When you live in Los Angeles you get the chance to meet people who are actually working in the movie business and not just trying to break in. You can meet these people… and then punch them in the nose.
When I woke up this morning and found the floor of my bathroom covered in vomit, the details of the night before came rushing back. As is so often the case, I had made a huge, drunken idiot of myself. But this time it was in good faith, for whatever that’s worth.
I had gone to the Saddle Ranch at Citywalk for a friend’s birthday. This is so not my scene – there’s a magazine article hanging on the wall of the joint that explains that reality show ‘celebrities’ like to hang out there because it’s the place in LA where people actually are excited to see them, since Citywalk is like a tourist magnet. But my friend wanted to ride the mechanical bull, so who was I to say no. It was a big group of us and there was a lot of drinking. A lot.
When that began to wind down good old Ryan Rotten brought us to a bar in Burbank. I was already trashed, and my judgment long gone. I drank a whole lot more there. At one point the bartender said, ‘You’re not driving home, are you?’ I was so proud to tell her I don’t even have a license!
Closing time came and the group I was with was out on the sidewalk. I don’t know all the details of what happened next – the technical term may be ‘blacked out’ – but there was a scuffle. Being the superhero I am, I ran over and tried to be backup. I punched a dude in the face, bloodying his nose. The dude punched me in the face and I staggered into the street.
Unfortunately, the dude I punched was in my party. And a movie producer who has a high profile genre film hitting this year, and more in the pipeline. He was getting into a shoving match with some random gorilla over a cab, and I thought I was doing a good deed, but I was so drunk I didn’t know whose nose my fist was meeting.
Getting punched in the face has a way of bringing you back to some reality and I stood there shocked, realizing I had punched the wrong guy. He was pretty furious, too, and was pointing at the blood running down his face and saying ‘You fucking did this!’ I stammered my apologies, but he wasn’t really interested in hearing it. Not that I can blame him.
This morning I got a call – all was well. The producer had been mad the night before but was laughing it off this morning. Sobered up and away from the bloodied nose (which was swollen this morning – thank God I didn’t break it), he understood that I hadn’t meant to punch him and that, in my own retarded way, I was trying to be a good samaritan. Next time I see the guy, I’m going to buy him a drink and continue the profuse apologizing. I think I’ll probably be buying only him a drink, though – the booze and I may be taking a small break.