AshleyFlys.com - tales of travel, torrid affairs, and a hatred for DELTA

‘Cynical Life’ – trailer

Ashley — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:03:49 +0000

New trailer for ‘The Cynical Life’. Non-color corrected, but check it.

www.imdb.com/title/tt1990064/

Created, written, and produced by Ashley Avis
Directed by Matthew Sullivan
Starring Ashley Avis, Camille Cregan, Gerry Bednob, David Ballam, Chelsea Rae Bernier, Janna VanHeertum, Justin Taite, and Jensen Daggett.

New Sonas Campagin – Ash for Sonas Denim

Ashley — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 22:58:41 +0000

A few new shots from the shoot last week for Sonas Denim / editorial campaign, photographed by Paolo Mascatelli in Venice, CA.

. . .

Sonas Denim Commercial

Ashley — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 22:53:07 +0000

Initial editing pass on Sonas, check back for a new update in a few days.

Alchemy Pictures teamed up with Sonas Denim for a whimsical beach short / viral video.

Exec Producers: Sonas Denim / Gerry Kelly
Co-Producer: Xun Xiang
Directed & Produced by: Ashley Avis
Director of Photography: Nathan Haugaard

Starring Ashley Avis & Rob Browning.

Also, a few photos from the set of our commercial shoot by Chris Willard in Malibu, CA (with Rob Browning).

The Cynical Life – Teaser

Ashley — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 02:51:57 +0000

The Cynical Life is in post production, and we’ll be finalizing a premiere date within the next few weeks! For the moment, our editor has put together a quick teaser to satiate until an official trailer can be released.

Check it out – starring Ashley Avis, Camille Cregan, Gerry Bednob, David Ballam, Chelsea Rae Bernier, Janna VanHeertum, Justin Taite, Alex Ashbaugh, Kayley Gable, and Jensen Daggett. Full cast here: www.imdb.com/title/tt1990064/

Sonas Denim Campaign

Ashley — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 02:44:40 +0000

… a whirlwind few months between Cynical Life post production and L2 Living pre-production (a cast which includes Social Network’s Mariah Bonner, Torchwood’s Shawn Parsons, and a flurry of other talented folks).

In between the inane shooting schedules (Kevin Huie, I owe you a large fruitbasket)… I’ve become the face of a kickass new denim company called Sonas (seen at the Emmys, and soon to be featured at the Grammys and Sundance 2012). Eco-friendly, awesome bring-back-the-60s flare patchwork jeans.

Check out some of the first shoot images, by Paolo Mascatelli.

www.sonasdenim.com | www.paolomascatelli.com

The Cynical Life for William Rast

Ashley — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 18:44:54 +0000

Whew! I don’t think I’ve slept for another 38 hours or something, again, but hey. What else is being twenty-something and having access to copious amounts of coffee for?

So a publication I occasionally do editorials for, Bunker Hill Magazine (Google Shepard Fairey + Manny Pacquiao articles, some cool folks) is doing a story on us this month (August) and then a cover with William Rast jeans in September. I met with Steve Ford, who runs Bunker, a few days ago – and pitched the idea of doing a dual shoot. William Rast rocks, the Rast pairs I own I literally live in, and they have an edgy brand that matches the tone of Cynical. Plus, the ladies in our cast? Stunners.

So… twelve hours after talking with Ford, we got the cast together at a bit under 5 a.m. and ran around Venice with photograper Paolo Mascatelli. Here are a few teaser images of my individual portraits with Paolo and then one very cool shot of some of the cast – go to the link below to see the full spread!

http://thecynicallife.com/2011/07/28/the-cynical-life-for-william-rast-gallery-test-by-paolo-mascatelli-bunker-hill-magazine/

The Cynical Life of Harper Hall – A Pilot by Ashley Avis

Ashley — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 21:39:58 +0000

Hey there guys,

Apologies for the lack of cynical blogs and horrifying DELTA experiences… but we’ve been shooting a pilot over the past few weeks, and I’m finally getting around to drinking another case of sugar-version Red Bull and posting some news on here.

www.thecynicallife.com – cast list, updates, photos from the set (courtesy of Kelly Lee), videos (including our car getting towed… with ALL the lighing equipment in it), extended Behind the Scenes, and more.

Starring Ashley Avis, Camille Cregan, Chelsea Rae Bernier, Janna VanHeertum, Alex Ashbaugh, Justin Taite, Bennett Gillespie, and a slew of other brilliant folks. Produced by Ash, co-produced by Alexander Emmert (Paddock Pictures) and Paul Harrison Daggett.

The Cynical Life of Harper Hall is the story of a lovably cynical, failed twenty something children’s book author, Harper (Ashley Avis), who works out of her local coffee shop attempting to pen something more Disney commercially viable than ‘When Barney’s Parents Died in the Lava’.

After a relationship implosion involving her folk-rocker ex (and the illegitimate daughter of David Hasselhoff), Harper moves in with her little sister Sparrow (Camille Cregan)… an aspiring actress who sells her eggs to an Invitro fertilization clinic in Beverly Hills for rent money. Harper is suddenly dragged, unwittingly, into a whole new horror filled world. Being late twenties, NOT an actress, and suddenly single in Los Angeles

Check out the “Behind the Scenes” trailer. This was put together at around 4:45am post day two of shooting, so do excuse the double ‘the’.

A Press Tidbit: Ash @ Star Magazine Party, with Jennifer Tapiero for Starcam

Ashley — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 22:38:30 +0000

Beverly Hills, CA: Short and sweet interview with Jennifer Tapiero. Dress by Calvin Klein … and, YES! I didn’t TRIP in it! ;> Victorrry…

“StarCam’s Jennifer Tapiero hit the Star Magazine Party and talked with Ashley Avis about supporting Star Magazine’s third anniversary event. Lacey Schwimmer talks about her dancing tips and whether she likes working out, Tatyana Ali dishes on her guilty pleasure reading, Carla Ortiz talks about reading “Star,” Jason Wahler talks about what it’s like seeing himself in the magazine, and Jackie Warner talks about a 6-minute workout. Interviews with Tess Taylor, Shanna Moakler, Lisa and Brittny Gastineau, Shannon Bex, Hanson, Jesse Bradford, Hope Dworaczyk,Gavin DeGraw, and Alexis and Jim Bellino. Check out these exclusives with Tionne Williams, Mary Schmidt Amons, Amber Mead, Chanel from Rob Dyrdek’s Fantasy Factory, and Dmitry Chaplin.”
http://blog.starcam.com

Ten Reasons Why Not to Fight a Viking in an Elevator

Ashley — Fri, 06 Aug 2010 03:40:43 +0000

Last night, I was the lucky purveyor of a gigantic fight outside my apartment building. Now, when I say apartment building — I mean live/work commercial spaces for (relatively sane) creative professionals. Generally people are, you know, sleeping, throwing parties, having ‘bedroom interactions’ … at four o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. Not at L2* Living, where your next door neighbor could be a serial killer or… in this case, a Gigantic $&@!-ing Viking.

So in the midst of … ahem, a mixture of Pinot-consumption and ‘bedroom interactions’ … The Boyfriend and I hear a loud CRASH from what we assumed were our Crazy Swinging Neighbors invading our roofdeck again. As we (naked, naturally) ran up the spiral staircase to confront them for shagging on our orbit lounger – we found the two of them, shockingly (mostly) clothed, hanging over the lip of the roof, eyeballing the scene below.

The Female Swinger looked over her shoulder, waving.

“Hey Ash! Don’t worry, we’re not having sex on your patio, we’re on the roof part this time!”

“… okay!” I half-smiled, not sure how to address that sex on top of our apartment … anywhere … was kind of theoretically Not Cool in my mind, but …

“But there’s a SWEET FIGHT downstairs!” she called, before turning her attention to the obvious scene below.

Fight! I mentally chimed, always in the mood for viewing a healthy altrication. I ran downstairs with Boyfriend, sprinting to our sliding glass doors. Flinging them open, I suddenly realized I needed to clothe.

Boyfriend, who already had some pants on, watched the figures downstairs roll about on the concrete, punching each other, while I found some jeans and a sweater, and — stuffing a snowboarding cap on my post-bedroom hair, I bounded back to the balcony so we could watch the action.

“There is no lamb For the LAZY WOLF!” bellowed the larger dude below, who was blonde, very pale… and physically GIGANTIC.

“Did he just quote some Viking lore?” I whispered excitedly to Boyfriend, who shook his head quizzically.

Pretty sure that he had, I immediately determined the fellow’s ancestry. He probably had a ship somewhere, but had been banned from it for pillaging villages and causing Loads of Unnecessary Death.

“Help!” called the Annoying College Guy. Gigantic Viking turned his head, staring down the Tiny Ninja Security Guard who had begun creeping up toward the scene. I imagined him gnashing his teeth, or using his Viking powers to hypnotize the fellow… because our security guard literally took one look at the dude, grabbed his walkie, and RAN.

“YOU PLAY MUSIC LOUD! NIGHT TIME! MY CHILDREN SLEEP!” yelled the Viking, who apparently housed some offspring in our massive loft building. I knew his unit layout, too — it was a one room loft — I mused for a moment where he kept them. Perhaps in the bathroom.

Gigantic Viking continued to pummel College Guy. Boyfriend quietly dialed the police, before grabbing a beer and leaving the house.

I nabbed a cold one as well before returning to the window, just in time to see Gigantic Viking take his Gigantic Foot … raise it like a radiation-bombed Karate Kid … and SMASH through the all glass front door of College Guy’s apartment.

“AAAAAHHHHH!” the kid wailed, seeing his floor to ceiling glass windows come tumbling down in shards. He crumbled into our pseudo-grass, staring at the Viking (who was surely about to kill him), his ruined house, and his utter lack of door. Viking began approaching, slowly, and College Kid knew in that moment… he was about to die.

As if by pre-determined Fate-or-Something timing, The Boyfriend came strolling casually around the corner with his beer. Viking turned. His body lowered slightly, as if he was about to go into a full on Viking sprint –

“LAPD!” came a bullhorn, and sirens flashed. As if by magic (perhaps Gigantic Viking was also part… vampire or something…) the humongous Beanstalk of a man disappeared. College kid wandered around in a circle for a moment, before collapsing on the ground.

The police eventually took care if it, but not before (further) beating up College Kid (they thought he did something), hitting on me from the Balcony (“Don’t jump, Juliet! But if you do, I’ll catch you!), playing chess on our gigantic outdoor chessboard, and sitting by the communal hottub for half an hour.

They finally made some reports, and as of today — after Viking cornered me in the elevator (thank goodness a tiny little workman was in there with us, or I fear I would have had to fight him with my pruning shears) — Management has officially kicked him out. About an hour after our elevator altercation, movers were on the premises throwing his $!#% into the back of a truck.

I have come to the following conclusions about Vikings after this experience.

1) Vikings are $*@!-ing huge.

2) Vikings want to eat your soul.

3) Vikings will mash you between hairy knuckles and feed you to the whales.

And now… I’m going to go consume some Sherry and reflect. That, and hide from the Viking Children that will one day shoulder the L2 Management / College Guy / White Hat Chick injustice for the rest of their Freakish Viking lives.

I said I’d give you ten reasons… but? Time for some well deserved inebriation. That is all.

Regards,
Ashley

Why I Hate Crackheads Who Buy My Shit Off Craigslist

Ashley — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 05:18:51 +0000

Sunday morning started like any other Sunday morning. The slightly delirious post-Guiness inspired dream… the shuffling down the spiral staircase toward the gigantic industrial-size coffee maker… the Dad-just-shot-my-pony, AHHHH! feeling of horror upon discovering a lack of CREAMER…

As I ritualistically — much like I’d imagine a Cherokee medicine woman, or Senior Starbucks lifer Barista would — poured my French Roast into a coffee cup… I eyeball observed my OCD perfect apartment.

The white couches were in place, perfectly L shape arranged, the happy fluff of the (white) shag carpet impeccably vaccumed. The (white leather) ottomans were arranged in a communal, come drink (white) wine upon us setting around the (mostly white) calfskin. The Riedel glasses (not white, but clear, thus passable) were configured on the bar a meticulous half-inch apart. I smiled into my annoyingly milk-less mocha, mostly content until –

The “SHIT BOOKCASE” reared up from behind the stairs, horrific and terrifying in all its not-completely white un-glory. I stared at it, hard, willing to set fire to it with my mind.

The shit bookcase was the result of one “I’m going to make this pretty!” statement of defiance and one very, very bad Craiglist pickup. A coat of paint later, it was now exiled to lurking behind the base of my metal spiral like… the Less Favored Child named… Earl in a… Quaker “Rhythm Method” family of twelve. YES. So while Earl still kinda looked like everybody else, he wasn’t as attractive, or as smart, or nearly as athletic… so while the family tolerated Earl, they secretly wanted him GONE.

Yep. Earl was our freakin’ bookcase. The ugly white shabby chic “shit” bookcase that we hid behind our staircase.

Sipping at my disgusting concoction of lack-of-milk Roast, and waving to our obnoxious “I STARE. AT YOU.” chain-smoking neighbor across the way, I opened up The List.

______

*** Absolutely DELIGHTFUL white shabby chic bookcase, 7 feet tall !!! $20***

Is your life absolutely, utterly incomplete without an abundance of slightly imperfect, blissfully worn, hap-happyily shabby chic furniture? This is the post for you… we have a one-of-a-kind, hand painted bookcase that will add delight to any room!

Seven teetering feet tall, a foot and a half wide, and just adorable. Come by to Marina del Rey and pick it up for just $20 today!

______

I assumed someone would want this piece of crap (hey, I had hand painted it… one coat counts, right?) for twenty bucks. A college kid. A person with vision who’d hack it apart and use it for a “modern art piece”. Someone who just needed a shitty bookcase.

Within twenty minutes my iPhone “binged” with an email. “I LOVE IT!!!! I can have a friend come by tonight to pick it up! Please tell me it’s mine!”

Raising my still sleep-deprived eyebrows, I called the chick back at the number she listed… three times… and told her that her “buddy” could come by before seven.

“But not a moment later,” I advised, “I’m throwing my significant other a surprise birthday party this evening, and I cannot tarry!”

“He’ll be there!” she chirped.

Eight hours roll around, and the clock is nearing 7.30. I prepare to escort The Boyfriend out to hide him while his friends came over.

Riiiiing! Riiiing!

The random “friend” the weird I Love Your Shit Bookcase chick was sending over had finally arrived.

“Hello?”

“Huuuurrr… ‘lo. I’m by your buildin’.”

“You’re… by it? Or, in it?”

“By it.”

“Okay… where are you?

“Not sure. By 4500 Bluewoods.”

“Er, we’re 4533 Bluewood*. The Live/Work Lofts”.

“Oh. I’m there then. Is it a little house?”

“Um… no…”

Twenty minutes later I finally somehow get this crackhead INTO the appropriate address (obnoxious leasing signs abound down the street, you can’t NOT find our infamous lofts), and he calls again.

“Where are you?”

“We’re on the fourth floor.”

“Oh,” (long pause), “where’s that?”

“… UP! ELEVATOR!”, I attempt to not-yell, forcing myself to hang up before I added, “GET INVOLVED WITH ONE!”

Standing there, waiting for this dude to navigate my building, mentally crossing off doing my hair… or makeup… or anything remotely feminine for the party I was throwing in order to have time to obtain, you know, a CAKE… I waited for Crackhead to find my unit number.

A limp-writsted knock finally alights on my door. I sprint to it, opening.

“Hullo.”

“Um… hi…”

An extra from Deliverance wanders into my apartment. I silently observe his pockets, looking for knives, a gun, mustard gas. He looks clean. I show him in.

“Nahce plaaaa-y-ce,” he scoffs, obviously annoyed at its maniacal perfection.

“… thank you.”

I drag the shit bookcase out from behind the spiral stairs. Crackhead bobs his head.

“Huh! Didn’t see it thur.”

“Nope… it… uh, doesn’t really “go” with the rest of our furniture, so…”

“Right. Merryl’ll take it, I guess.”

He fishes around in his pocket for something… finally extracting a crumpled twenty. I’d have almost felt bad taking it from him, had he been less of an silently seething asshole. He could get… like… a haircut with that, you know? Trim up that mullet a little?

He stands there, looking at shit bookcase, then looking at me.

“Uh… do you need… help with it?”

“We-helll… you could offer to get the DOOR for meh,” he states, irked that I’ve just actually accepted the proffered money… for the item that I’m SELLING. Picking up the bookcase, he stomps off down the hallway.

As requested, I open the door for Crackhead. He glares at me as he exits. “Fuckin’ maze in this place!”

Smiling, I close the door, his weird psycho man-killer energy wafting out with him. I lock it. 8:15… guests were arriving in less than an hour.

As I began hustling The Boyfriend to get his shoes on, my cell phone rings. It’s the Strange Woman who sent Crackhead.

“Hello?”

“Um… hi,” she began, “um… so, the bookcase, I just bought… I hear it’s not all that, um… it’s not what I thought it was going to be.”

“… yeah. Usually a good idea to actually LOOK at the stuff you, you know, buy.”

“… right. So, I don’t really… um, want it? So… can he just… like, bring it back?”

Boyfriend at this point is halfway through the sock process.

“You know what, Mildred, or whatever your name is? You can totally just HAVE your twenty bucks back. We’re headed out to “dinner” right now… so feel free to stop by tomorrow…. and just KEEP the bookcase. Or throw it on the side of the road. Frankly, I don’t care, but I have to go–”

“Well… I need the twenty dollars back now.”

“Well, you just purchased something from NOT a store, had a very strange individual show up an hour LATE, and we’re on our way out to dinner. So feel free to swing by tomorrow –”

“That’s not going to work for me –”

I hang up on Mildred or Minnie or whatever the hell this woman’s name is — Boyfriend has his SHOES on, and I’m not risking any more random delays over Shit Bookcase… my god, I mean, seriously, it’s a (completed) twenty dollar CRAIGSLIST purchase!!!

Boyfriend begins putting on a dinner jacket. My cell phone rings again.

“I told you, tomorrow –”

“I-yum waitin’ outside your DOOR until you come OUT with the MUN-HEE.”

Crackhead. Startled, I wander over to my peephole, looking outside. I don’t see anyone. Unnerved, I steadied my voice…

“Dude, we’re already on our way out the door to dinner, so you can come by tomorrow –”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Jumping, I creep up to the door again. Crackhead and his weird Crackhead eyes are STARING right back at me. He’s holding the shit bookcase like it’s freakin’ ransom.

One thing I don’t like, besides Hitler — besides eggplant — is an individual I HAVEN’T INVITED trying to SURPRISE stalk me at my HOUSE. I suddenly began channeling an African American mama –

“Oh no you DIDN’T–”

I put a hand on the door, about to swing it open to face Crackhead –and out of nowhere, Boyfriend pushes me back, a crisp twenty in hand.

“Ash, just let me handle this –”

“OH NO HE DIDN’T –”

“ASH.”

He literally picks me up and puts me in the living room. Opening the door to Crackhead, he hands him the twenty, then goes to close it.

“I told yooo I’d wait!!!” Crackhead spits, trying to push Shit Bookcase through the opening. Boyfriend pushes back, closing the door on the guy. Crackhead begins POUNDING on it.

“Wayyyy-ting!!!!”

Boyfriend rolls his eyes, moving to the other room to re-collect his jacket. Not one to be idle when there’s confrontation, I grab my purse, rushing the door.

Swinging it open, Crackhead nearly falls over the bookcase as the pounding surface is removed — I grab a handful of dollar bills (don’t ask me why I had these readily available, but I did), and fling them into the air.

“You want more money? Here’s more! Here’s twenty FIVE dollars, shithead, now take Earl and leave us alone!”

I don’t know if it was the sudden shower of crumpled cash or the humanizing of the shit bookcase — but Crackhead went still, widened his eyes at me, grabbed the money, and literally RAN.

I watched him sprint down the hallway for a few moments before sighing, and looking down upon the now broken and additionally ugly shit bootcase, which lay — finally ready for death — at my feet.

“I’m so sorry, Earl.”

And with a final eyeball recon gaze to make sure Crackhead was absolutely out of our lives forever, I strapped on my three inch heels, grabbed my evening bag, and dragged shit bookcase down the hall and into the elevator… my silent tuxedoed Boyfriend standing next to me, not telling me so… and flung it into the basement garage cubicle from whence it (probably) came.

From now on, I stick to reconstructing NOT shit furniture when I’m bored.

At least until this experience dulls a little.

Or I mix Whiskey with my coffee again.

Goodbye Earl.