I Am Home

Oh thankee Lordee. My own bed.

Isn't that what people usually think upon returning to their childhood room?

I thought it when climbing into my Santa Monica featherbed. It freaked me out a little.

Anyway, I'm back in Cali. For now. Lots to think about.


And soon-- Teb arrives in a few hours. Yay Teb. Perhaps this time we'll skip Tijuana and try Santa Barbara instead.

Pigfuckers

Yaf spoke with the new owner of my old phone, which I lost in a taxi two months ago. It just sent out old text messages under the new number.

"I just got this phone from a used phone shop, like your friend must have like lost her like phone, yeah," the fuckwad said.


PIGFUCKER: I WANT MY PHONE BACK.


AND I CANNOT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT.


Well, nothing useful.

But I do have its new number.

I think I'm going to sign it up for a 900 service.



(Send text spam and crank calls to 310.595.4873).

Irish Riviera

A brief trip to the shore!

Mother and I drove my little sister and three of her friends to Spring Lake, known as the "Irish Riviera," where wealthyish Irishfolk bought beach houses forty-odd years ago. After dropping the rugrats at the beach, Mom and I went in search of food. A local replied to our query for "shops and things" with "Oh, you'll find the gambling parlors and dancing halls on Third Avenue." He had a brogue (so Turd Ave, basically) and happily informed us of any number of Irish Jews waiting to take our money.




He wasn't entirely wrong, except for, you know, the Jew part.

I got a weird leg sunburn that looks like I cut my toe, let it infect and turn septic, and that the reaction has travelled into my lymph system and I should really get to a hospital and a penicillin drip ASAP.

Fortunately, breakfast fixed everything:



Dennis, I am not transformed.

Fanfic

I spent a solid forty minutes on the train today dreaming up specific ways that X3 could have been better, like which aspects of which characters could have been developed in this-or-that way, and how to eliminate all the shortchanging of Jean's Electra complex and therefore have her character make any lick of sense, and how Brett "I Killed The X-Men Franchise" Ratner might have used Angel as more than a cameo.

I was writing mental fanfic, basically. I was kind of embarrassed once I realized, and stopped even though obviously no one could tell what I was doing, but I am not that high-schooler who spends weekends in his basement in chitchat rooms discussing how sweet it would be if Storm and Beast got it on.

But I bet I'll talk about it with Kristy once I get back to LA.

A Night At The Lightship Frying Pan/Doc Ock's Evil Lair

Someone sage once wrote that had Eddie Murphy's character been searching for a prostitute rather than a queen in Coming to America, he would have ended up across the river.








Mem, JST Bree (Bree is her sexy name) and I had several margaritas atop the bar at the Lightship Frying Pan, which looks more or less exactly like the warehouse where Doc Ock bites it in Spiderman 2.

Then we headed out to find some sailors and garner proposals around City Hall.

It's Fleet Week!

She Did It Again

I'm sorry, I know you probably are already a Fug reader, and you've seen this. But just in case:






I know, I'm sorry, I should have given you the warning to shield your eyes.

Is this what the pop princess of my high-school years has become?

If What U See is really (What U Get), it is a scary time indeed.

Busy Day

I have a very busy schedule today.

First, I had to get out of bed. That took a while.

Then I made some turkey bacon, but I forgot about it in the microwave, so that took a while, too.

Then I read the entire New York Times, stopping occasionally to coo at the dog.

In a half hour, The Young and The Restless is on. Cassie's ghost is haunting Nick Newman with visions of what might have been, had Nick not thoughtlessly allowed Cassie out of the house while she was grounded to drive Danny Romalotti home and get in a car crash and bite it leading to emotional turmoil in Nick and Sharon's marriage and Nick to cheat on Sharon and possibly impregnate Phyllis even though Cassie isn't even his biological daughter, but rather the offspring of Sharon and her rapist, Matt Clark, who was eventually released from prison and maybe married Jill and no one thought it was weird.

And after that, I might shower, but I haven't decided.

The Forty-Year-Old Idol?

Yes, Katharine. I feel the same way.

Save Us!

Yes, it's Duke Annual Fund time.

What am I saying? It's always Annual Fund time.

Anyway, I think it's kind of amusing that they're using the East bridge and its graffiti to connotate Duke's poor, impoverished, many-billioned endowment and imply that with my $25+, they can clean it up.

Except that the East bridge exists largely as a canvas for advertorial and stress-relieving student spray paint (my friends and I went one year and tagged the whole thing with phrases such as "I went abroad to an English-speaking country! I have no interest in Latin America!").

Maybe it's a metaphor for the lacrosse team. Let's not even get started on the punctuation.

Bridge-Hopping

I made it a Borough Day and had lunch with Clobot in Williamsburg, but not super-hipster, I-just-wandered-onto-the-set-of-a-music-video, I-should-rip-one-of-my-sleeves-off-to-fit-in Williamsburg, more eastern Williamsburg, practically Greenpoint with all the Poles.

I had some time to kill after, so tagged along to Clobot's sick, sick Long Island City brownstone duplex-type "apartment" and then to the Sculpture Centre, where my sister used to work. I bailed on the talk but saw some of the art, surely the inspiration for the recent Art School Confidential.


Yes, that is glitter on the floor.

Then it was off to Queens and the Subway Series at Shea. Forget Gaza, and Israelis and Palestinians: it's when Yankee and Met fans hug openly on the 7, saying "No, you first" that the world will have found true peace.

Baseball is fun.




One guy told me to "get back to Westchester safe, honey--okay?"

Springtime in New York

E.B. White wrote that those who come to New York must be willing to be lucky.

He forgets that they must also be willing to pose with Asian tourists by the Alice in Wonderland statue.



I love New York, in case that hasn't been abundantly clear in the past. Some scenes from the past two days:


Septugenarian bocce ball:




World's largest collection of neon:




Sake bombs:




The comfortably hideous Trump Tower, home to our latest Apprentice:




Marky Mark videos playing in the bar (with Funky Bunch):




Lincoln Center, real-life home to Center Stage's semi-fictional American Ballet Academy, Juilliard, the Metropolitan Opera, and now, apparently, Kevin Covais.




No, I'm not joking:





New York, New York!

Jerz!!

I'm in Jerz!

I feel a little inferior blogging about travel while Dennis blogs about Rome, Santorini, etc., but WTF, I love New Jersey!

The animals have surrounded me as I eat delicious produce from the wonderfully stocked refrigerator.

Going to the city tonight.

Maybe I'll eat PIZZA!!!!

I Said Cot!

Pike pointed me towards the Arrested Development estate sale this weekend, requesting a birthday gift (Buster's hand? The Milford Academy sign, where children are neither seen nor heard? The banana stand, in which there is no longer money?).

I'm going out of town, though.

But if you go, can you pick up some of Lindsay's jewelry for me? I know it isn't particularly funny or part of a notable plot point, but I always thought it looked cool.

Random

D. invited me to the Annie Stela CD release party tonight. You should check her out; she's pretty good. I was even tempted to buy the EP when D. can get them free (I came to my senses; I cannot turn up my nose at free).

I'm going home for a week on Friday, which'll be relaxing and fun. A week. That's many walks with the dog, much cuddling with the cat, and if I'm really really lucky, more than one evening where I get my lazy ass away from the animals and into the city to hang with the friends.

In other random news, is anyone else kind of pissed that Taylor Hicks is so transparently going to win American Idol?

Fuck, I haven't watched the results show yet! Maybe he got kicked off! I hold this kernel of hope every time.



Also, both my roommates are out of town. It was cool feeling like a responsible/independent condo owner for a day or so, but I want them to come hoooome. Mildred's companionship can only do so much.

Good Times

Such pictures appear to sit comfortably with an ascendancy of adults who act and think more like kids than conventional adults. These are the not-quite-grown-ups — one could call them "rejuveniles" — who delay marriage and parenthood, the better to maintain lives of fun and flexibility, who then bond and play with their own offspring in ways their parents would find ridiculous, and whose consumer choices have expanded the market for everything from micromini cars to gourmet cupcakes. -NYTimes, today

Just because I want a Mini Cooper doesn't make me immature, right? Anyway, the article's totally wrong, it's about how movies now more or less transcend traditional notions of age as far as target markets.

Even if I do have plans with several friends to see X3 opening night at the ArcLight.

And may or may not own a copy of The Incredibles.

Hm.




Anyway, last week was quite the picture of insanity. Ashes and Snow ended with a bang--four hour waits, Cher, actress Alicia Witt screaming at me for her money back (fatter in person, is all I can say), and my possibly calling someone a retard to their face.






Closing night quickly became a group excursion to Bubba Gump, where we drank many beers and good-naturedly drew on each other with Sharpie: my arm still says "YOU SHOULD WORSHIP ME," which is true.

I'd spent the previous night in San Diego at Smee's house--he and his roommates had thrown a many-hundreds-of-people "Wifebeater" party. Among the party rules were "no girls unless they're really fucking cool and don't trip and spill" so Kristy and I were looking at quite the sea of hardbodies. Water, water, everywhere, and yet so little to drink. It was fun.

Kristy got attacked.



(That's Smee she's fondling).

And Sean has a really creepy doll.




Good times.

Party Party

We got lost in Watts but didn't get shot, which was good. It took ~2 hours, or a half hour short of the drive to Tijuana, to get from East LA to Bel-Air, but our hostess greeted us with Patron shots, gingered carrots, and several bottles of excellent Bordeaux.

Fifteen minutes and fifteen American Spirits later, we were standing the back deck, waving to Diane Arbus's family, the tension melting away.

Posts Forthcoming

It's just been so strange and busy lately; I don't know where to start! The San Diego Big Gay Wifebeater Party where Sean got called a big fat orca whale, the tumultous final days of Ashes and Snow, or Last Night On The Pier Involving Bubba Gump, Sharpies, and the Guy Who Makes Little Sculptures Of Heads While-U-Wait.

But nothing right now, because I have two parties to go to. One is in Watts. The second's in Bel-Air. Everyone at both knows each other. Go figure.

"Did I dooooo thaaaaat?"

The Apocalypse has come, in form of the closing weekend of Ashes and Snow.

Four horsemen and 8000 people showed up.

Including Olivia Newton-John, Dyan Cannon, and Raquel Welch.

And...


Steve Urkel.


Or should I say, Stefan Ur-kelle.


We're expecting 10,000 tomorrow.

10-12,000 Sunday.

Also going to a party in San Diego Saturday night at Smee's, and driving back to manage the crown of Chinese proportions on Sunday. Am I crazy? Time will tell.

Howls In The Valley

I was driving home from Tarzana this evening, and thought I saw a deer.

"A deer!" I thought. "The cappuccino-colored, white-tailed scourge of New Jersey lawns! I haven't seen one of those since Christmas!"

I slowed down, because (at least in NJ), there is no such thing as one deer, and said multiple deer like to bound in front of your moving vehicle (and yet, despite this instinct, flourish). I looked at the "deer," nibbling on grasses aside the road.


Yeah, it was a coyote.

OMGomg: Update, Part Two

So Harrison "Melissa Matheson Still Gets Half Of My Indiana Jones DVD Royalties Because Her Divorce Lawyer Thought Big" Ford turned out to be very good luck, because a stream of A-to-C-listers streamed in soon after.

-Ellen "Makes Calista Flockhart Seem to Dazzle With Health" Pompeo
-Courteney "Overdressed" Cox Arquette
-David "Whipped By Courteney Into Wearing A Seriously Ugly Tie" Arquette

And possibly the best personal sighting of all time:

Eric "Victor Newman" Braeden.




Now, it's fine that you have no idea who this is; you are likely not a fifty-year-old woman. But I've been watching The Young and the Restless for just under two decades, and my mother for just over three, and we looooove it. Victor was kind enough to shake my hand and wish said mummy well, and then the merchandise manager, also a regular viewer, and I jumped a lot, shrieked, and immediately called our respective maternal units.

I mean, Victor Newman bricked his sixth wife into the basement back in the early 80s, and no one even remembers or cares! He's the king of Genoa City!

omgOMG: UPDATE

I failed in conversing with Mr. Ford, unfortunately, but did catch an evil eye from Ms. Flockhart when I told one teacher and her class that if they really wanted to see something cool, Dr. Richard Kimble was in the bookstore!

He's kind of paunchy and has an earring. And yet, I don't care. He's Harrison Ford. Certain things have no downside.

OMGomgOMGomg

Brie came running towards me a few minutes ago.

"Harrison... Ford!"

We ran to the entrance and snuck around. He'd just entered the darkness, so we were free to gape at will.

Han Solo. Indiana Jones. Jack Ryan.

He might be kind of old, but he could kick even Jack Bauer's ass.

Now that's an action star.

I feel high.


(even if he was with bag-o-bones Calista).

(I'm going to try and catch him on the way out).

(I'll let you know how it goes!)

Confession

So I'm going to Kristy's for dinner tonight. We're (okay, she's) going to make Latin chicken with rice, we'll whirl together some margs, and then we're going to embark on a wild night of, um, watching American Idol.

YES, I know I watch too much TV. And I'm doing something about it: I recently removed The Apprentice, Prison Break, and Battlestar Galactica from the DVR queue. See? SEE?! I'm not that bad. I'm not addicted. I don't watch 8th and Ocean, for instance. Except I fibbed a little; I'd still totally watch BG if it weren't on hiatus until October. And I may or may not have accidentally watched the series finale of 7th Heaven last night, but IF I did, I was just bearing witness to an execution long-overdue.

And fine, my friends, if you wish to berate me for watching too much of the idiot box, FINE. I know it's because you care. But you berate me specifically for American Idol. And... come on. It's a talent show. Can't I watch the talent show? The harmless talent show that TiVo zips through in 15 minutes? Can't I... vote... for the talent show? For Kat? Like I did four times last week? And last month ? Or maybe for everyone but Taylor Hicks, who wouldn't be so annoying if he'd just fess up to the obvious fact that he's 40? I mean, I watch with others! I'm being... social...



...are you still my friend?

My New Crush

Do you watch The Daily Show? Regularly? C'mon, if you read this blog, I refuse to believe that you get your news from anyone other than Jon Stewart.

Anyway, a week or two ago Jon had this guest, Matthew Continetti. I got all excited, because Mr. Continetti had written a book about the moral decline of conservatives in Washington. Let's, with traditional Daily Show humor, bash some effin' Republicans!

Except Matt Continetti is himself a social and fiscal conservative who spouted off, rather coherently, about integrity and the importance of change coming from within.

And the first question Jon asked him was, "How old are you?"

His reply: TWENTY-FOUR.

He has written a rather well-reviewed nonfiction timeline and analysis of decay within the conservative movement, and yet he has a baby face and manner suggesting he would not have made it past the first round of Mirecourt rush. I suspect he was in the community service fraternity. In college. From which he graduated two years ago.

My two-year anniversary comes a week from today. What have I done? Voiced a Bellagio ad? Sold some posters?

Matt Continetti is therefore my nemesis, and this naturally makes him very attractive.

I made him my Facebook friend.

Record Profits!

Amazing: gas prices have gone beyond metaphorically nauseating to actually busting the physical colon.

Kristy's Maniacal Laughter

Whence does Kristy's evil laughter spring?



Hint: it involves a "Mormon."

New Low

I thought last night was a relatively new low, but I was wrong; it came this morning when a sixth-grader hit on me.

I mean, he claimed he was older.

He claimed eighth grade.

Logline Wednesday

In light of my recent, intense desire to increase my purchasing power, I've decided to become a blockbuster screenwriter. All I need is an idea with lots of good-looking, flirty people, and car chases. Let's see what I can do.

Guggenheim: A school group, under the influence of psychotropic brown bag lunches, steals all the bikes on a field trip to the Guggenheim "Art of the Motorcycle" exhibit, for an all-out all-city thieving rampage. Only their teacher, a former rogue superagent returning to education, can stop them, with the help of a mechanical spy-pigeon and sexy young museum docent, and bring the lunch-lacer to justice.

Hey, this is pretty easy.

SMPL: The homeless who practically live at the Santa Monica Public Library revolt, holding everyone hostage and demanding spare change.

Okay, that's actually just my general library experience, slightly spiced. I can do better.

The Decider: A President listens to God, his secretaries, and his family to gather advice and make decisions. He starts a sweet war with exploding Humvees and star-crossed trans-religious romance.

Hm. Maybe the adage is true--- you really can't make this stuff up.

It Is Done

I feel poor.

Big Night At The Mondo Condo

My roommate and I are currently watching Jesse Stone: Death in Paradise because we are lame. We are also kind of enjoying it, because we are honest with ourselves and sometimes you're just in the mood for a Tom Selleck made-for-TV movie on CBS.

You know, it's pretty good. They should do a series.