you're from LAI had a lot of mental breakdowns when I used to work in the entertainment industry.  Recently, I fell across a poem I wrote and thought I would share it with you.   


So you’re from LA

I see that look of


On your face

That can mean so many things…

LA is for people

Who watch TMZ

And laugh at

The meltdown

Of Charlie Sheen



Is for agents that

Bark in your ear

“Get Ackerman on the line.”

“Where are my trades!”

You’re chained to your desk

Where happiness is

Melting chocolates

On top of your heated computer

As it blasts email

After email

For a boss who doesn’t read

And takes accolades for your

Endless nights

Drowning in

Piles of scripts

Up to hell

Watch out!

There’s a toaster flying

Threw the cool air

Heading straight for your head

“Find the next big thing!”

“Dirt bike movies are in.”

“Go find it by Monday.”

“Here’s 500 dollars.”

“Go pick up my crack on Wilshire.”

“And on your way home”

“Give De Niro a ride to the airport.”

As he waves like the mayor

To pedestrians sauntering down

Santa Monica Blvd.


“Come to this party tonight.”

“There are some people you should meet.”

“It’ll gain you.”

“That” access

To “The Industry”

The only business in the world

Arrogant enough to call itself



Yet it’s verified by the export of film

Off the North American continent

A lucrative stream for the

Nuevo riche

The East egg

Wall Street suits

Beg to join the

Elite club

Of guys

Who start out

In the mailroom

Forging diplomas

From Harvard

To be like Ovitz

One day

A pioneer of packaging

The stars running up

Runyon Canyon

Where Matthew McConahey runs

Half naked

Waiting for

The paparazzi

To snap a photo

While soft skinny aliens

Like Ally Mc Beal

Who get married to

Indiana Jones

Gets blamed for

All the skinny women

Who throw up

Their lunch

In the bathroom

Where a trophy wife

Pops a pill

In a Burke Williams Spa

That banned John Travolta

For requesting a masseuse

Six times in two days

You got a dream?

Bring it to Hollywood

The promise land

Of dreamers

Where an unknown writer


Good Will Hunting

It’s nine in the morning

And somewhere someone is

Watching Entourage

With a flashlight

Under their sheets

After rewinding Paris Hilton’s

Sex tape

That she pulled down

From a porn shop

In the valley

And mumbled

“I’m going to sue the shit out of this place.”

Behind bars

Good luck trying


E! Entertainment TV knows everything

When you join the cool club

And Hollywood’s high school

With money

Rotating gossip

Swiped across phone lines

“Who did she sleep with?”

“I did last night. Don’t bother trying.”

While a producer

Rips off his shirt

Beating his chest

Like a gorilla

“Here feel my washboard.”

Tonight there’s a party

Up in the mountains

Maybe you can connect

The right dots

To the pot

Of gold

At the end

Of the rainbow

Gold mixed with

Fake coins

That melt

In the hot smoggy sun

That stops your concept

Of aging

Because it’s summer again

And you wake up one morning

Thinking a year has flown by

When it has been

Sixteen missed seasons

And you rethink wasting a day

When Harvard Lampoon


Walk out of the airport

Expecting a ticket

To the press box of


It’s all just an image

When the truth is forbidden

An endeavour ever changing


Your face doesn’t

Mock Hollywood

But buys into

The car jam

Across the freeways

While I lock myself

Out of my car

At the reservoir

Beneath the

Hollywood sign

Of tall letters

Labelling a judged city

After a five mile run

Of sweat

And I walk by Matt Damon

In a thick sweat suit

Pasted on

To cut weight

And I ask for

A hanger

To get my keys stuck in

My old worn out Nissan

And he opens his Rover

Handing over

A hanger

Hung up from his dry cleaning

In his silent world

Of his Ipod

Plugged up in his ears


Have you ever worked

Behind the scenes of

Entertainment Tonight?

Or just see it for a moment

When getting a glimpse

Of yet another red carpet

Span feast

Your judgement

Just as bad as the cliques

That storm the premiere

Rule Hollywood vanity

And Belushi drops dead

At the Chateau Marmont

Down the hall from

Chris Farley

After Janis Joplin

Drops dead

In a Motel room

On Sunset Blvd.


So the next time

You give someone a face

Know what you’re doing

Judging the judgmental

Or come out and try it.

 ….And make sure to catch Oprah on late night.

LA freeway scene photo available from Shutterstock