In Texas we have deer like other states have squirrels. Yes, everything really is bigger in Texas. I had lived in Texas for 9 years or so, and had never once hit one. Most people have at least one deer-collision story, so I considered myself lucky. I left my house in Austin late on December 31, and hit two deer at the same time as I left the city. Was that an omen?
My car was so crammed with stuff that I probably couldn't have fit a toaster in it, unless I wanted it on my lap. I had a long drive ahead of me, but was so excited that my thoughts over a background of road noise kept me entertained.
When I reached Tucson I visited J-Dog. He was one of the cool community guys I met in Chicago. He offered me a place to sleep, but I couldn't. Instead I lay there thinking about what adventures were ahead of me. A couple hours after arriving I continued towards LA.
When I finally reached LA I had driven for 24 hours out of the past 27 hours, not actually sleeping once. I was told to exit La Cienega, but I knew we were living on Sunset, so I exited there. What was I getting myself into? Sunset didn't look as glamorous as it had been described to me. In fact, it looked run down and dirty. I pushed through the traffic, slowly uncovering another few hundred feet of the street at a time.
As I continued West the cheap motels and nondescript storefronts transformed into expensive restaurants and impressive hotels. This was more like it. Finally, I saw our street. It was directly off of Sunset right in the middle of all the action.
As soon as I turned on to our street, I saw our house. It really was right on Sunset. I eagerly parked and run to the front door.
When I rang the doorbell, Style answered the door. He was wearing an orange sweatshirt and was a lot smaller than I expected him to be. This effect was compounded by the fact that he was surrounded by huge piles of boxes - the only furnishings in the cavernous living room.
He welcomed me in, introduced himself, and gave me a tour of the place. It was amazing. The rooms were huge, impressive, and just brimming with potential. But the real jewel was the backyard. It featured an enormous hot tub which wasn't working at the time, a bean shaped pool, an outdoor kitchen/bar, and steps which led to a landing that overlooked the whole city. Despite being hard to believe that this was my new home, I instantly knew that I had made the right choice.
Style was quiet as he unpacked his boxes. I carried my stuff into my room, even though I had no furniture to put it on. Finally 2am came around and the rest of the pickup artists returned home.
Everyone was there - Mystery, Papa, Tyler, 26, Sickboy, and others. The living room represented the top 8 pickup artists in the world and one guy eager to learn from them all - me. One of the most memorable moments in my life was later that night when the guests had gone to sleep. Mystery, Style, Papa, and myself - the four residents of the mansion - all gathered in our barren living room. We collectively gazed up at the twenty foot ceiling, over to the sunken bar, and at each other.
"Well... we did it," someone said.
There was the collective feeling that we had beaten the system. Our ages ranged from early twenties to early thirties, and none of us felt like we belonged here. After all, this was the house lived in by Dean Martin and later, Eddie Griffin. We were four punks, none of whom had a 9-5 job, but we were about to live like kings.
The house became the backdrop for some of the craziest experiences in my life. Mystery and I became close friends and competed over everything. Hardly a day passed that we didn't bet on something (Mystery, you still owe me $2mil - don't think I forgot!). Style and I became good friends as well, although he was often busy writing. Tyler, the first impressive pickup artist I ever saw, hung out from time to time and became friends too.
There's so much more I could write about living in Project Hollywood, and I'm sure I'll get to some of those stories in time. Style, however, is a much better writer than I am. He wrote the New York Times bestseller, The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. I'm one of the main characters in the book ("Herbal"), and lot of the second half is about me. It's my favorite book and definitely worth reading! In it is the story of Mystery and I teaching workshops, me stealing his girlfriend (twice....), Courtney Love moving in, my second attempt at going polyphasic, and a bunch of other great stories.
Tynan, I really enjoyed reading this post. The Game is my favorite book too, but I always felt it was a bit biased by Neil Strauss's obvious dislike of Tyler and RSD (After all Neil's company Stylife is in direct competetion with RSD)
Reading about the events from your perspective is fascinating.
It reminds me of reading about the Merry Pranksters party with the Hells Angels from 2 perspectives (first Hunter S Thompson's in Hell Angel's then re-told from the Merry Pranksters perspective in Electric Kool Aid Acid Test)
I encourage you to write more about Project Hollywood.
Ha! Nice... My family lives in Wisconsin, I live in Florida..
They have deers, we actually have dogs with antler but seeing one is as likely as seeing a jackalope. My aunt lives in the middle of no where and she has never once hit a deer.
Though on I think two or three occasions she was the one hit by a deer. So Tynan, aside from hitting a deer has a deer ever hit you?
I've been reading some of the contents on your blog, but only today I got time to read 'bout your PUA story.
It's great to have more context to the whole Project Hollywood thing, I read Style's book and yours too, but now after starting to read your blog I finally get that you're normal guys and not superheroes as I imagined.
I don't plan on becoming a PUA but I'm willing to learn from it, and my perspective on life is much alike yours, I wanna travel the world and be open to adventures, oh and I love hiphop also, so it's been fun to read.
If you ever come to Portugal please let me know!
Do you follow the mytery method? or do you go by the stuff that Real Social Dynamics teaches? I've read both, and i gotta say RSD is waaay better. Well as far as being real goes.
got a quick question for ya, is the book portrayal of tyler really true? style admit that he was a little harsh with tyler in the book, but im just wondering if tyler really did manipulate the house against mystery and style.
hey, what do u do once you've picked them up though?
doesn't sleeping around or just getting people's nmbers for no further contact start to get boring eventually..
This is a continuation of the story, How I Became a Famous Pickup Artist Part 1. If you haven't read that already, you should do so before reading this article.
Papa was notorious for being in contact with everyone in the pickup scene. I couldn't blame him, either - he was the business side of "Real Social Dynamics", a company that taught seminars and workshops to aspiring players. Not surprisingly, he was the only person at the seminar that I knew.
In order to extract every last precious second out of my experience, I had gotten on the earliest flight to Chicago that I could book. I called Papa when I arrived at the hotel at 10am. I could hardly make out his voice. He'd been out in the clubs until very late and was still sleeping.
I walked into the airport in Seattle, ready to fly to San Francisco. I was checking in, and the kiosk I was using gave me the option to change my seat. I mostly fly on the East Coast, and really only on Airtran Airways, and on Airtran it costs money to change your seat. This time however, it was free, so I decided “What the hell” and hit the button. I immediately noticed I was in the back row, all the way on the left. There wasn't even a window, it was almost as if it used to be additional storage, but decided to put half a seat there to make an extra couple of dollars. There were two other seats open, one center seat about 3 rows from the back, and one in center of the very first row of coach. “Hot damn,” I thought, and I grabbed the seat at the front of coach.
I got onto my plane, and noticed there was no where in front of me to put my bag, and the flight attendant made me put it in overhead storage (which I hate using). The plane was about half filled when another guy who looked about my age (19) sat down in the window seat next to me. He had kind of scraggly, unkempt hair, and an earring that looked like (and probably was) just a woodchip through his left ear. He sat down next to me, and the flight attendant immediately yelled at him to put his bags up above. We exchanged grumblings about having to put our stuff up, and then we started talking.
“It's weird being in an airplane again,” Marty commented, looking around uncomfortably. “In fact it's kind of weird to be surrounded by people.” I asked if it was his first time flying, and he responded “No, I've just been... out of touch with the world for a while.” He then went on to tell me about how he had just spent the past four months by himself in a log cabin in the woods of Northern Minnesota, fifty miles from the nearest road. He told me about how he was in the backwater bar in Minnesota, talking to some loggers. This one logger was telling Marty about his grandfather had built a log cabin up north a long time ago, but no one had had time to go there in fifteen years. Marty thought about it for a second, and then asked the logger “How much?” The logger was a bit taken back, and replied cautiously “Nine hundred dollars?” Marty wrote him a check on the spot, and then met back up with the logger the next day for a topographical map. “It's the only way you can find it,” the logger said. Since it's so far from any roads, you have to find the right hills, follow streams and rivers, and take the correct forks. Marty got some equipment, and then headed off.
He arrived in the closest town (50 miles from the cabin) and proceeded to make three trips to the cabin. He was hiking the whole time, so he could only carry so much. He arrived towards the end of winter, and had some trouble the first month. He shot three bucks, but didn't preserve the meat of the first two correctly and the bodies were covered in flies and maggots within 45 minutes. The third one he did right, but had to dry the meat in a corner of his cabin for a month. He said “it smelled like a dead animal.” He paused, and then laughed and added “Well I guess it was a dead animal.” The cabin had a wood stove, a wooden desk, some candles, and not much else.
He spent a lot of time cleaning up the cabin and the surrounding area (no one had been there for 15 years), and spent the rest of his days hunting small game (rabbit, squirrel), fishing (in lakes so clear you could see 30 feet below the surface), and exploring. He told me about how he used a series of pink bandannas to tie around trees, so he could find his way home. When exploring, he'd tie them around trees as he was about to get out of sight of the previous one. On the way back home, he'd untie and collect them, leaving no trace he was ever there. When he arrived back home, he would sit at his desk and read books, write, and draw.