For those who don’t know, Kylie & I live in a huge warehouse dowtown that we’ve converted into a loft. A big part of the main floor is our dungeon, complete with collars, cuffs, whips, chains, sex furniture and two big, steel cages. Yes, it makes a dandy porn location, but that isn’t why it’s there. It’s there because we’re perverts.

True, we’re both insanely busy workaholics who spend something in the neighborhood of 27 hours a day shooting, chasing money around the valley, working at our desks, trying to get to the gym, or some combination thereof, so we don’t use it that often. But occasionally, just occasionally, we catch a little hottie in our web, or, even better, spend some time alone being filthy deviants. It’s part of our home.

However, our place is a location, and we’re listed with various agencies. About ten times a year, we get scouted for some mainstream gig that needs a loft or a warehouse. They even considered trying to shoot The Contender here, which would have involved us moving out for nine months (but they would have paid nearly 200k, so it was, y’know, fucking worth it). The mainstream location scouts are usually very polite, though occasionally, just occassionally, we have to pick someone’s jaw up off the floor for him when he sees the cage hanging from the ceiling.

Yesterday, we got a call that Entourage wanted to scout our place for an episode. Now, I’ve never seen the show, and I’m not likely to since we don’t have T.V., but our friend Todd, who’s helping me cut Corruption, explained that it’s an HBO series about show business. I have a long history of hatred with HBO stemming from a variety of mainstream deals gone sour, and the outright theft of a show concept that I was involved in pitching a few years back, but as my buddy Hollywood says, “The best revenge on muthafuckers is to take their money.” Occasionally, just occasionally, you get the chance to take that revenge.

As if they know or care, right?

So, the location agent tells us they want someplace that “looks like adult movies might be shot there.” I suppose, in a pinch, we can fit that bill. Obviously, this episode is going to be some incredibly off-base, demeaning portrayal of the porn industry, probably featuring a wacky cameo by Ron Jeremy. Whatever. Fine. I fought those battles for years at AVN, and I can’t be bothered anymore.

Well, Entourage decided to move their scout to this morning, around 9:30. That’s fine, but it meant that Kylie & I had to get up at 9 to clean. Y’see, Kylie is one of those people who has to straighten all the picture frames before she goes to bed, and cleans the hotel room before the maid comes in.

Unfortunately, last night I was wide awake, stressed and anxious about Corruption and a multitude of other things until around 4:30 this morning. Kylie has been filling in for Ginger Lynn on the Nightcalls radio show, and then going to the gym when she’s done, which meant getting home around midnight, and to sleep around 1:30. But we got up this morning and cleaned and straightened and bitched and moaned. We were cranky, tired, and had a saggy diaper that leaked. But we got the place prepped..

At 9:30 they called to cancel the scout because they think “maybe they want a house instead of a loft.” I could rant and rave about the excesses of mainstream with their frivolous catering to the whims of hack directors who make changes to seem like they’re creative rather than shooting the script they’ve been given, but instead, I’ll let a hearty go fuck yourself suffice.

As I said, I’ve never seen Entourage, but I went and looked it up, and any show that stars Matt Dillon’s emaciated, skull-faced, whiny, talentless brother Kevin, and the dubious “comedic” skills of Jeremy Judgement Night Piven is in serious trouble. Particularly at 9:30 when I’ve had maybe four hours of sleep.

Whatcha think?

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That’s life for you, said McDunn. Someone always waiting for someone who never comes home. Always someone loving something more than that thing loves them. And after awhile you want to destroy whatever that thing is, so it can’t hurt you no more. — Ray Bradbury