It is 1990 and I'm a freshly minted graduate of the California Institute of the Arts.

It is hard for me to recommend taking the one way ticket, at 23, to LA with no home, no job, no contacts, very little savings, no credit or no reason but that's just what I did.

At this moment, I'm living in the fabled Laurel Canyon in a one room studio adjacent to a chalet type A-frame house. I have a Pier-One floor and a mattress on it. I have an Ikea "media centre" and a bare bulb in a tiny bathroom with a sliding "door" that moves back and forth with the slightest breeze and left any "guest" with zero privacy.

Down the skinny eucalyptus lined street in the middle of the canyon, under The Country Store, was a gourmet pizza restaurant called Caoti with its owner Ed Ladou who invented this pizza though Wolfgang Puck owned it.

Ed had a heart for my plight and as a result I spent time training as what I would become a very bad waiter.

My first guest came in. He was Val Kilmer. I was thrilled because two years prior, I was involved in classes at The Colorado Shakespeare Festival where he played Hamlet. Brilliantly, I might add. What a great conversation starter, I thought.

After some discourse, Val interjects, "Would you like to be in my movie?"

"Sure," I say, greenly adding, "But I don't have an agent."

"You don't need an agent."

Show Business is easy!

Val proceeded to tell me he would be in make-up at 6:30am and to meet him there. I excitedly shook his hand and couldn't wait for Monday morning.

On the way home it dawned on me - who's going to believe this long-haired punk who asks where the star of the movie is because he said I could be in it too?!

Oh well.

Monday morning came and I dressed in my best facsimile of a hippie.

I parked my car, straightened my brown leather head-band and marched my way up San Vacinte toward The Whisky A Go Go where the shooting is to take place.

I saw a bunch of trailers when a woman with a headset blocks my path.

Here it comes.

"Can I help you?," she says.

"Yes." And with a breath and my best self-deprecating foot forward, I add,"I know this will sound absurd but I work at Caoiti restaurant in The Canyon. Val Kilmer was my first customer. And I'm from Boulder. And he played Hamlet at the Shakespeare Festival. And I was there. Cause I'm from Boulder. And he said he'd be in make-up at this time and to meet..."

Ca-ching!

"Go on up the street. He's in the third trailer in, on the right," she says, trying to hide a grin.

"Thank you ma'am. Thank you so much."

I called her ma'am and she probably was only Thirty.

When I walked up to the trailer, I saw Val. He saw my reflection through the mirror. He jumped out of his chair, burst out the door and said accurately, "You made it."

He then tells me, we're shooting a concert scene at The Whiskey where The Doors sing, "The End," and Jim gets thrown out for saying a particular unnacceptable word. He likes what I'm wearing but suggests, since we're about the same size, to wear some of his wardrobe. I get to wear Jim Morrison's maroon velvet shirt?

This is already a thrill for this wannabe actor.

We get in and it's interesting how fast a crew notices you, especially when you're "Val's friend."

I look around the club and I see Robby Krieger, John Densmore, Eric Burden, Bill Graham the famous San Francisco Promoter (The Fillmore anyone?!) and Patricia Kennealy who was Jim Morrison's "wife," and had a shirt on that stated simply: I fucked Jim Morrison.

On the floor, we were instructed to "acid dance" while the music played. Now, I don't know if it was because my acid dancing was so fabulous or it was because I was "Val's friend," but the choreographers Bill and Jaqui Landrum whisked me up to the balcony and placed me right next to Meg Ryan.

So far, so good.

Then, because now that I'm featured, what I'm wearing causes some debate.

"The shirt's too thick and heavy. It's September. It's the hottest month in LA," says Wardrobe.

"How 'bout we take the shirt off. Are you ok with that?," asks a man in Hair and Make Up, biting on a comb.

The Jim Morrison shirt comes off, the fake sweat (which is kind of sticky I might add) is sprayed on, I am asked to smoke and look very stoned.

Let's get this straight. I look to my right and there's the star from "When Harry Met Sally" - which I have just seen - to my left: Is Oliver Stone, the director, sitting behind what's known as the "Video Village," I see the icons of sixties rock flanked around him and Val Kilmer on stage ready for the next take.

I have arrived.

After numerous takes it is about three in the morning. Val is on stage having a conference with Oliver Stone.

Just then, Val waves me over.

I trot down the steps, cut through the hundreds of extras on the floor and approach the foot of the stage.

"Come with us, we're going across the street," Val says.

So there I am, walking across Sunset Boulevard with Val Kilmer, the movie's director, Oliver Stone and one of the Executive Producers, Alex Ho.

We go to this gas station where inside, we can make ourselves shakes, sundaes, anything of the sweet sort. I go for a vanilla shake.

Standing next to me, putting nuts on top of his sundae, Oliver Stone says to me, "So you want to be an actor?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you heard of Danny Sugarman?"

I answered honestly, "Sorry, no."

"Have you read, 'No One Gets Out of Here Alive'?"

Feeling like I'm failing a test I answer, "I haven't read it but I know what it is."

"Well, Danny's latest book is called 'Wonderland Avenue,' and it's about his life after The Doors in the Seventies. We're looking for unknowns and you look a lot like a young Danny Sugarman. So what I'd like you to do is," he pauses, "You do have an eight by ten?"

I answered yes.

"So what I'd like you to do is go to Samuel French and buy the book. Read it. And send your picture and resume to Ixtlan Productions, my production company. Tell my assistant that I told you to do it."

Show Business is easy!

"Yes sir. Thank you sir. I will. Thank you so much."

Then the director looks at Val and says to him, "And if you fuck up, I can always have Jim Jr., here, fill in for you."

We all laugh.

The shoot was quite a spectacle. Stars not associated with the movie had to stop by and check it out. James Woods stopped by and so did Dennis Quaid who was dating Meg Ryan at the time. Apparently, The Producers paid 800,000 dollars a night to block traffic on Sunset. All the marquee's were changed to fit the time period and I'm sure anyone who was around in 1966 was having a severe case of deja vu.

Back at The Whiskey, Val on his umpteenth take had to shoot the entire song in one take so Oliver could get coverage with a Steadicam.

He performed and sang the song. Now, I appreciated The Doors but it wasn't really my taste in music. When the song ended with Val writhing on the stage floor, the director yelled, "Cut." There was utter stillness. Long enough for me to overhear Robbie Krieger say to Oliver, "You know, we never had a recording of Jim on this gig but now we do." At that moment, my taste changed too.

The last moment recorded at The Whiskey was the scene where Jim gets thrown out of the club by the owner, Elmer Valentine. By this point, Val is exhausted. He sat at a table right by the door and waved me over.

"It's a far cry from Hamlet," I said to him searching for something to say.

"Not really, they're both dead."

Just beyond the door I hear, "Action," from Oliver Stone and John Capodice, the actor playing Elmer Valentine, picked Val up out of his chair - in character - and promptly threw him out.

The last day I was around in a Doors production, was the day they shot another concert scene at what was called The Olympic Auditorium.

On a lunch break I wandered into the auditorium to see the stage and sit in the bleachers by myself.

From behind me, someone says, "So you're playing me, I hear."

I turn around and see a man who looks like an older version of me. I stand up, a little puzzled.

He puts out his hand,"I'm Danny Sugarman."

"I'm supposed to read about you. I haven't got anything yet. I still have to send a picture and resume. I'm Mark Bennett."

We have small talk and the whole time I did not know that he too, was a consultant on the movie. I realize it's the first time in my life that I've already met the author before reading his book.

Show Business is easy!

After the meet and greet, I walk out and across the way I hear music. It is coming from a brick building and there's a black metal staircase on the outside leading to an open door at the top.

Not knowing any better, I had to check it out. After all, I am a musician...

I walk up the steps and there's what looks like, a guard standing outside. For some reason, or maybe it was my hippie garb but he let me in.

Inside, I saw John Densmore playing drums with his actor counterpart, Kevin Dillon, Robbie Krieger with his counterpart, Kevin Whalley and a lone Rhodes keyboard. Again, for some reason, Robbie looked at me with a shrug that seems to say - can you play? I walk up to the Rhodes and try my best to play along. Just then, Eric Burden walks in. The music stops. Some words are exchanged between the rock stars when we all begin the opening intro to "House of the Riding Sun." I realized I was playing with The Animals and The Doors at the same time.

Later, I ran down to the nearest pay phone to call my family.

Collect.

As for Wonderland Avenue? Carolco pictures went bankrupt, the script didn't hit the light of day and I never even got up to bat.

You can't win 'em all.