Andrew (Andy) Pagana

It was not that long ago that I went to a burlesque show with a friend and complained about the guy hosting it. It’s not that he was bad but we had heard the same jokes from this guy over and over and over again. (Apparently we went to burlesque shows a lot). Finally, the gal who runs the show (www.dollhouseproductions.com) said to us, well then, why don’t you two your smart asses (she has a filthy mouth) just do it yourselves? 

Pfff. Sure. How hard can it be?

So for the past two days in all our spare time when we should’ve been working or stalking ex girlfriends, we’ve been writing comedy bits in the tradition of old Vaudeville acts.

Now, for you writers out there… have you ever tried anything like this? It’s so bizarre. I have been in this mode of bad punch lining since we began. I’m asking every question at work like I’m Bud Abbott and throwing out bad jokes and punch lines in the most inappropriate situations. Waiters, kids, my mother… everything that someone says to me is responded to with some kind of smart allecky remark. (Although one of my co-workers say I’ve been in that mode since I’ve met him)

Anyway, we have come up with a number routines that I have NO IDEA how they are gonna come off. We’re not performers. We’ve never done a live show. We have twenty minutes of material we need to perfect and memorize by next Wednesday night.

So if you wanna see what we’ve come up with check us out at the Aura Nightclub, 12215 Ventura Blvd. in Studio City (California) Wednesday Night December 16th 9:00pm.

We’re inviting our porn star friend Charley Chase (story to come) and even wrote her into our act, so if you don’t wanna see us, at least come to see her. Oh, and the dancers. I hear they’re gonna have dancers between our bits.

(And oh yeah, my partner’s name is Schwartzy)

About 10 years ago I saw Clint Eastwood grocery shopping somewhere in Westwood I think. He looked like walking death. A skeleton with grey skin pushing an empty shopping cart and looking so pissed off that it was clear to me that the only reason he was still walking around was that the Grim Reaper was too afraid to go pick him up.

I asked him if he knew where the peanut butter was as if he were just any other shopper and he said “It’s around here somewhere” and left it at that. I kinda watched him for a bit as I am fascinated by people and I can be kind of a “people watcher” (or “creepy voyeur”  depending on what time of day it is and where I am) and then I left, without peanut butter (thanks for nothing, Clint)

So any time I saw him in the movies or on TV since I could never figure out why he looked so strong and… well, alive. The magic of the movies I guess. They made Bogart look tall and Travolta look straight so I guess they an do anything.

And then, as it so often happens in my life, I find myself the other night where I have no business being and ended up smack dab in the middle of a the Invictus Premiere and after party…

…where Clint and I meet again.

(Come back for more of this pointless story)

You think that maybe I would have the energy to write more than I am, but I don’t. I hate being sick.

What’s with this Tiger Woods controversy with his accident? He wasn’t drinking or doing drugs, so why do we give a shit? WTF??? Somebody please tell me what the fascination is. He’s not even hurt.

I like truth and honesty, even if one has to be sneaky and underhanded to get to it.

I really hate them with all my heart. They are evil, vicious little things.

Okay. True story. I was beginning to think that maybe I should take it easy on owls. I was actually coming around. Not sure why. My forgiving nature I suppose. I mean, I haven’t felt haunted by them lately. In fact, they’ve all but left me alone. I started to think “Maybe I miss understood them. Maybe they are serving a positive purpose in my life”. I almost wrote a post that gave them a little bit of credit. 

And then BOOM! 

They’re back. They’re back, haunting me in ways I cannot even begin to tell you. 

And so, last night I go to The Echo Park Film Festival to see my buddy Robert Beaucage’s short film ‘Resonance’. It was a pleasant enough experience until I was looking for an exit and found myself in the water closet and came face to face with a GIANT, EVIL LOOKING OWL piercing me with it’s eyes. Look at how creepy it is. Who can relax enough to do their business long enough with this omen of death.

They’re back. And it seems they’re not fu@#!ing around!

 

Andy and Vogel (Michael Byrne)

An interview (I think our first here at andypagana.com).

I had no tape recorder so here is approximately what transpired. (There is some swearing. Sorry) We spent about forty minutes together sitting in a corner of a hotel lobby, near that building from ‘Die Hard’. Here are the highlights. The rest will be printed in my autobiography when I get to it…

Andy: Michael, I am a huge fan of yours, too! You are one of my most favorite badguys. Do you know Peter O’Toole?

Michael: I was in Rome once. Years ago. I had done  some work with him before. I had a phone call. The voice on the other end of the phone said “Michael, have you read the bloody play yet?” “Who is this?” I said. “It’s Peter Peter Fucking O’Toole, you cunt”

Andy: What the fuck happened with Indy 4? 

Michael: (Censored)

Andy: Do you remember me? I saw Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade 8 times in the theatre.

Michael: It doesn’t work that way. You can see me but I can’t see you.

Andy: Pff. Did it hurt when you went off the cliff on the tank?

Michael: No. That was a special effect.

Andy: So… it didn’t hurt? It looked like it hurt.

Michael: It didn’t.

Andy: And I notice that you hold onto the turret even after you have crashed. How did you do that?

Michael: It wasn’t me. It was a miniature of me.

Andy: Wow. Well, it looked like it hurt. Did you have on knee pads or something?

Michael: I wasn’t really there.

Andy: Did Harrison Ford get mad when you punched him and then shoved his face on the tank’s tread? 

Michael: It was acting.

Andy: Are you sure? Because he looked mad.

Michael: I’m sure.

Andy: When Indy was hanging from the tank gun why didn’t you just shoot him? Why hit him with a shovel?

Michael: I did what I was told to do.

Andy: Pfff. Nazis. Always the same excuse. Well, I don’t know how you survived the fall but it was a great stunt. How did you not hit your head on the camera as you fell towards it, screaming? 

Michael: (sigh) I got lucky I suppose.

Andy: You want a cup of coffee?

Michael: No, I’m drinking wine, thank you. I shouldn’t be drinking this. I’m tired. I just got off the plane. I hate flying. 

Andy: Me too. I drove across the country 10 times.

Michael: You guys use planes here like we use cars.

Andy: ‘We’ meaning Nazi’s looking for the Holy Grail?

Michael: The biritsh.

Andy: Were you born there?

Michael: No. Scotland. (or did he say Ireland? Damn it!)

pause

Michael: Who let you in here?

Andy: Schwartzy did. That little guy over there. He saw you and told me you were here and I knew you would want to meet me. Lets take a picture. (Calls out) Schwartzy!!!

(Old fashioned flashbulb pops)

Andy: It was a pleasure to meet me. Thanks so much, Michael. How do you say goodbye in Germany, again? (I wanted to tell him here he had the most amazing blue eyes but I lost my courage.)