Major question number two, immediately following “Where are you going to live?” is “What are you going to do [for work?]” A fair question.

We three each started the endeavor with different amounts of money banked, but by no means would it last forever. Our respective reserves would sustain us anywhere from three months to a year. We all came out to start careers in the entertainment business, but with different end goals, different tolerances for risk, and different relationships with money and work.

By the end of the first month, however, everyone found employment. Everyone took a different route, one fitting his plan for long-term success, and reflective of his personality:

Teddy

Teddy stood up in disgust after an episode of Entourage. “That show’s so unrealistic,” he said.

Which part? The gaggles of beautiful women trolling in and out of their lives? The rapid ascent towards fame? The…

“The Agency. No one’s wearing headphones. In an agency, everyone’s always got headphones attached to their face, because that’s all they do. They’re on the phone all the time. And everyone’s gorgeous on the show. In an agency all the assistants are getting fat because they spend all day at their computers, talking on the phone…”

Teddy started his entertainment career the same way he started furnishing his apartment: Craigslist. He took several unpaid production assistant gigs, mostly graveyard shifts an hour drive away. During the day, he slept, explored Venice Beach, and harassed his current roommate about getting him an internship at the talent agency where he worked.

“That’s probably why Rob finally made sure I got an interview,” Teddy said. “He got sick of hearing me complain all the time. Figured it was the only way to shut me up.”

So while the experience was the only thing Teddy got out of his free work as a production assistant, the harassment paid dividends. He interviewed for an unpaid internship with Principato-Young Entertainment.

“The manager slammed a stack of resumes on his desk. Told me every single one of these people were applying for the same position; why hire me?” he reminisced, after the interview. “I don’t really remember what I told him. I think I said I was a worker, and I would do anything they needed.”

He started a week later – nine to eleven hours a day, five days a week; reading coverage, office work, and shadowing assistants. His salary consists of lunch and all the Red Bull he can drink. Plus the one can of Red Bull he takes home with him, at the end of the day.

“For recycling,” he explained. “It’s five cents a can. At the end of the month, I might make two dollars from this internship.”

Though he won’t admit it, he’s gotten a great deal more than two dollars in compensation. The assistants liked his work; they’ve put his resume in contention for other positions (some paid, some not) – positions he’d have no shot at by himself, against others with far more experience in Hollywood. He most recently interviewed for a paid assistant position with Creative Management – after only a month in the industry.

“They all say the same thing when they look at my resume: ‘How’d you start working with Principato-Young? You have no experience in Hollywood, or in the entertainment business.’” He laughs. “Then I explain – again – how I got it.”

Before that, he interviewed for an internship position with a branch of Sony – Laurence Mark Productions. Their office is located behind a black gate in downtown Culver City – the same gate we passed on our first trip into the city.

He turned it down.

Eric

“At the Liberal Arts and Sciences Honors Convocation, upon calling each person to walk across the stage, the speaker gave a mini one-sentence bio about what they were doing next.

It went something like this:

Med School, Med School, plans to attend Med School, Law School, Grad School, Grad School, plans to attend Med School, teach English abroad, Med School, Law School, teach English abroad, Hollywood, Med School or Law School, plans to attend Law School, Law School, plans to attend school in the future, Med School…

As they say in Sesame Street: which of these things is not like the others?

Hollywood even got a little snicker from the crowd.”

A few months after sharing this anecdote, Eric settled into the apartment in Culver City. He set about finishing a script and finding his “in” into the entertainment business – damn the costs.

“I’ve got enough money to get me by in Los Angeles, for a year, without having to work,” he explained. “So I’m going to focus on writing, and working where I can. For free, or whatever, it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m working in the industry. That’s what I came out here for.”

That attitude – and one or two phone calls from a friend working for MGM – landed him two internship offers before the first month finished.

One with Village Roadshow Pictures, and another with – and of course, the turn – Sony Pictures.

Right down the street.

He accepted both.

Finding Restaurant Work in Los Angeles

The plan: toe in the water.

The objective: sustainability. Restaurant employment that’d cover expenses at minimum number of hours put in. Requires calculating expenses per month.

Focused Search

1. Specializing refines your efforts. If you’re fortunate to have knowledge of a specific cuisine, narrow your search to this cuisine type. Start off with specialization, then expand your search – the basic skills of serving are universal – it’s specialist knowledge that stands out.
   My focus, from most specific to general: Japanese cuisine, Asian cuisine, fine dining.
2. Location. The closer, the better; walking distance is ideal. Pick a certain radius, and don’t consider restaurants beyond this field. Commuting in Los Angeles is exactly as terrible as others say. As one friend put it, “Expect grid lock during rush hour, but don’t expect clear roads any time.”
   My focus: Culver City, then within a three mile radius (West Hollywood, Santa Monica, etc.)

Search

1. Craigslist. Every restaurant that fit the above criteria, an e-mail and resume was sent. Below is a draft of the e-mail:
   “To [Restaurant] Management
   My name is [Name], and I’m replying to the posting on Craigslist for servers.
   I served at a high-end Japanese restaurant in New York. I helped open that restaurant [link to the restaurant] and served for two years before moving to Los Angeles.
   Prior to that, I have eight years experience serving Asian cuisine.
   My Asian-cuisine background gives me the experience and foundation to share what [Restaurant] offers to the greater Los Angeles area. [Insert personalized strength/weakness here. If weakness, include…] However I don’t see this as a weakness – I see it as an opportunity to learn and renew my enthusiasm for [type of food] cuisine.
   I work hard. I work fast. I believe strong communication and awareness of your surroundings make the difference in this industry.
   Below is the link to my portfolio and my traditional resume.
   [Portfolio Link, Resume]

Preferred method of contact is by phone: [phone number]. Or you can reach me at this e-mail.
Thanks for your time. I hope we have the opportunity to work together.
Sincerely,
[Name]”
A form of this e-mail was sent to four Asian-cuisine restaurants: Latin-Japanese fusion, a modern Japanese, a Korean BBQ, and an Asian/Chinese fine dining. The initial draft took twenty minutes; afterwards, each e-mail took five to ten minutes to personalize.

1. Google Maps. The name and address of every Japanese restaurant in Culver City was recorded, and website researched (to get a feel for the restaurant.) Then, plans made to eat lunch at every one, and after the meal, ask if they were hiring, and name drop (not resume drop.)

Execution/Results

1. Began with the second “best fit” restaurant – to practice my pitch for the first “best fit.” Asked if either were hiring, both said “no,” and I left my information anyway. No resume drop.
2. On a whim, printed a resume to drop at a Thai restaurant – solely because they were down the street. The manager said they weren’t hiring – dropped a resume anyway, circling pertinent employment history.
3. On Day Three, received a call to interview for a serving position at the modern Japanese restaurant, located in Santa Monica. Interviewed and hired the next day, with training to commence the day after. Stopped actively searching for work at this point.
4. Five days later, received a call from the local Thai restaurant, asking to come train. I rearranged my schedule to work/train at both restaurants.
5. After two training days, decided to drop the restaurant in Santa Monica. The local Thai restaurant was too convenient to pass on, despite belief the Japanese restaurant would garner better pay.
6. The Scorecard:
   1. Restaurants applied to: 7
   2. Restaurants applied on Craigslist: 4
   3. Restaurants I dined with first, then dropped name: 2
   4. Physical resumes dropped: 1
   5. Days spent unemployed: 4
   6. Serving positions acquired: 2
7. Lessons Learned
   1. Japanese restaurants in the area are Japanese-owned, most with Japanese sushi chefs. Directly contradictory to New York/New Jersey area, where many are Chinese owned, with Chinese sushi chefs. Knowledge of any Chinese dialect has proven to be of zero advantage.
   2. Dropped the “secured” job too quickly. Would suggest holding onto the definite gig longer than two training days with the other restaurant. The fact it worked out has a great deal to do with luck, and little with specific action on my part.
   3. It’s doubtful the portfolio created prior to moving out to Los Angeles helped my cause, or made me stand out, in any significant way. Far more useful: specialization, hustle, open availability, luck.

Conclusion

You’re not capable of anything until you do it.

The satisfaction doesn’t come from the accomplishments of this past month. It comes from seeing how what appeared to be a huge, arduous task can be accomplished: with no special skills, intelligence, or talents. Just hustle, shoe leather, and yes, luck.

Satisfaction comes from knowing – regardless of how things actually turned out – that you were ready for the struggle. You were prepared to slum it in a dingy studio flat, sharing a single bedroom and bathroom, where you could piss and butter toast at the same time (not with the piss.)

And if things worked out better than you imagined, if you got lucky… who are you to complain? You can only enjoy it while you can, knowing that “this too, shall pass.”

Return to One Month In – Part One

Related posts:

1. One Month In – Part One
2. Restaurant Work in Los Angeles
3. Internships – Part One: Getting an Interview

We followed the GPS’ purple arrows into Culver City, our modern, corrupted version of Yellow Brick not even Gregory Maguire could dream up. Teddy pointed out the window at the formidable white building, fortified behind a tall, black fence. It’d only be less inviting if the wrought-iron was composed of ivory tusks, pillaged from a majestic, prehistoric creature, and curved outwards.

“Look, there’s Sony Studios,” he said. Their message was clear: we might consider ourselves California residents – we might ride skateboards, eat avocado-topped pizza, and call Culver City home – but we were still outsiders. And don’t forget it.

That’s how we’re going to get our start, I said. What we’re going to do is hop that fence…

“Sneak into the Sony lot, and get jobs as production assistants,” Teddy finished. “That would sound good when they write books about us.” He turned back, watched the building fade. “How sweet would it be to work there, though, huh? To work right down the street from where we lived? We’d beat the whole, ‘commuting around Los Angeles’ problem.”

This is a recap.

One month after that discussion.

One month after everything came to a head: hundreds of conversations about leaving home, 3,000 miles across the states, a few bags of clothes, a couple of skateboards, and no apartment, no job, no plan to speak of later… to examine what we built, and how to effectively replicate and improve on those efforts.

The Apartment

Teddy looked at five or six apartments before settling on the current location. The search spanned across Venice, Los Feliz, Echo Park, and Long Beach. It was halfway through his month sublet he found the apartment in Culver City:

2 Bedroom, 2 Bath, 2 Balconies, kitchen, living area, at the end of a cul de sac, minutes from downtown Culver City.

Costs of Furnishing:

Three sofas – one on the balcony: $25
Carpet: $2
Dining Room Table: $10
Dining Room Chairs (4): $15
Bar Stools (2): $45
Entertainment center: free
Television: free

Save for the bar stools – everything was purchased or picked up for free on Craigslist.

Use Craigslist at the start, when you’re of limited or no financial means.

Transport is the challenge – the largest vehicle available was the 2006 Corolla, which you couldn’t use for sofas, tables, etc.

The ideal solution is moving to Los Angeles with a pick-up truck.

The second best is borrowing a friend’s.

The last resort, the awful solution, is to rent a U-Haul for the day, and camp Craigslist, hoping to pick up everything needed in a single day. This is not a good plan.

It’s barely a mediocre one.

Some ideas to make it work anyway:

1. Do it on Saturday or Sunday – more people have day offs, more likely to post on Craigslist, and more likely to be home.
2. Reserve the U-Haul a few days in advance. Set yourself up with an all-day rental, so you can drop it back off the following day. As long as you drop-off before the store officially opens, there should be no extra charge. Ask.
3. Camp Craigslist the night before. Try setting up definite appointments for the next day. It’s not easy – most free stuff is first come, first serve.
4. Know exactly what you need, and its priority. What’s the most important item? Have a plan, in case you must make a choice between two pieces of furniture.
5. Start early. Camp Craigslist first thing in the morning, and stay on it. If you have an internet-ready phone, keep refreshing the browser in the car, and call prospects as soon as possible. Free moves quickly.
6. Have cash. Don’t stop at the bank.
7. Know how much you’re willing to spend on any piece of furniture. With only one day to acquire everything, you’re not in a strong position to haggle.
8. Use a GPS.
9. Hope you get lucky, and everything you need becomes available. Going through the process again would be frustrating and time-consuming.

Do you have to get lucky to get everything on one shot?

Yes.

But… better lucky than good.

Renting the U-Haul and buying gas, split three ways, cost $37 each.

The Bedroom

There’s something Bohemian about grinding out the craft, perched on the floor, readjusting butt cheeks every ten minutes to beat back the pins and needles.

Teddy walked into the room Eric and I shared. He watched Eric type at his fold-out table, seated in his leather executive-style chair. Three feet to his left, and three feet closer to the ground, I typed on my laptop. My monitor squatted atop of a filing box – a makeshift desk.

Teddy caught my eye. “That’s the struggle I want to see,” he said admiringly.

Romantic struggle or not – at some point, you want a desk. Your neck gets tired, your eyes get tired, and your butt, that gets tired, too.

You want a desk and a chair and a bed – not the floor and an under-inflated air mattress.

Costs of Furnishing

Desk: $50
Chair: $50
Mattress: $50
Bed Springs: Free
Lamp: Free
Bookshelf: Free

Individual cost to furnish the apartment, including U-haul costs: ~$200

Proceed to One Month In – Part Two

Related posts:

1. One Month In – Part Two
2. How Much to Save Before Moving to Los Angeles

“So what’s your plan for this going out to Los Angeles-thing?” That’s what my father called it. The “going out to Los Angeles-thing.” He thought it more a pipe dream, one of my big-talk plans where I laced a fat juicy finger around the trigger but never succeeded in popping off a shot. Can’t blame him for it – it’s happened before. Not so often to call it a habit, exactly, but enough to half-anticipate it. Or to dub it a “-thing,” hyphen required.

Except everyday, the inevitability of this particular –thing drew ever closer. Clothes were getting sorted, then either rolled into tight little tubes and nestled into duffle bags, or slipped into large blue bins and stored away for a garage sale in that not-too-distant future. Rand McNally found a regular time spot into my schedule, and like a bastard child, I spent more time with him on our first day together than I ever spent in the past.

What really triggered the question, though, were the questions others asked him about my departure, questions to which he didn’t have answers for. Questions he wasn’t prepared for because he still thought it was just a –thing.

And he was very slowly realizing it was a little more than that.

There’s no real plan, I admitted. Drive out there, find an apartment, and get a job waiting tables to hold me over while I write. That’s it.

“How long you think you’ll be able to do that for?”

Until the money runs out.

“When do you think that’ll be?”

I shrugged. Maybe a year or so. I’m not sure.

He hesitated, teetering between not pissing on what he still considered his son’s pipe dream, and pistol-whipping him across the face with a dose of reality, good and strong, so good you could see the onomatopoeia flash across his eyes, like the old school Batman live-action show.

“You’re taking a big risk here, Ming. You know, I have 100 percent confidence that you can do anything you set yourself to do. And I know you have to take risks to get where you want to be in life, but make those calculated risks.” He shook his head. “This just seems like a big, unnecessary risk.”

Most fathers, somewhere along the Parenthood Timeline, acquire a Speech that renders any of their sons’ brilliant notions appear to be the Stupidest Idea Ever Conceived. These speeches may have different names, (“These Are the Reasons Why You’re an Idiot”-speech, or “Did I Really Raise You to be This Dumb?”-speech) but are all generally made up of the same texture – sticky, with shades of shame.

“You’re moving out for the first time, and you’re going someplace far away from your family and friends, a place where you have no support if something happens to you. You don’t have a job, the job market is bad and the economy is worse. And you want to go into a field you didn’t study and have zero experience in.

“If this is what you want to do, I fully support it. But why not wait? Take time getting established in your field here first, where you have support; then, when you have something set up for yourself, make the move out to Los Angeles.”

I knew waiting was important. There were important things to wait for – not a lot, but a few – and I spent the last year waiting for those pieces to fall in place. “Getting established” never made the list.

Wait for the money – not some arbitrary number in the bank, but go crunch the numbers, and save enough to last you a few months. Clear your consumer credit if you can, or get it down to manageable payments. Wait until you manage your finances, and not the other way around. If your financial house isn’t in order, and you got some consumer credit hanging over your head, it will eventually bury you.

Wait till you find someone – a friend, a colleague – who wants to do the same thing, who’s interested in the same line of work. One friend who’d make a good roommate goes a long way – cuts costs in half, another set of feet and eyes when it’s time to find work, and company to explore and commiserate with. Find someone who compliments you, who balances out your strengths and weaknesses while you take on this endeavor; it’ll go a long way.

Most importantly, wait until you know. Wait until you know you must do this, that there’s no other choice. The advice of countless other artists, from painters to writers to actors to everything in between, I’ll repeat here: if there’s anything else you’ve given thought to doing, if there’s anything else you think you might be even pretty good at, and can make a living doing, go do that instead. Don’t come after this unless you know it’s the only thing you want and you’re willing to give up everything to go get it. Unless you know that it’s what you were meant to do.

Then, there are plenty of things not worth waiting for: don’t wait for that arbitrary number, figures you heard quoted that offer no reasoning behind them. Figure out what your number is, and stick to that. Not, “Oh, save $10,000, or $15,000, and then you’ll be ready.” Money in the bank is relative – what one person can accomplish with $10,000 the guy to his right could do with $10, and the guy to his left would never be able to accomplish at all.

Don’t wait to secure an apartment, or a job. How will you manage the task from the other side of the country? At 3,000 miles, how much, in time alone, will you have to invest just to find prospects? It’s not like walking down the street, and taking the Help Wanted sign off the door, or passing by the For Rent posting in the middle of a drive. Besides that, who’s going to take you seriously? If you were serious, you’d be out here, on foot, meeting face to face, and not exchanging e-mails about coming out to Los Angeles when your apartment or job is ready. If you were in their shoes, would you rent the space to you? Would you hire you?

Waiting until you’re established in a place where you don’t necessarily want to be, or where whatever you’re pursuing doesn’t thrive, or isn’t the epicenter, isn’t worth it. That approach just means you’re too scared to do it for real. Make the tradeoff, play the gambit: give up security for location and time. Security isn’t worth it; it costs too much. Settling for the security of home and you’re opening the door to let obstacles stand in your way. All those bad work habits, the complacency of the comfortable, stuck and uninspired by the familiar.

By not waiting, and putting yourself in the environment where your art thrives, you accelerate the process of establishing yourself exponentially. You eliminate distractions. Every day, you’re reminded what you came out here to do, why you’re here: you wake up in a new town, far from friends or family, with limited financial means, and all the comforts that brings. Every minute you don’t pursue your passion, don’t produce art, is a wasted one.

Even in the midst of our conversation, I can’t fault my father for his advice, and his line of thinking. There aren’t many people I imagine would listen to that “plan,” and not respond with the same “That’s-the-stupidest-thing-I’ve-ever-heard” speech.

But I think sometimes, the right ratios of “stupid,” “crazy,” and “dumb” can do serious good.

Related posts:

1. No One’s Listening
2. Breaking into the Entertainment Business
3. Get Used To Waiting

Don’t remember who said it, but there’s something about the quote, paraphrased below, that sticks like beach tar to fleshy foot:

“Self deception is such an insidious thing; not only are you lying to yourself, but then the lie covers its own tracks, so you never realize it existed to begin with.”

The words ring in my ears, like the shrill WHIRL WHIRL of a distant police car, or the smoke alarm cutting through a dream, as I decide between the Plunge or a Toe in the Water.

Reason tells me the latter. Lay the foundation, build from the bottom, then race to the top. It is a sensible route: the money holding me over won’t last for long. I need time to establish myself in this city and to produce worthy material, and time costs money.

Yet there’s this gut check, some inner-level of “shit ain’t right” noxious-fog clouding my emotions I must resolve before making my decision:

Am I returning to the service industry because it’s the best method to reach my career goal of becoming a screen writer? Is it really the best thing I could possibly do? Or am I terrified; still that scared little boy with a bowl cut and sweaters two sizes two big, who retreats to the familiar?

Am I returning to restaurant work because it’s all I know? Because I’m a Linus and it’s the security blanket I’ll drag around behind me for decades to come?

At times of personal uncertainty, I remind myself to stick with The Plan. The Plan was formulated at a secure, logically-sound time, before Daniel found himself cast in the lion’s den. Like the professional golfer, disciplined enough to stick with his swing, regardless of how poorly he’s playing in a match. He knows better than to stray from the body mechanics he spent years developing.

Or a savvy investor, who refuses to budge from his investment strategy, and holds his position while all the Chicken Little’s of his world (his clients, the media, his colleagues) scurry around with heads lopped off, selling in a panic because of a sudden downturn.

But… did my self-deception stretch even as far back as when I formulated The Plan? Did I already realize how far I’d find myself outside of my comfort zone, and justify it months ago?

Did my lies already cover their tracks months and months ago?

Maybe they did.

I want to berate myself for my weaknesses, for my hesitation while my mind screams at me to act. But time’s up. I’m here now, and there’s no one around to seal shut the lions’ mouths. The luxury of second-guesses, or armchair quarterbacking the next step, goes to the day dreamers who speculate the journey. They have the good fortune ribbing you on a mistake, or jiving at a cocktail party about “how I would have done it.”

If I’m wallowing in my own self-deception at this particular crossroad, then let it be. I’m only hurting myself. I’m the one who has to work harder, produce more, and put myself outside of my comfort zone in other arenas to compensate for my weakness.

I can live with that.

Related posts:

1. Sidebar: The Contact List
2. Sidebar: Final Thoughts
3. Sidebar: Breaking Falls

There’s something insidious about the breaking into the entertainment business. Glim and glamour lure like praying mantis pheromones, secreted in heat, right before the female lops the top and dines on dome.  Nor can the heist be accomplished remotely; stories of landing The Break via telecommuting from Akron, Ohio are far and few between. The general consensus is to make something of yourself in this business, make the trip to Tinsel Town.

Put out or get out.

Put up or shut up.

Then you move out to Los Angeles, the Ellis Island for wannabe Entourages and Starlets, only to discover location is just about the only thing anyone managed to agree upon. If It is going to happen, it’ll happen in this city, but how? Or when? No one’s got a clue of what the next best step is. No one comes armed like a guidance counselor with a fluorescent Career Flow Chart, stepping stones attributed with useless annotation like, “Score 30 points or above on the MCAT,” or “Do research.” The only thing you can count on is this: you’re here. Here in one of the most expensive, overpriced, and image-conscious cities in the world, and your plan is to join the ranks of the rich and famous with no money, no connections, and no job.

(This is written under the assumption, of course, most of us set out to Los Angeles with limited financial means. We’re not benefactors of a sudden windfall, or the recipient of a surprise inheritance from Great-Aunt Sally. We are not Trust Fund Babies. We’re not Daddy’s Girls. We haven’t established consistent passive revenue, nor do we know what an IPO stands for.)

It’s a razor thin tight-rope we’re tip-toeing across, as we juggle flesh-tearing chainsaws; a precarious balancing act with no end in sight, unless we count the plunge into the chasm on either side of us. To our right, the Abyss that threatens those who live and die without pursing the Dream. To the left looms destitution; grasping after the almighty dollar and coming up empty handed. At the start, these two forces work in direct contradiction with one another.

Here’s the lay: you came here for a reason; to pursue your passion, to make art. But your art isn’t going to pay the rent, not for a while, maybe not ever. So you must make that cash money, which only sucks the passion out of the art you moved out here to create. It’s a twisted, sadistic cycle; yet there are thousands of stories of how others carried out the juggling act, each one as unlikely as the next. They all break down to making one of two choices:

The Plunge

Go after the industry job on Day One. You have X dollars banked, and Y expenses, so you’ll last Z number of days, and before Z reaches zero, you best get paid. They are plenty of ways to do it. Each and every one of them is a gamble, so which do you pursue?

Find work as a script reader?

Get an internship with a small talent agency? Or hump postage rates and flat rate boxes in the mail room?

Use Mandy, Hollywood Temp Diaries, or Craigslist to take on free PA gigs until they realize you’re too valuable not to pay?

Sneak onto a set, beg to be allowed to fetch coffee for the honchos in charge?

Become a personal assistant for a Big Wig?

It takes a great deal for this methodology to work: the ability to hustle hard and fast; nerves of steel, unaffected by the ticking clock and dwindling bank account; a large cash reserve; unshakable confidence that no matter the excuses or unemployment rate or odds against otherwise, you will be one of the fortunate few who make it.

You’ll struggle, but there’s something to be said about this methodology: you’re doing it. You left home to work in the business, and though you’re no star just yet, you’re closer than before. You’re networking, and getting a look at the industry you’d never get back home.

Toe in the Water

Mike McDermott nailed it when he rose from the green felt in Teddy KGB’s lair:  “That’s a safe play.” And you know what? After such a huge, initial risk, there’s zero shame in making the safe play. The “all-in” move is a powerful one, but only when executed at the proper time. You don’t whip it out every hand.

This methodology serves those without a large cash reserve, or prefer the semblance of stability in their lives. Don’t overlook stability. You’re in for an avalanche of rejection, but if your house is in order, you’ll weather the storm. Trying to do it while perched on a tectonic fault, on the other hand, and you’re asking to get eaten alive.

Find work to cover the rent, even if it doesn’t accelerate you towards your goals. Serving, bartending, working retail, whatever you can find that extends your stay another day, week, month. You never know who you’ll meet in the service industry, or where they’ll lead you. And contrary to popular belief, hating your day job isn’t necessarily the worst thing in the world. Reeking of the oil and grease that stowed away in your sweater’s cotton fibers, or staring at your uniform’s vomit-palette, reminds you what you’re trying to escape, and motivates you to keep working.

According to David Horvath, it’s finding a job you enjoy that is the real “dream killer.” Catching after-shift drinks. Seeking out the company of co-workers on the weekend. You become complacent when you must be hungry. You sit on your heels instead of doing what you should be doing – with any free time – working on your art, or networking to better position yourself in the industry.

Remember this: Toe in the Water was a better decision for you, but security has its price. There are loads of others who took The Plunge instead. All the hustle they’re doing at their nine to five, the networking, the education, the grunt work, you must accomplish in your free time.

Be sure you finish your scripts, sign up for the improve class, and make your own movies.

Read.

Establish yourself in the city.

You’ve got your work cut out for you.

How Do You Choose Your Path?

Revisit the most important question you asked yourself before moving to Los Angeles: Why are you out here?

Another way of putting it: what’s the ultimate goal?

Keep an eye on the prize, and you’ll know which path to take. It might surprise you, but once you’ve decided, stick to it. There’ll be countless distractions, hundreds of little hands tugging your limbs in directions foreign to Yoga instructors. Ultimately, you’re the one responsible for staying your own course.

Shoulder of Giants

Some reading material, for those interested in how others are getting their start in the entertainment business:

How to Break into the Film Industry by Brian Lee

Part Two by Amanda the Aspiring TV Writer

Starting Out in Hollywood by Adam Davis

So You’re Moving to Hollywood by George Sloan

Sidebar: My Self-Deception

Related posts:

1. Sidebar: Breaking Falls
2. One Month In – Part Two
3. Wait

Skip the foreplay, and get right to the lode like a one-pump-chump:

What’s the magic number?

The thought pervades skulls of anyone with the itch to head west. It’s not the first to bud, not while you’re California Dreaming in upstate New York or Kalamazoo, Michigan. Surfing, or California Gurls carves that notch in the bed post. But the question lurks in the darkness like a venereal disease on a piece of OPP. It’s the first obstacle, the camouflaged, muffler-scraping speed bump standing between you and your life’s ambitions.

“How much should I bank before I move to Los Angeles?”

If you’re looking for a magic number, you can find it. It’s a click away; you’ll pull up Search Results 1-10,000, each page with listing from hocus to pocus.

“Expect to pay $1,000 per month per person… minimum,” one source says. Or that you’ll need $7,000 to get set-up in Los Angeles. Even $20,000 is a paltry bag of loot for this cruel, hard town: only the first $10,000 is for trying to make it in Los Angeles.

The other $10,000?

For re-rebuilding your life when you fail.

Who’s got the time to put together $20,000 – not for a down payment on a home, but to relocate to a crappy loft or one bedroom apartment? What recent graduate up to their nostrils in student loans, consumer debt, and the nasty coke habit they picked up in Law School has the means to scrape up two stacks?

The figure – $20,000 – isn’t even the highest number suggested, but any newly minted graduated with $35,000 banked obviously knows something the rest of us don’t.

People asking the “magic number” question (aka “How much should I bank?”) are searching for glass knives, but there’s no clear cut answer. This post will address the question, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg. Beneath the surface, floating like a tectonic of earth and ice, is the real issue at hand: “How badly do you want it?”

Calculations

Disclaimer: The author is not a personal finance expert. Anything pertaining to finances written here is based solely on personal experience, and should be executed at your own risk.

No passes or loading or Hindu Shuffles required to find your magic number – just calculation. Below is the lay:

1. Calculate your expenses per month. Start by creating a balance sheet: shuffle Revenues to the left, and electric slide Expenses to the right. For the purposes of this example, ignore Revenues completely, and focus all your attention on Expenses.
   Gather all those recurring expenses: rent, monthly student loans payments, health insurance, car insurance, server costs, cell phone bill, gym membership, and any other expense that comes in at a regular amount in a regular period.
2. Next budget regularly incurred expenses of indefinite increments. Gas is one example: you know the pumps’ will cause you to lose serious hit points throughout the month, but cumulative carnage is unknown. Miscellaneous expenses fall in this category, which can be broken to subcategories: Groceries, Alcohol, Dining Out, Clothes, etc. Creating a separate spread sheet to record these expenses, then referring to it in the Balance Sheet keeps the data organized.
3. The final category listed with Expenses is Savings. Why is Savings an Expense? Because your wise, financially capable dome adheres to the “pay-yourself-first” mentality like a cheap Internet banner. Treating savings as an expense automates the saving process, and forces you to save even when you don’t necessarily have the funds to do so. Too often, saving with the money left over post-Bill Pay results in goose eggs instead of a nest egg.

Consider contributing to a few savings accounts on a monthly basis:  the first, an emergency fund for those minor problems that require you to throw a little money at it to go away (car maintenance, exploding pipes, bail money, etc.) Second, start contributing to an IRA as early as possible. A discussion on the powers of an early start and compounding is far beyond the scope of this post, but know this: it’s huge. There are two kinds of IRA’s: Traditional and Roth. For an in-depth comparison, see Get Rich Slowly’s post.

Carry-the-one addition (or a =SUM function in a spreadsheet) quickly determines total expenses per month. Multiply this figure by three, then add it to your expected move-out costs and start-up costs (see below) to calculate your magic number: the bottom-of-the-barrel, asphalt scraping, bare minimum amount of quiche baking in the oven before moving to Los Angeles.

Start-Up Costs

These are the costs any new resident or Los Angeles transplant will incur to make it big in Hollywood. Referring to the physical goods mentioned below as necessities would be a stretch (they’re not) but they do go a long way towards living comfortably. The list moves from inelastic (you’ll almost definitely incur these costs) to elastic (can get away with not purchasing) costs:

1. Security Deposit and first month’s rent
2. Broker’s fee (if you work through a broker)
3. Food – you’ll eat out more if you don’t have any place to store groceries
4. Gas – double the dollars allocated; there’s a lot of driving to do the first month
5. Furniture – start with something as simple as one air bed, and a fold-up table and chair. As you settle in, you can acquire other comforts: lamps, dish sets, wine glasses, a kitchen table, a television set, etc.
6. Pots and pans

Be willing and eager to hunt for the elastic items on Craigslist. You’re not setting up shop in your dream home. You are not taking tips from TLC or HGTV. Martha Stewart is not your hero. You’re hustling and struggling and sculpting without stone, which means you’ll take what get (“and like it, you bet!”) It’ll get you by the first few months, at which point, if you’re flowing like the carpool lane through gridlock, feel free to upgrade.

Cutting Costs

In the early stages, it’s far easier to work on lowering expenses than increasing revenue. The consequences are compounded when income is irregular at best, zero at the worst. Still, our thoughts usually turn to making more as the solution, instead of spending less. Before moving, cut this mentality out of your mind. Create a strategy, or battle plan if you will, of your actions to cut down on those expenses, temporarily even, at least until you have some income:

1. Keep the miscellaneous expense costs to a minimum. Refrain from expensive habits: dining out, drinking, drugs, or buying non-essentials (clothes, shoes, gear and gadgets.) Every month you concentrate on paying the rent and sustaining your body is another month to do what you set out to do.
2. Keep gas costs down. You’ll drive everywhere in Los Angeles, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t methods to save gas. If the grocery store or the beach is close by (set a miles distance e.g. 3 miles, 5 miles) try biking or skateboarding there instead of taking the car. Avoid rush hour like a bad Jackie Chan movie; your car will idle for two hours with nothing to show for it but 100 yards of pavement and half a tank of gas.  Go to work earlier and leave later – schlep over to a café and read for an hour before heading home, after traffic lightens.
3. Temporarily reduce your contributions to your student loans. If things get real hard up, defer the loans for a year.
4. Temporarily cut out your health insurance coverage (not recommended, and should only be implemented as a last resort.)
5. Cut back on savings. If flies directly in the face of the “pay-yourself-first” mentality, but you may need to do it temporarily in the beginning. As soon as you think you’re able to, start saving again.

Some ideas to cut down on start-up costs:

1. You might not be set-up with a place when first touching down in Los Angeles, since it’s difficult to find an apartment without being in the area. Do not assume, however, that subletting (which locks you down for a month, plus your security deposit) is the only option. Instead, you can:
   1. Crash with a friend (or a friend of a friend) for a few days
   2. Couchsurf
   3. Stay at a hostel
   4. Camp at a state beach or park
   5. Boondock at Wal-Mart’s (not the most comfortable or safest, but feasible)

All the while, aggressively apartment hunting – stealing Internet if necessary, but doing what it takes to find a place to settle.

1. Steal Internet. Offer to pay your neighbors $20 per month for their password. Or find a nearby B&N or a Panera and use the Internet there.
2. Buy only the essentials when you arrive: air mattress, pots and pans, food. Other than those items, Craigslist everything you can, a little at a time.

More Information?

The articles on personal finance are wide and varied and more complete than could ever be possibly covered here. A few excellent places to start are:

Ramit Sethi’s I Will Teach You to be Rich

J.D. Roth’s Get Rich Slowly

Tim Ferris’ Investment Series – start with Rethinking Investing, and work your way through the content

Conclusion

Examining your financial situation is a crucial step for going coast-to-coast, but there’s nothing magical about that “magic number.” Money in the bank is just money in the bank; the real magic happens when you ask yourself: How bad do you want it?

Shift the lens from the distraction (“Do I have enough money?”) to the real issue (“What do I really want?”) opens eyes and doors. You’ll realize it’s less about finances and more about comfort level. To some, these cutbacks may seem absurd, impossible, or damned dangerous: “What do you mean, boondock at Wal-Mart’s? You mean, sleep in my car in the parking lot? Don’t be ridiculous.” If it does seem ridiculous, don’t do it.

Far more ridiculous, however, is living life without a passion. Or worse, having a passion but not willing to make the sacrifices to pursue it. If you want it bad enough, you’ll make it on pennies. If you lack the focus or the drive, all the money in the bank won’t get you there.

Related posts:

1. Restaurant Work in Los Angeles
2. One Month In – Part One

Perched on a ledge, his legs and fashionably plaid shorts dangling over the edge; below them, a 12-foot drop into sand. His brown Hollister shirt sopping in his perspiration, like he just pulled it from a bath drawn from his own sweat. Water beads dot his eyebrows. His tired hands shake as they clutch the hard rock.

He silently counts to himself, psyching himself up for the drop. “One, two, three…” But his butt doesn’t move. It remains rooted, still as stone, like any of the rock formations we’ve encountered in Zion. “So,” he said. “That didn’t work.”

Then he turned back to me.

“I can’t do it.”

The fact he was in this spot at all – not sipping water, patiently waiting for our return at the beginning of the trail, still shocked me. Getting here, twelve feet of gravity between him and the ground, required him to climb the distance a few hours ago, white knuckling, tip-toeing, and heel hooking his way up the red rock.

After that, the bouldering problems got real hard. Yet he traversed every barrier we traversed, accomplishing the goals via alternative means, but conquering them nonetheless. Slowly but relatively smoothly, until now.

I shrugged, and looked around. The sun was starting to duck behind the wall of rock behind him. We still hadn’t found a place to camp, so if we were lucky, we’d pitch the tent with the last snatches of sun beam on our backs. If we were unlucky, Will would be getting booted off that ledge and we’d set up camp in darkness.

You don’t have much of a choice, I told him. It’s getting dark, and we need to head back. We can’t stay here forever.

Seeing him there reminded me of this scene from, Gattaca, with Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman. Hawke’s character needs to avoid the authorities, and behind him, he drags a reluctant Uma Thurman, who’s ragged breathing can’t quite catch up to her physical exertion. She suffers from a heart condition, and when they finally collapse behind a wall, she gasps, “Don’t you understand? I can’t do that.”

And Hawke replies, “You just did.”

As I planned this road trip I couldn’t help but feel relieved I was doing it with two friends. I’d never be able to road trip across the country, schlep all my belongings out west on my own, I reasoned to myself. How would I handle all the driving, or go camping by myself? Wasn’t it a safety issue, sleeping alone in the wilderness? Those questions nagged at me, all the unknown variables that pricked like nettles for someone who needs at least some semblance of a plan to get through his day. I truly believed I wasn’t capable of doing it.

And I was right.

You’re not capable of doing anything until you’ve done it.

A few months ago I went through the same mental gyration about moving out west at all, with or without other people. It was a terrible idea, I thought, abandoning a stable lifestyle to become destitute and broke. I’d never be able to leave everyone and everything familiar behind. I was simply incapable of such a task – until I did it, that is.

Will wasn’t capable of shimmying through tight spaces, and conquering those bouldering problems… until he did.

Just as he wouldn’t be capable of taking that twelve foot drop. Until after a 15-minute psych-up session, I watched him slowly edge his butt off the ledge… stick one precarious leg out into the air, and let go.

He fell.

He fell hard, air punching out of his lungs like pulling a nail from a tire. His mass collapsed on his knees, more force than he expected. He rolled into the dirt and groaned, disbelief at the feat that just moments ago, he couldn’t do.

Related posts:

1. Sidebar: The Struggle
2. Sidebar: Breaking Falls
3. Sidebar: The Contact List

Below is the lay, from the constraints faced, to budgets versus actual, and the route:

Constraints

The trip was completed in a 2006 Corolla-S sedan with  manual transmission. Two people were moving out to Los Angeles permanently, the third was traveling out with six weeks worth of belongings. The fit was tight in the car, but not completely uncomfortable. Moving in one vehicle is a daunting proposition for folks who’ve been settled down for a few years, and come laden with dressers, brushed silver frames, and suitcases worth of clothes. If you must bring these belongings, this wikiHow article explains different options – Step 11 gives an overview. None of the passengers have embarked on an extended road trip before. Before this trip,  I’ve rarely popped a car’s hood, have never changed a tire, and my idea of “camping” was renting a house on the lake armed with all the amenities.

Budget

If you’re into budgeting and determining exact costs, having a solid itinerary and seriously considering your sleeping conditions will answer a great deal of these questions. Examine our budgeted costs and actual costs for your own reference (opens an Excel spreadsheet.)

For eleven days:

Gas

Total miles: 4,350

10 hours driving time/day

Fill up every 10 gallons.

The vehicle gets 27 miles to the gallon of gas. That’s 270 miles per fill-up; or about 16 tanks to get across the country. At $2.80 per gallon (or $28 per fill-up) it’ll cost $448 to cross the states.

Food

$20 per day, for 10 days. Plus the initial $20 for food, per person, we arrive at $245.

Lodging

We’ll visit maximum three National Park Entries. Total cost of the national parks will be $20, per person. Calculated into lodging are two Holiday Inn stays, in case of an emergency, which comes out to $33 per person.

The total lodging is $53 per person.

Miscellaneous Emergency Funds

Total $100

Actual – In Brief

The road trip lasted 10 days. On our traveling days, an average of 8 hours was spent on road time. The 50 mph east of the Mississippi, 55 mph west of the Mississippi is a conservatively accurate measure of hours you’ll be on the road, including time to get gas and coffee.

The evening destinations included: Baltimore, Maryland; Fort Wayne, Indiana; Chicago, Illinois; Kansas City, Missouri; Bonny Lake, Colorado; Moab, Utah; St. George’s, Utah; Las Vegas, Nevada; Los Angeles, California

The states passed through included: New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Colorado, Kansas, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, California

The distance traveled (not including miles inside the towns) was 3,358 miles.

Estimated total spending for the group was $888; actual was $597.

After divvying shared costs (not total costs) each person spent just under $200.

As an individual, each person’s costs landed somewhere around $350 – $400.

The Route – Albany to Los Angeles

Below is the information gathered to plot the trip. The important aspects: start and end location, estimated miles and time traveled, and locations for sleeping (multiple if you’re not exactly you’ll be crashing.) Two great resources to find campsites are About: Student Travel and Free Campgrounds.

View XC2LA Road Trip in a larger map

Day 1 – Sunday, June 13

Start: Albany, NY

End: Baltimore, MD

Miles | Time: 330 m. | 6 hr. 30 min.

Lodge: Maria in Catonsville, MD 21228

Day 2 – Monday, June 14

Start: Catonsville, MD

End: Fort Wayne, Indiana

Miles | Time: 563 m. | 11 hr. 15 min.

Lodge: Morgan in Fort Wayne, IN 46814

Day 3 – Tuesday, June 15

Start: Fort Wayne, Indiana

End: Chicago, Il.

Miles | Time: 203 m. | 4 hr.

Lodge: Eric in La Grange, IL 60525 or Karen in Northfield, IL 60093

Day 4 – Wednesday, June 16

Start: La Grange, IL

End: Kansas City, MO

Miles | Time: 526 m. | 10 hr. 30min.

Lodge: Amber in Kansas City, Missouri 64133 or Fairground Park in Higginsville, MO or Walnut Park in Arkansas City, MO

Day 5 – Thursday, June 17

Start: Kansas City, MO

End: Bonny Springs, CO

Miles | Time: 591 m. | 10 hr. 45 min.

Lodge: Ellis, KS or Phillipsburg, KS (Phillipsburg City Park) or Colorado Springs, CO (Hugo City Park), or Colorado Springs, CO (Bighorn Canyon/Salida)

Day 6 – Friday, June 18

Start: Bonny Springs, CO

End: Arches National Park (Moab, Utah)

Miles | Time: 406 m. | 7 hr. 25 min.

Lodge: Camping ($10 per vehicle)

Day 7 – Saturday, June 19

Start: Arches National Park

End: Zion National Park (Utah)

Miles | Time:

Lodge: Camping ($25 per vehicle)

Day 8 – Sunday, June 20

Start: Zion National Park

End: Las Vegas, NV

Miles | Time: 163 m. | 3 hr.

Lodge: Terry in Las Vegas, NV

Day 9 – Monday, June 21

Day 10 -Tuesday, June 22

Start: Las Vegas, NV

End: Los Angeles, CA

Miles | Time: 170 m. | 3 hr

Post Road Trip

If I Did It Again

I’d take a more “themed” approach, and fulfill that theme at every stop. One of the original themes was “Sushi Restaurants”: that’d involve visiting every famous sushi spot along the way, as well as the best restaurants in the town I’d stay in.

Such a theme presents several obstacles. First, traveling with others makes the sushi theme a difficult prospect. Unless they’re explicitly down with the idea, the theme probably doesn’t excite them very much. Second, chasing sushi restaurants across America isn’t the same as chasing friends; the restaurants won’t put you up for the night. Finally, sushi isn’t a budget meal, and a road trip built on a sushi theme would easily double or triple expenses for the trip.

If a road trip is in the future, touring more National Parks is a definite interest. National Parks provide the best the states have to offer: beautiful scenery, exercise, people to meet, and camping. If you visit three of four National Parks, it’s worthwhile to splurge on the National Parks Yearly Pass for $80. Also, call for reservations a month ahead if you plan on camping – many National Parks are switching to the reservation system.

In a group road trip, the selection of travel mates is important. It is not like putting together a corporate team, or a committee to oversee the town; don’t look for balance and differences that provide a wide view. For a trip of short duration, focus is more important. The similarities between travel mates are more important than the differences. Acquire travel mates who share the same standards (or lack thereof) of comfort, dining, and interest. (For example, someone who doesn’t eat fish isn’t a good candidate for the “Sushi Restaurant” themed road trip.)

If the group isn’t focused, then despite your best efforts, tension and resentment will inevitably arise.

Miscellaneous Tips

Before leaving on the trip, agree between travel mates which costs will be split between travelers. For example, if the car breaks down, who contributes towards the repairs?

Driving from Colorado into Utah on Route XX, for the first dozen exits, there are zero services: no gas, no telephone, no nothing. This is a fact they fail to mention at the last exit in Colorado. Make sure you fill up on gas and water.

Leave Vegas while you’re up.

Getting used to the diet of PB&J’s was simple. Not showering on a regular basis – less so.

Armed with an atlas, you can worry considerably less about exact locations to camp out for the evening. Just open the map and shoot for a spot.

Sidebar: Final Thoughts

Continue to XC2LA: Part 5 – Settling in Los Angeles

Return to XC2LA: Part 3 – Planning the Road Trip

Related posts:

1. Planning the Road Trip
2. Sidebar: Final Thoughts