Oh, okay.
As some of you know, I wrote a screenplay about racing, and for a while Michael Imperioli was attached as director, until it became clear we couldn\'t raise the necessary 10 million or so. But he\'s a good guy, much different than the characters he plays, he loves racing, and we became friends.
So we go out to the 2003 BC at Santa Anita together, and stay at the Sunset Marquee, a supercool hotel near Hollywood Boulevard where all the rock bands stay. We get out on Thursday, the BC party is that night at the Universal lot, we drink a fair amount. The next day we go to the track, the forest fires are raging, ashes are coming down like snow. After the track we go out, the Sopranos are super hot, we can get in anywhere, he knows some of the Irish exercise riders and they come with us, they can really drink, and we try to keep up.
Next comes Saturday, BC day, afterwards EVERYBODY goes out, so do we. Michael is younger than me, now I\'m trying to keep up with him.
We\'re leaving the next morning, so we check out like 8:00, on about 4 hours sleep (again, and 8:00 is like the middle of the night to me anyway. No matter what time zone). We get to the airport and they are not letting planes out because of the fires. So we go back and check in, but we\'re awake now, and it\'s around 11:00 Sunday, so of course we go to a bar (with a mechanical bull, and the answer is no), and watch the East coast football games, then the local one.
So after 4 days of this I\'m about toast. But there\'s nothing to do on Sunday night except hang out at the hotel bar, which has a pretty good scene going on. Sort of Casablanca, with some good looking L.A. types, Brits stuck here after the BC like us, etc..
Now, the way the bar at the Sunset Marquee is layed out, you come in off the street through a small outdoor sort of garden, where people drink, and into a living room/lounge kind of deal, very dark. Michael and I are at the bar, he\'s still in decent shape, talking to these high end Brits, owners. I\'m sort of staring out into the room, trying to stay awake. I pick up some movement-- in from the garden, around a sofa into the room, comes this thing the size of a large housecat. Literally the height of my knee. And gradually I realize it looks like a person, except they don\'t make them that small.
So I\'m staring at this guy, trying to figure out whether I\'m hallucinating, and he stares straight back at me, and gives me a military salute, which really freaks me out. So I grab Michael\'s arm, and point to the guy, who is now looking around the room for somebody. And Michael says, \"Oh, it\'s Mini-Me\". (Keep in mind that I had not seen the movie).
So now we\'re both staring at this guy. Who goes straight over to what turns out to be his girlfriend-- all about 6 foot of blonde of her. She\'s sitting talking to this rock and roll MTV grundgy looking guy with a ski cap on. Mini-Me goes over, winds up, and jumps onto her lap like a cat. Then he lies back, puts his head on her breast, and closes his eyes. And she starts stroking him all over-- and I mean all over-- with the whole room watching.
And I say to Michael, \"That\'s it. Good night. Enough L.A. for me,\" and head upstairs to try and get 5-6 hours sleep before our flight out.
The next morning, as we met to get in the car, Michael looked a lot the worse for wear, with shades on to cover seriously bloodshot eyes. \"After you left it got REALLY weird,\" he said. \"The guy with the ski cap started stroking him too\".
