-thirty. We all piled into a flatbed Ford with brooms and those long-handled dustpan things and headed to the eastern reaches of Hollywood. I am talking east of Little Armenia. Everyone piled out at a Seven Eleven, grabbed their brooms and started sweeping with flair. I was tapped on the arm by Willie. He had plans for me, which meant I got to ride on the truck the entire day hoisting the bags of trash into the back, listening to old school R&B , and second-hand-smoking Winstons. Not bad actually. Got a bit of a deltoid workout, I think.

Now, I must watch episode three of John Adams.

Day 1

Shit.

It's six forty five in the morning and I am waiting outside the offices of The Hollywood Beautification Team and there is no sign of Lindsey or Paris.

The kind folks at HBT have rescued me from having to spend 20 days in the County Jail for what I'll refer to as The Incident. There is a group of about fifty of us waiting in the mild ginger scented air, only a hundred feet from the star of Orson Welles on the Walk of Fame. Thats where the romance ends, of course. The HBT offices are really more like a super-sized janitor's closet full of paint, gardening implements, and handwritten signs threatening "You Will Not get your hours and you will be sent home if you are caught smoking (except on breaks)." It's all about the hours...I have 160 to go. Seems daunting at this point.

The group is actually a little more mixed than what you would find on an LA city bus. There are some older white guys like me. What did they do? Oh wait, they are each with a much younger boy or girl. Aha, the minors must have to bring a parent. Looks like about half the group is under eighteen. And I thought a was embarrassed when my mom picked me up after school.

Ok, we are going in...