I always try to give props to my current city, The City of Angels.And I’ll always give props to my hometown…(sound the trumpets)…Brooklyn, NY. Not sure if you know this but we go hard.
Anyhoo, my current city has a gaping flaw that somehow is allowed to exist.Hopefully this blog will be the beginning of the patching up process.My complaint is not about flaky people or smog or traffic, although the traffic is soul sucking.
QSN:Being in LA traffic is like being attacked by Dementors.If you’re not careful, you’ll lose the will to live. You have to pop some chocolate and think happy thoughts. And in my case, curse yourself for driving a stick shift.
3rd paragraph and my complaint is still in the bag. Okay fine, I’ll go in.Many bars in this God forsaken city don’t have Ginger Ale on tap. Strike one for not carrying my favorite effervescent drink; strike two and three for mixing Coke and Sprite and calling it Ginger Ale.Let me give my New York readers a few seconds to catch their breath. Yes, you heard me correctly (that’s if you’re hearing my voice while you read.Otherwise you read correctly :-)
The fakakta bars in Los Angeles mix Coke and Sprite and call it Ginger Ale.It’s called “Ginger Ale” not “Ginger Colored Ale.” People order Ginger ale for its taste and medicinal qualities. These qualities are derived directly from the GINGER. If it was just a color issue you could just drop a few drops of food coloring into club soda. “This Ginger Ale sure is bland.But clearly it’s Ginger Ale because it’s an Amber color…” I don't drink so if I'm in a bar the only thing I have to look forward to is the game Funky Monkey and a refreshing glass of Ginger Ale.
It’s also hard to find Ginger Ale in convenience stores in Los Angeles.And don’t even get me started on how hard it is to get duck sauce at a Chinese restaurant in Los Angeles.And please, to my Asian readers, don’t tell me duck sauce doesn’t exist and is just a concoction made for the American palette….So?They placate us with it in New York and all along the eastern seaboard.Why not hook a brother up here in Los Angeles?
I recently went to a friend’s house that had a pretty snazzy security system. If the front door was opened a voice would say “The Front Door.” If the patio was door was opened the voice would say “Patio Door.” I’m not sure I would want this system. It gives you just enough information to scare the be-jesus out of you. Okay it’s 3 am you’re in bed and your front door opens. Now what? If you’re anything like me you’re now ½ awake and in a state of paralysis. You’re somewhat awake, scared out of your skull and yet you can’t move a finger. In your head you’re bringing a wave of furry but in reality you’re hyperventilating on your back.
I would rather the system tell me more information about my intruder. “Front door, skinny druggie…grab a golf club.”…”Back door, neighborhood punks...grab a bat and call their moms”…”3 Ex-cons, lock your bedroom door and pray.”
Or maybe the voice should be a message to the would-be robber. “AK-47 locked and loaded.”…”Pit Bull coming to nosh in T minus 5 seconds”…”This house will self-destruct in T minus 30 seconds, giving the pit bull 25 seconds to lock on your neck before you are blown to shreds…”
Of course, I’m not sure I need such a system in my one bedroom apartment. For my purposes a string of rattling cans would work better. It would startle the robber and maybe startle me past my sleep paralysis.* If the robber trips on the cans, that would be a plus.
So my trusty ’08 Saturn Ion was parked and minding its own business on a quite street in Mar Vista, CA when some one decided to tag its windshield with permanent marker.Who does that?I wish I caught the person in the act. Not only to stop them but to seriously ask why.No other car on the block was tagged…some kind of car initiation?Is this the car version of my car being “jumped” in? Although I suppose that act would be way more severe than graffiti writing.
The real comedy is that it happened 4 days ago and I’m still driving around with this guy’s tag on my car.It’s like my car has been turned into a subway train, pretty good for a tagger who lives in a place without a viable subway system. He’s getting play all over Los Angeles and Orange counties.Maybe that’s how he decided.Maybe he checked my odometer and said “This fool be driving!”Or maybe he checked then rubbed his chin like a villain dreaming of world domination…”They’ll know my tag all over the world…or at least everywhere this Saturn goes in the next week….I’ll live forever!...ha ha ha ha”
I’ve been meaning to see if I can get it off but life is what happens while you’re planning a graffiti removal.If I knew I was going to be a mobile ad campaign I would have signed up for something cheesy that pays like a “Watch Monk” Banner or maybe an ad for a Thai/Swedish message parlor.
And what if I can’t get it off?Then this random tagger and I will be linked for the next few years.I’ll show up to premieres with graffiti on my car and paparazzi will think I’m starting a new trend of taking economical cars and turning them into mobile hip-hop galleries. Or maybe they’ll think I’m starting a trend of driving myself to premieres in my “before money” car.
Much like the looks of guys, I can’t judge if a tag is good or bad.You be the judge.
I’ve purposely let some of the dust settle before addressing Michael Jackson’s passing.Well, the initial dust at least.Combine someone at the pinnacle of talent with someone also at the pinnacle of work ethic and you get Michael Jackson.I could watch rewind and watch one Michael Jackson spin over and over.As I’m sure he did that very move over and over until it was a spectacle unto itself.Most famous entertainers know they are lucky to have their fame and fortune.The best rapper knows there are at least a handful of rappers who, if given the right opportunity could take his spot.The same is true for writers, comedians, singers, athletes.But Michael Jackson has no peer.Being great and at the same time non-derivative and completely original is an amazing feat that can not be overstated. You can argue that Michael Jackson stood on the shoulders of Elvis, Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, James Brown, Jackie Wilson.These men were all great in their own right.But Michael Jackson ascended to heights never before seen.It was Michael’s gift that made all his odd fashion and style appeal to us not the other way around.Michael Jackson’s kind of appeal that spans race, culture and age takes more than marketing and hype.It takes magic.It takes an ability to be so pure with your art that you touch people, captivate them and keep them entranced.
It goes beyond music, beyond dancing.MJ’s brand of greatness inspired hope. Just knowing that that kind of greatness existed in the world made people happy.Of course everything comes at a price.And to be that great for that long from such a young age definitely takes a toll.Huge notoriety is usually accompanied with equal depths of loneliness. Imagine having not one person who can truly empathize with you.Imagine being too famous to walk the street…in any country…even the non-industrialized ones.Imagine having scores of people alter their face to look like you.Imagine those same people altering their face again…to look like you. Imagine even your funeral is a sellout and tickets go for thousands of dollars.You don’t have to be behind bars to be a prisoner.
As for his legacy, I’m not sure it’s for me or anyone else to say but the fact that there is even such a great debate speaks to his enormous impact. I can’t begin to psychoanalyze someone I never met but I will say I’ve known people who’ve let something silly as winning a comedy contest go to their head.A comic can go from saying hi to not saying hi overnight.Or how about the person who loses weight and is all of a sudden cocky and aloof.We suffer these people because we know the human condition can be kooky.Now imagine being the most famous entertainer on the planet and one of the richest.You don’t think you would do some things that might seem odd to the broke masses. We’re talking about a guy who from age 10 would have his clothes ripped off by people he never met if he walked alone in public.
We forgot that he was a person.Maybe he forgot too.He belonged to the public.He was ours to emulate, spy on, question, make fun off. I’m not saying he should be absolved of wrong doing.I’m saying you can’t fully judge a man until you moonwalk a mile in his penny loafers.I don’t have a comment on the child thing except to ask, who are the parents who would let their children spend a minute with an accused molester?Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, and maybe I’m using my kid as bait.
Also lost in the discussion is the fact that he was a great singer, especially as a child.Don’t let the glove fool you.His singing voice and vocal arrangements were as captivating as his dance moves.You ever wonder how Michael Jackson came up with “cha-mon?” Even something as simple as saying “cha-mon” instead of “come on” is brilliant.
QSN:Even before Michael’s passing I had decided to start saying “Cha-Mon” instead of “Come-on.” Now that MJ is no longer with us I think it’s even more apropos.“50 dollars for this chair?! Cha-mon! You gotta be kidding me.
I think the real debate should be what decade of his work is the best.Most would say the 80’s.I say go Youtube Mike in the 70’s with his brothers as a child and a young adult.It’s mind bending. The 90’s gave us Heal the World, You are Not Alone. Remember the Time, the Free Willy Song. He even “Rocked My World” in this decade.
His legacy?Well…Name one other person who can encourage a whole Filipino prison population to do a choreographed group dance to his music*.We’re talking prison where even the slightest sign of weakness will be exploited within an inch of death. And scores of grown bad asses can lift the tough guy code for a few minutes to join in on a Michael Jackson video reenactment.I’m going to stab you with a makeshift knife I made out of cardboard…right after our Thriller rehearsal.
Just think, Bad, Dangerous, History I & II all came after Thriller.So after he made the most listened to album ever he followed it up with another 3 classics!It’s sad to see a true icon and public servant go but luckily for us he left us with such an expansive catalogue of music, and videos that even generations to come will know his greatness and flip out over his work.
*The famous Filipino inmates have now done other songs and artists. But like always, the other dances can’t come close to the Michael Jackson one.
I spent the good part of today and yesterday moving stuff into storage.I actually counted my box trot as a workout.Carrying boxes or bags weighing 20-30 pounds down a flight of stairs over and over again has to count for something.I actually call it the IRS workout, taxing indeed.:-)
As I loaded up the Saturn it dawned on me how strenuous my current activity was.It also dawned on me that as a country we have an obesity problem. The problem is massive.I would go so far as to say our obesity problem is, well, obese. I smell a win-win situation.Everyday scores of people in our country have to move truck loads of stuff.And for every mover there must be 20 people within a 1 mile radius not very happy with their own radius.
I’m saying maybe we should mandate that the portliest of our brethren help people move.
JUDGE: This court has found you guilty of being on the verge of obesity…I hear by sentence you to help Dwayne move…
Jenny Craig ain’t got nothing on lugging a sofa with a pullout bed. Pilates does though.
The other night I was driving on a California highway when a state trooper a few cars ahead of me put on his flashing lights and started driving across all the lanes in an “S” pattern.I’ve seen this before.They do it to stop traffic for workers or an accident.Imagine having that kind of power, legal swerving across all the lanes and the cars behind you have to stop.I hope the police officer said “weeee!” as he drove in spirals.I didn’t see any workers or an accident.Perhaps the cause of the spiral stoppage was beyond my sight.Or maybe the officer did this for the same reason I would….no reason at all.
I would do this just to make the highway almost like the start of a Nascar race. Seems irresponsible but remember I would still be in a cop car and the drivers would be scared to peel out knowing I was near.It would be more like the start of Nascar caravan.
Maybe we should give drunk drivers police lights so at least everyone else will adjust to them.
Much like financial investments it’s best to diversify your workout regime. I’ve always been interested in Pilates. To me Pilates is like Yoga without the chanting and sage (the spice or the mystic) I even have a Windsor Pilates workout tape that I’ve had for 6 years and never used. But I’ve been meaning to. I mean if it’s good enough for Daisy Fuentes its good enough for me.
So I was very pleased last year when a friend of mine opened up a Pilates Studio in Long Island. And I was game when she asked me to come do a session and be photographed. My friend’s studio, PILATES ABSESSION, employs the Pilates machines. The machines look like torture devices and sure enough my friend Karen tortured me. Don’t you worry though, if you go she’ll make sure your workout is strenuous but suited for your fitness level. But we had an unspoken fitness challenge that had been brewing for a while. She won. It was a blowout actually. Pilates is the truth. It definitely works. Karen is a mother of three and I would rather be back to back with her in a bar fight than with most guys I know. Let’s just say if Houdini did Pilates he would have survived that sucker punch to his belly.*
Until Karen reminded me last week, I had forgotten there were pictures of the butt whipping. When your muscles are shaking from trying to hold a pose any pictures taken are truly candid. I guess one was good enough to make the cut and now you can see me on the registration page of the Pilates studio.
This gives me impetus to work harder and become a household name. How cool would it be to go to a web page and see Johnny Depp doing Hip Hop abs. But this blog is about Pilates and my foray into modeling. It’s official, I’m a male model. I hope one day that pic of me will be a trivia question like Cuba Gooding Junior getting his haircut in Coming To America…sans lines.
Daisy Fuentes where are you? Call me. Let’s do lunch.
So I was on line looking for sample movie treatments.A treatment is a brief synopsis describing a movie.People usually write them to secure funding before writing an entire script.Of course I work backwards and needed to write a treatment for a movie script I’ve already written. (Brooklyn, we go hard.) Well, a movie I’ve co-written (South Pasadena goes hard as well)
I came across a treatment for a movie called Bly, the true story of Nelly Bly.Here’s an excerpt from that treatment:
The true story of Nellie Bly, a penniless young woman in 1890s New York
who claws her way up from obscurity to revolutionize journalism and then becomes her own biggest story when she races around the globe to shatter the record of Jules Verne’s legendary hero in Around the World in 80 Days – a feat which makes her the most famous woman on earth…
She sounds like a pretty amazing woman.But here’s what made my eyes go wide.Nellie Bly is the name of a second rate amusement park near Coney Island, Brooklyn.I grew up walking past Nellie Bly and I never knew it was named after a great American.To find this out makes me sad.This woman went around the World faster than anyone else; she exposed corruption in the mental health field as an undercover journalist.She basically shattered any expectations the world had for a woman born in 1864.And we honor her with a shabby amusement park?Nellie Bly is lower on the amusement park totem pole than Coney Island’s Astroland which itself has become second rate compared to current amusement parks.
Ok…let’s say Six Flags is the Lakers. Coney Island would be the Clippers and the NellieBlyPark would be the guys playing basketball on VeniceBeach.(Disney Land would be Manchester United, a totally different massive animal)
Okay, I’ll admit this great American’s name does make for a great amusement park moniker but I just hope the kids remember who she was in the back of their minds as they say weeee…on the hammer ride.
If I get the Puffer Fish I’ve been wanting for ages, maybe I’ll name it Nellie Bly.Would that be honoring her?
The other day I walked into a bar/restaurant to meet some friends. On my way to my friends’ table I ran into another friend. I made a slight detour and stopped to chat for a sec with the friend I had bumped into. As we chatted some of her friends arrived. Introductions were made and I said hi to the new comers. I shook each of their hands and repeated each of their names. As I started to excuse myself (remember, I still had my original friends waiting) a girl I had just met from my detour table said to me NEW GIRL: I don’t want to interrupt your phone call!
Huh? Then I realized I had my Bluetooth still on. I had parked my car minutes before and I forgot that I still had it on. So then I said… ME: I’m sorry but I’m not on the phone. I just got out of my car and--
NEW GIRL: Right…Well when I get out of my car I take off my sunglasses…
Huh? I’m not capturing her tone here. She was implying that I was being all “Hollywood”. I let the first dig go but the second one was totally uncalled for. I don’t think one forgotten Bluetooth leave-in is enough to be labeled rude or “Hollywood”.
I was about to explain to her that as it what night time, to leave your shades on would be a much graver offense. Mainly because to leave shades on at night, a person would be actively choosing blindness to pull of a look. I on the other hand forgot I had the stupid Bluetooth, which I’m mandated by the state to wear when I’m driving and talking, on.
I was about to say something but I spotted my original friends and joined them. Her words lingered a bit and the first 3 bites of my Chicken Fried Rice weren’t as enjoyable as they could have been. The fourth bite was delish! Shoulder cleaned…and dirt removed. QSN: The Formosa café in Hollywood is a bar that serves Chinese food... Amazing right?!
Later on I shared the story with my Ace Boon Coon (aka homeboy.) He was convinced that the girl actually liked me and was trying to get my attention. Huh? She had my attention. It made perfect sense after I thought about it. My detour table had a bunch of stand-up comics that I didn’t know, so maybe there was hierarchy tension I didn’t unnoticed. Also, the New Girl’s dig came after I announced that I would have to go to my original destination table. Was that her sarcastic last ditch effort to get me to stay and banter?
Whatever the case, I didn’t speak to that girl again for the rest of the night. Even on my way out I said goodbye to detour table but not to her directly. What are your thoughts?
It seems the world over seeks attention. It’s almost the real currency and money is just a symptom of attention. My inadvertent Bluetooth leave-in maybe sent a signal to detour table that I thought I was more important or that I wasn’t going to pay full attention to them. That I was a click away to bigger, better more important voices coming into my right ear.
It didn’t mean that but funny how New Girl taking it that way caused her to be actually ruder than my Bluetooth leave-in suggest I may have been.
So, two weeks ago I did a show at the Improv in Hollywood as a favor for a friend. It was a last minute thing and the money was funny but he assured me the room would be packed and I actually needed the stage time.
What was set to be a regular Hollywood show filled with hipsters and tourists (the weekday crowd)*, turned out to be a televised television taping for Last Call with Carson Daly. In a last minute coup, my friend somehow worked a deal with them. Suddenly my charity show became a very respectable paying gig for national television. I left the house that morning not knowing I would be on TV. Thankfully I had my mobile apartment, my ‘04 Saturn ION with the manual roll down windows, with me. Or maybe I was with it. Whatever the case, I luckily had some wears in my ride suitable for national television. (Even if the television coverage is at 1:30 am and barely beats the Sham Wow commercials in the ratings.)
The show went well. But you can see for yourself tonight on NBC’s Last Call with Carson Daly, immediately following Jimmy Fallon.
I was taken back to when my grandmother told me to always wear clean underwear in case I got into an accident and they needed to undress me, I would have clean undies. There’s a gaping whole in this logic. If the accident is severe enough, you can forget about clean underwear. Or maybe the doctors will disrobe you and say: Doctor: Other than the involuntary movement, this patient had on extremely clean undies.
Catch me tonight on Last Call with Carson Daly. * Valley and Inland people (aka bridge & tunnel) dominate the weekends in Hollywood.
So, every time I send out an email to my mailing list, which is maybe once a month but realistically more like once every two months, I get people unsubscribing to my list.Mind you all these people are people who gave me their email address at one point or another.I send out emails at this infrequent pace partly because I’m busy and not really an ace when it comes to promotion and partly because I don’t want to be “that” guy wearing out his welcome.
I get my share of junk email and promo email to sift through.But it’s email. Tossing it requires a click and keeping it requires nothing, especially with yahoo and the like offering unlimited space.I’m not suggesting people be like me and have 2016 unopened email messages in their inbox but (my hurt feelings aside) does your inbox need to be pristine?It costs you nothing.Plus, like anything in life, it’s so easy to get bogged down with administration that you never get to any actual work.For me, unsubscribing or blocking every email that I don’t have immediate use for would take up so much time that I probably wouldn’t have been able to hit you with this month long blog-o-thon. :-)
I have a junk email filter to weed out some of the unwanted stuff but I still occasionally miss an important business email that was mistakenly redirected to the spam folder. It’s not an exact science.
I’m not privy to each unsubscriber’s story but could they all really be too busy or annoyed to suffer an email from me every other month that they don’t even have to read.Does ensuring they never get my bi-monthly email ever again really free up their lives?It’s email, not homework.Or maybe they’re upset that I took a long lay-off…You think you could just go away and pop upout of the blue with your show announcements.Where were you when we needed you!?...
I get 3 emails a day from the Minister of Finance from a made up country asking me to put 6 million into my bank account, thus helping him stave off a coup.I think these may be frauds…maybe.But I simply erase them.And many of my friends send me emails.I read them if I have time or maybe delete them without reading them but I don’t block them from ever sending me an email again.
Funny thing is I get many people asking me why I don’t send out more updates.I guess I’m afraid of getting more unsubscribers.It’s silly now that I think about it; to stay away from supporters just because in doing so I may have to part ways with non-supporters.I’m a bit hurt but more confused at the absoluteness of it all.
How come you never call?….You shouldn’t have called!...
I've never wanted to be the police (that's pronounced po-lease) but I do think it would be fun to be a cop and do good cop bad cop while interrogating Soldier Boy. I would be the good cop of course. And after the bad cop screams in his face, talks bad about his mama and then starts to rough him up...I could jump in, pull the bad cop off, turn and say....
Soldier Boy...Tell 'em!
Maybe Soldier Boy would crack....
Soldier Boy: Alright! Alright!...I did it okay...I super soaked that ho...but she had it coming...
I’m always amazed how a smell can instantly take you back to an exact moment in your life.At this point I basically have a smell to memory rolodex in my head.Today while doing laundry a whiff of bleach took me back to grammar school.
The bleach took me back to when a girl named Celeste threw bleach on my favorite jeans.I was doing laundry. I've been doing laundry, alone, since the building block days.I can still remember those jeans, dark blue with orange trimming.I can’t completely recall our dispute but I do think the attack was unprovoked.Maybe she was just trying to help me write a blog for my blog-a-thon 28 years in advance.That Celeste wasn’t a mean older petty bully. No, she was a visionary helping me tap into my inner writer.
The main lesson learned was not to wear my good jeans while doing laundry. (Today I wore some ragged shorts to the laundry room.)
Kids can be so cruel but Brooklyn kid cruelty skews a little …well…crueler than most places. I would have much rather just been given cooties.Even a wedgie would have been preferable over destroying by favorite pants, when I only had 5 pair to begin with.
You probably can't name your kids the same name as any of your Ex's. I'm no Wilt Chamberlain but I am running out of names I like, in case I ever have a daughter. In fact my favorite name is already off the board. I had a long term relationship with a girl, whose name i absolutely adore. Even with us not working the name still stands as a great name. (sometimes a person can destroy a name...see, Adolf and Atilluh)
When I meet a new girl now I almost don't want to know her name. Flavor Flav had it right giving his girls silly nicknames. Not like he's going to name his daughter, "New York" or "Hoops"
I'm going to start giving new girls I meet names randomly generated from one of those validation programs.
ME: Meet my friend Ice Fish. I met her in the Beverly Center.
Time and time again we hear the phrase,”in these economic times.”, it’s quite lame because it’s an innocuous statement that does nothing to hint or capture how we got here.It’s like a friend who crashed your car and refers to it as “that time your car was crashed.”
I’m not here to state the reasons for our economic demise.Although I’m told it’s a mixture of many things but the two foremost culprits are the sub-prime housing loan collapse and banks over leveraging.(yeah, I don’t know that it means either.Mainly a bunch of borrowing that couldn’t be paid back.)
Through it all though, the one job that hasn’t been eliminated is the guy/girl who rips your tickets at the movies.I mean you can buy your tickets online, use a kiosk to print them out, but you still need a person to rip your ticket as you enter.Can’t they find a trusty robot or a fail proof turnstile?And now that people are going to the movies in record numbers because that’s all they can afford, the movie ticket rippers are in high demand.The good ones, the ones who can rip the ticket and give you back your stub all with one hand can basically name their price.
That guy in your neighborhood, who’s actually adding a wing onto his house, in these economic times, may very well be a world class movie ticket ripper.So don’t lament over the job market, instead work on your one handed ticket tear.
I have had some major work done to my teeth, my two front teeth at that. It wasn’t a Hollywood vanity move. Many moons ago, I collided with a friend while playing basketball which left me with a hanging tooth. The dentist went all medieval on me and simply pushed the tooth back in. Years of training and he basically did what a concerned caveman would have done. The tooth was saved, well not so much saved as the inevitable removal was delayed. Years later I did have to have the tooth removed.
A root canal, crown, bone graft, gum graft, implant and veneer later and my pearly whites are up on their feet again. And I still have my trademark gap, streamlined for success. Somehow my dental plan classifies an implant as cosmetic work and doesn’t cover it. Having both your front teeth isn’t cosmetic, its mandatory. No one sees a person missing a front tooth and thinks…”Ahh, a Rhodes Scholar” No. When we see someone missing a front tooth we think…”There’s a guy who’s made some bad choices…Is he looking this way? I hope he doesn’t say hi…” As I wasn’t up for writing a whole new comedy set about being a toothless wonder, I had to shell out all the money for the aforementioned procedures.
Thousands of dollars later, and even though the doc says my two fronts are ready to rock, I still won’t bite down on things with them. So I bite into apples and pizza using my side teeth. I look like an alien who just assumed a human body but skipped the paragraph on chewing and I can’t just use the laser under my finger nail for fear of blowing my cover. I just hope my side teeth don’t get all Count Dracular-ree and fangy from all the extra usage. My friends have been surprisingly cool and most people won’t say anything about my odd eating…to my face. I do get way more food on my cheeks as a result of my unique eating style. But still, don’t call me sweet cheeks.
I don’t particularly like doing nothing.When you’re doing nothing, how do you know when you’re finished? :-)I’m more into doing nothing that looks like something more than I am into overtly doing nothing.I’ll “organize” my files while I watch a Law & Order marathon.Of course, I get nothing done but I have some activity to at least make me feel productive and I’m in the comfort of my own messy home.
I recently tried to do nothing with friends.I tired just sitting out by the pool. It was way more tiring than doing something active.After a few minutes, I felt like tenderized meat.I kept looking up expecting to see someone shaking adobe seasoning powder on me.
How is doing nothing, laying in the hot direct sunlight, better than watching DVDs at home with a thermostat within arms reach?Then I went into the pool to cool off.Okay, now it’s bearable but how long can a person just stand in water...said the native New Yorker who can’t float or tread.I guess I’m more of a running through a sprinkler guy.
I get it, it’s all about having fun on your vacation, but why does all this relaxing have to happen outside in high temperatures?How about relaxing indoors and maybe enjoying the outdoors when the sun goes into hiding?
All this pool, beach and sun bathing is really adults’ attempt to recapture a bit of their carefree youth, when getting wet was just about the most fun you could have.But the adults can never recapture that joy.But what do I know?Good luck with the sunburn.
I never like saying hello to someone I know when I see them totally out of context.For instance, if I see someone I know from L.A. crossing the street in Germany and they don’t see me, I probably won’t say hello.What are they doing all the way in Germany?What if they’re a spy or doing something diabolical and now they have to kill me because I wasn’t supposed to see them.I don’t want to be the guy who doesn’t make it home because he broke his back to say hi.And even when I see them back in our original setting, I still won’t mention that I saw them.I might casually drop a hint:
ME:You know I was in Berlin last week right?I had a good time, gotta love that Bratwurst.
And if that person doesn’t immediately own up to also being in Germany then I know my unfriendliness may have saved my life.
I recently broke my own rule and said hi to a comic I know from LA when he walked past me in Seattle.Luckily for me he either was not on a top secret mission or he was but had a good enough excuse that he didn’t need to erase me.
But by all means, if you see me out and about in some far off exotic place please say hi…at your own risk.
I’m like a schizophrenic when it comes to spending. An examination of my spending would reveal immense frugality with odd splurging thrown in. For instance I have come up with a scheme to avoid putting stamps on letters.
If you’re mailing a letter to the same city you live in or maybe even state. Put the TO: address in the corner where the return address should be and put the RETURN: address in the front where the TO: address should be. That way when the Post office sends it back with the insufficient postage stamp on it they will actually be delivering it.
An elaborate scheme to save 48 cents.
Give it a try but don’t say it was my idea. I don’t need a federal charge. If you read the blog that warped here you already know about my car. I also go to the Latino supermarket in LA and buy a week’s worth of Pan Dulces pastries to take to Starbucks with me during the week, avoiding their inflated scone fees. (I likes my scones baby)
But I have a personal trainer. Doesn’t seem to fit but my legs and core are stronger than ever. Based on my other spending patterns you think I would do the Clubber Lane Rocky 3 workout; Chin-ups in a dank warehouse. But I’m doing thrusts and flinging weighted balls half a basketball court. For me, hardcore means the condition of the muscles below my pectorals and above my waist.
I guess I have balance. And the money I save on scones I can apply to my top flight training. Everyone has to choose what’s superfluous and what’s necessary. As long as you don’t have too many things in your “must have” column you should be okay. As long as you don’t skimp on the bill with your friends then jump into a cherry Hummer, you should be okay.
Close friends, and now my faithful blog readers, know that I’m currently on a nationwide shower tour. I would love to write the rest of this blog tomorrow and leave folks hanging for a day but cliff hangers are not my bag. And yet that last sentence provided the distance and slight amount of time I needed to build a smidgen of suspense before giving an explanation of something so random as a shower tour. I’m a member of the Bally’s Fitness chain. I would cancel my membership but I find myself all over Los Angeles and Orange County in need of a shower. There’s always a Bally’s close enough to provide funk relief and save me a journey home. Angelinos know that you must plan your life around traffic. You don’t want to be 20 miles (an hour and a half drive in rush hour) from home and ripe.
As I have more than just the shower plan, the showers are usually preceded with a brief but brisk workout. So I found myself in Pasadena for a meeting this morning.
QSN: Los Angeles is the capital of meetings. I have so many meetings that I should hire a secretary and sergeant at arms to follow me around. Some of it is self indulgent busy work but some of it is stuff that might payoff. Some of the most successful entertainment ventures of all time started with a coffee shop “meeting.” I hope this meeting was the start of something big.
So I’m in the locker room at Bally’s, coming down from an intense stint on the elliptical machine and getting ready for the shower. As I slipped into my shower shoes “Lips of An Angel” by Hinder rang out from the gym PA system. There’s nothing like a catchy tune that you haven’t heard in a while to stay in your head all friggin’ day. Flash ahead 3 minutes and I’m in the public shower singing “Lips of An Angel.” I looked away from the old man in the shower opposite me so he wouldn’t think my serenade was for him.
QSN: Many Ballys showers don’t have doors, just “booths.” Some don’t even have booths, just a room with shower a spout protruding from the wall every 4 feet or so. Both are a bit invasive. Upside: They make for really quick showering.
I cut my solo short; which was really hard to do because the acoustics in this shower were great. I had reverb and tone. I’m talking perfect pitch. Alas, singing in communal showers is a no-no, unless you’re in the cast of “White Shadow”* and everyone is singing with you….
Dwayne, Take it to the bridge!
I resorted to humming. Damn you Hinder!
*White Shadow - early eighties TV show where a white basketball coach taught his inner city team about life, teamwork and sportsmanship. And for some reason they always sang doo-wop songs naked in the shower. You know, just like every high school basketball team, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yd9OWJttosc&feature=PlayList&p=63A527BDFB06600C&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=29 There’s a long uncomfortable shower scene at 3:20 or skip to 5:16 for the singing. I love Youtube
By now most of my faithful readers know I’m high on value and low on frills, especially when it comes to my pesos. If you want to throw in frills, I won’t complain but if it means skimping on my value then watch the Brooklyn boy, well…go Brooklyn.
QSN: As the whole BK nation knows, Brooklyn can be used as a noun, verb and even adjective. I hear some dude in Red Hook uses Brooklyn as a helping verb. “He Brooklynly runs to catch the F train before it leaves the station.”
But I digress. My readers also know that I frequent hotels, from the most lavish resorts to the dingiest rat holes and everything in between. And what have I learned from all my stays? Cheap hotels are way better than expensive hotels. Before I explain I must give one small disclaimer/qualification. My theory does not apply to Über expensive all inclusive type places where sheiks and heads of states stay. The bathroom in those places is nicer than any apartment I’ve ever had. If a rich sheik says you can crash in his tub, you should jump at that offer. Plus, you can probably drop a deuce in one of his other 16 bathrooms.
My hypothesis speaks to value and applies to expensive hotels that have nice dark wood in the rooms but try to nickel and dime you every step of the way. The lavish places just charge you a grip up front so anything you want after that is free(Free? I meant, already paid for. There that’s better.) The height of the hotel is a dead giveaway that you’re going to be ala carted to near death. If I walk up to a tall hotel building and before I even get to the front desk 5 people have called me sir and 3 have offered to help me with my 1 carry on roller bag, I know I need to grip my wallet tight. These places, charge you extra for internet, the buffet is usually mediocre at best with a stellar price tag, the parking cuts into your retirement fund and you can eat from that snack bar in your room or just use your money to light an all night campfire.
Now contrast that to a rinky dink Days Inn. The room rate is less to begin with. Parking is free. In fact you probably park right outside your door. If it’s working that day, the internet is usually free. They probably have Otis Smith cookies at the front desk free for the taking and to top it off, the continental breakfast buffet is included. You get to make perfect waffles with the non stick waffle turn over thingy.* You literally cannot mess up. You pour, turn, it beeps and wala perfect waffle to go along with your juice, yogurt and assortment of cereal. Every now and then they’ll even have eggs and meat. Just avoid bed bugs and you’re getting way more bang for your buck.
* Waffle maker I’ve seen only in hotels but I’m thinking about getting one for the crib. See pic below.
Sometimes things go out of style for no good reason. There’s a general consensus that said thing is pretty rad … and then one day, with no official meeting or memo even, we kinda all agree that said thing is out. And it simply vanishes without anyone even acknowledging it happened. Kind of like the younger sister on the show Family Matters. One show they had a little sister and the next they didn’t. They didn’t kill her off or send her to live with a relative. No explanation at all was given. They just stopped having a sister. Orwellian indeed.* I call it the Digable Planets Syndrome**. We have lost some very useful things and people to this syndrome.
To counter this unfair tossing away of things, I’m starting a campaign to bring things back that really never should have been exiled in the first place.
First up: The four color pen! What a useful and awesome device. Four colors in one pen!! In fifth grade we all agreed that the four color pen was the key to unlocking our potential. The organizational implications were endless. And we all had a system. What was yours? Blue for math? Red for science? Or maybe you drew your color lines on time of day. Blue on Monday? Green on Wednesday? The sky was the limit. You and your 4 in 1 pen were going to change the world. But while you were dreaming, life was happening. We got PDA’s. We started dating. All of a sudden we felt silly having a fat pen in our hands in public. We stopped passing notes with heart dotted I’s.
QSN: Either they made the four color pen smaller or my hands got a lot bigger. As a kid I remember having to switch hands or use one hand to guide the other. But now I can write with the pen sans hand cramps.
My friends, the four color pen is back. And it’s not just for wide eyed kids anymore. I’m in a coffee shop right now proudly sporting my ink quartet. They still sell them at Staples and Office Depot. Grab one for yourself and one for the little ones in your life. This pen will change my life… if I could only remember what my system is.
ME: Was black for new jokes or blog ideas? Green is my things to do list...no…blue is my things to do list and green is movies to add to my Netflix queue…maybe I’ll just use red for everything…
*Orwellian – refers to the world George Orwell created in his book 1984. Big brother was watching and could make people not only disappear but also erase them from history.
**Digable Planets – 90’s hip-hop outfit. That splashed on the scene with their hit “Cool Like That.” A ridiculously phat track but shortly after that we stopped messing with them. Maybe we can bring them back once we get the four color pen up on its legs.
So by now it’s probably clear to everyone that MySpace is dying a slow death. At least in the US and in Canada Facebook reigned supreme from the beginning. I know MySpace maybe went too skanky at times but this Facebook exodus, in my opinion, is a mistake.
MySpace was never perfect but it was home-grown and all it’s changes seemed organic and driven by users’ needs. Facebook seems like fun but, to me, is not very intuitive and is way too noisy. I want to be a part of an online community but I don’t want to live there and share everything about myself there. Why does everyone need to know every change? I know you can restrict people but even that is a pain. You ever try accepting a friend request on Facebook? It takes 30 seconds per add then they instantly ask you if you want to add more or suggest to that person who they should add. It’s virtual hand holding.
I’ll even concede that Facebookers seems to be a tad bit smarter than MySpacers. But where’s its soul. Facebook is high school relived. MySpace dropped out but kicks way more ass…shows more too…Which ultimately led to its demise. But take away all the scantily clad women trying to gain instant celebrity and you are left with an okay community that’s big but still small enough to morph and get personal messages from its creator. (Big Up Tom)
Facebook is like that person you date right after you break up with someone. They seem perfect because you focus on the ways that they are different from your Ex but all the while you overlook all their faults. It seems like destiny is smiling kindly down on you until it all crashes down and you realize this new one is the same, if not worse than your last one.
So what are you going to do, switch communities every 3 years when the new “hot” one comes out? And pretend it’s the best thing since sliced bread? Marvel, again, at how easy it is to find old friends? No online community is perfect. Eventually you’re going to have to find one online community and make it work. You’re not getting any younger.
So I recently found myself in a Chuck E. Cheese. Okay, I didn’t just appear there nor was I warped there. I went for my nephew’s birthday party. I took the G train to Northern Boulevard in Queens. That still didn’t stop me from repeatedly asking myself…”How did I get here?”
To call a bunch of New York City kids let loose in a virtual child wonderland unruly, is being kind. There was ticket theft, line skipping, game cheating and, although I didn’t witness it personally, I’m pretty sure some pizza swiping went down as well. To be fair, some of the game cheating was just the children and parents not knowing how to play the games. I saw one guy throwing balls at the Skee* ball machine. Throwing!! I’m from Coney Island so I’m a Skee ball aficionado. My Grandmother and I could have gone pro in Mixed Age, Mix Generation Doubles Skee ball (if there were pro Skee ball and if…) To see a grown man teaching his son to throw a Skee ball was sacrilegious and hilarious all at the same time. It doubled me over with laughter…or was it the outrage that sent my head to my knees?
QSN: It seemed the immigrant parents were the worse of the Skee ball offenders. Not only throwing the ball but also walking on the machine and placing the ball directly into the hole. Of course this made the machine tilt. To be fair to them though, I went to Japan once and I was thrown by Pachinko. And I’m sure if you put a Bocce ball in my hand without any instruction, I would ask for a bat.
In the end my nephew was terrified by the sight of Chuck E. Cheese. He finally begrudgingly came around as we kept smiling and showing that Chuck E. wasn’t too bad a guy by going over and touching him and taking pictures. We’re from New York; of course we don’t like a rat. And maybe Chuck E. is not a rat but any “mouse” that stands 6ft tall is, for all intents and purposes,…a rat! (Mickey Mouse being the lone adorable exception) Plus, NYC has become overrun with actual rats on the subway and on the streets. We’re sending our kids a mixed message.
PARENTS: Stay away from those rats on the street. They’re riddled with disease….Oh Chuck E.? That 6ft monstrosity?…oh he’s cool.
If you really want to prevent teen pregnancy, don’t give high school girls an egg or a bag of flour to carry around for a week. No, send them to Chuck E. Cheese. It’s the scared straight of teen debauchery. I’m pretty sure the two high school "Chuck E Helper" girls who flank Chuck E. and sing Happy Birthday every 20 minutes won’t get preggers until an appropriate age. Also, singing Happy Birthday to unappreciative kids and parents with a guy in a rat suit probably inspires them to have good grades as well. So, Chuck E. is also the scared straight of awful jobs.**
*Skee Ball - Wonderful arcade game that I play better than you. http://www.skeeball.com/ ** All honest work is fine by me but…you know…
So I’m in Seattle for a couple of days and I just left the first Starbucks ever! It’s like seeing the first roach or adding the first band ever to join myspace. Can you imagine only 1 Starbucks?! I can’t even picture only 1 Starbucks per New York City square block. We forget that even some of the biggest corporate behemoths were once Mom and Pop shops. Should we glorify their rise or denounce it? Job well done or job done too well? Are they stifling competition or just real good at it. The answer to those questions is beyond the scope of this blog. You know there are some Seattleites who remember when…
Seattleite: … Starbucks was cool before it got all lame and everybody started going...
Probably the same folks who curse the day Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” hit the airwaves and they had to then share their hometown heroes. And maybe these same people remember when Microsoft was cool, before it got all Lame and every PC came with Windows preinstalled on it. Okay, maybe I went far. It was interesting to be in this tiny store that basically took over the world of coffee.
Starbucks dominance is odd when you consider they're not even Seattle’s Best coffee. **
The store was packed, which is probably why they opened more. The 1st Starbucks was actually sans seats so I had to find another Starbucks to work in. Good thing there’s one up the street.
So I was on a downtown F train in Manhattan. A group of young lads hopped into the subway car and started chanting:
LADS: What time is it?
LADS: Showtime!
Oddly, they all knew the answer to the question they were asking and yet they all still asked.
Like most New Yorkers, I hardly look up at the never ending parade of attention-grabbing panhandlers. And I give money even less often. A person could be on fire and I might look up and maybe give a quarter.
My take on it is, why do I have to pay for an unsolicited display of talent?
ME: I appreciate you juggling kittens…no it’s pretty amazing but I don’t remember commissioning you to come here on the train and toss felines. Do you have an invoice…and RFP*?
Back to my train ride…
These lads proceeded to break dance, flip, do head stands, hand stands and windmills…on a moving train! They had all of 3 feet in any direction and did all this without hitting anyone. They continued even as the train pulled into the station and came to a stop. I can barely stay in my seat when that 20 ton chunk of moving steel jolts, breaking in 1 block from 40 mph to zero. In fact, most New Yorkers don’t even get mad when the person standing next to them slams into them during a particularly abrupt stop. It’s par the course. These kids maintained hand stands.
I gave a dollar.
Why children have to be expert gymnasts and flip on dirty subway floors to make spare money is another question all together.
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