This may be the only tale I’ll tell from my vacation only because it emphasizes why I rarely leave the cuddly confines of Southern California. Shit, I have issues with visiting certain parts of Southern California (fuck the 91 freeway). Perhaps, it’s my O.C.D. or my A.D.D. or the fact that I hate not knowing where anything is. You know, I’ve finally figured out where everything is or at least most of the things I like and my little parking secrets. And at home, are the people who’ll give me a ride every now and then to places where I can’t deal with parking.
Also, the past couple of months, I’ve started this really weird diet with the cornerstone of it being fruit. Now, I know this sounds like a lot of whining and truthfully, most of it is, but bear with me for a moment. And the other cornerstone of my diet is water. I’m one of those assholes who has to have a water bottle with them at all times and believe you mean me, it has gotten me into some trouble in the past. Picture me, bored, watching what seemed like an endless loop of senior films. So naturally, I decide to pull the label off the bottle. The thing about the labels on Fiji Water bottles and I assume that the new fake celebrity best friends, Eva Longoria & Jessica Simpson can attest to this, but when you pull the back label off the bottle, it feels really good over your fingers; like rubbing fingers over the grooves on vinyl. So being bored, I rip the label off and usually, this is a rather quiet process. I did quite often during lectures, but this time, it was a completely different story. In fact, it made the loudest nose in the whole world. It was a movie theater full of family and friends and on screen was four long, tough years of work. So of course, there had to be a loud noise and I just had to say to people that I was bored in fend of the dirty looks, but I probably got more.
But, I’m getting further and further away from the point; I need my water. I need my 5 glasses of water during dinner. I need my liter of water before I go to bed and I need it in the A.M.
So let’s all put this together: I hate to travel and I love my water and went to one of the hottest cities in the country, Atlanta. And some how I managed between night #3 and day #3 to become dehydrated. Now, I’m not blaming the city its self for my health problem. The ATL in addition to being the home of my sister, it’s also the home of some people I respect and admire like Spencer Sloan, T.I.P., and that talent less midget who dates that lady who has single handily set back freedom of speech laws in country, but at the same time, has allowed me to listen Howard Stern uncensored and laugh my head off each day. So I have no real grudges or axes to grind with the city. If there was a nice breeze in Midtown every now & then and if there weren’t a lot of creepy old guys with rather young girls in the luxury level at Turner Fields, it’d be a helluva of a town. It has a wonderful mix of the old and the new, but at the same time, some of the worst traffic, I’ve ever seen.
I understand why people always shit on L.A. because of its traffic, but Atlanta’s traffic is just as bad. Well, any major metropolitan city is going to have shitty surface traffic, but everywhere you go there’s a couple of lanes blocked off cause of construction. Or the street traffic has crawled to a stand still cause the far right and/or far left lane are blocked cause somebody has to picked somebody up or Ups is dropping off a package, but it’s not as bad as attempting to make right turn on the Westside.
From what I saw though, it seems Atlanta is a bit more on the ball with the public transportation. While I did not ride, but they got buses and the subway working for them. Naturally, I assume that there are problems that any public transportation system has that’ll continue to prevent people from making the transition to it.
The city or at least what I saw of it reminded me of the works of David Gordon Green and a tiny bit like Gummo. If I had seen that bunny eared kid skating by while I was at The Varsity, the trip would’ve become an automatic 10. Atlanta is a delicate balancing act between high borrow and low borrow. Make a wrong turn down a one-way street and you may land on the set of “Horse Apples” and then make another wrong turn and you end up in a dark alley with a bunch of math nerds from Georgia Tech.
Then again, turn on the TV and watch back-to-back PSAs from teen pregnancy.
So, the point is this, I got dehydrated and I know that I didn’t drink a lot of water, which again is an mp and not an ap. Yet the heat in that city had a lot to do with my then allying health. It felt as if I was walking under McDonalds heat lamp the whole time. All of the modernization has removed the city any sliver of shelter from the sun with exception to Piedmont Park and Decatur and probably the areas beyond 285, but where I was, there wasn’t a lot of shade. At times, I felt like a baked potato; I had been thrown into an oven and the sun was cooking at a nice 400 degrees for a couple of hours. Don’t they know that a microwave can do the same job and in a shorter amount of time as well.
The tell tale sign that I should’ve picked upon that I wasn’t doing too well in the ATL was that I stopped sweating. It’s an oppressive heat out there and somehow, I managed to stop sweating. To know me and to love me, is embracing the fact that there’ll be huge rings of sweat under my arms as well as a little bit of back sweat (leather seats in the summer time!). For as often as my sweating embarrasses me, I love the fact that I sweat. It’s a normal process and if you have surgery to stop sweating in one portion of your body, it’s bound to find another way out of your body and while it may be a less visible location, it may not be that desirable of a location either. The sweating is a way to keep away the riff raff; the cool kids away from the superficial. So as I was sitting in the luxury level of Turner Field, baking as if I was in EZ Bake Oven because as luxurious as these seats were (I was right next to the press box), there was one gigantic fundamental flaw, no circulation of a breeze at all. And I was sitting and my underarms felt dry and my purple Paul Frank tee wasn’t two different shades of purple either (light & dark purple, most times). For a moment, I was a normal person and it felt kinda cool. And after two years of using a deodorant that supposedly offers 24-hour protection, it would be extremely odd that it’d finally start to work and actually be an antiperspirant (Arrid Extra Dry is full of shit, but at least, it makes me smell good most of the time).
So I woke up the following morning, had some plumbing issues in the bathroom, but I assumed that I could play through the play. You know if I was going to walk away from my brief time in organized sports, it might as well as be play through the pain, but then again, I’m not sure if the flag football coach told us that as much as he told us that he was in the opening scene with River Phoenix in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. You know, I was going to slug it out and just assume that it was probably something I ate at that grease trap known as the Varsity and I needed to re up my fluids. Basically, I needed to do what Drama did on that episode of “Entourage.”
So before I left to grab lunch at the CNN center. Hey, they got a Chick-Fil-A, the Bucks, and a Moe’s as well as beyond life sized photos of everybody’s favorite newsman, Anderson Cooper. So before I left, I quickly drank a liter of Fiji Water and on the way there, polished off another liter. Yet once I got to CNN, I thought that if I don’t eat anything, nothing else will squirt out.
Jump cut to me, sitting at a table, wrapping up a brief phone call with a concerned individual over the state of my health and I needed to use the restroom. Two liters of water in about half hour, so it’d only be natural to hit the bathroom. And for those keeping score know my stance on public restrooms. No fun like my favorite Stooges song, yet this was a dyer situation.
I quickly walk into a stall and attempt to go, but there’s some trouble with the plumbing again and there was a guy cleaning the stall next to me with dustpan and broom. My worst bathroom nightmares were coming to live right before my eyes as this pan and broom were moving closer and closer over the invisible privacy line. And it just sounded so much louder than it had to be. It sounded like that scene in Blood Simple when the guy was dragging the shovel against the highway. After what seemed like an hour, but it was really 10 seconds, the dustpan goes away and the plumbing should return to normal function. Nope. I’d be wrong as something starts to move at the other end of the plumbing spectrum.
Did I mention that I was standing up at that point? It certainly helps. I quickly turn myself around and without thinking; I find instant relief on the toilet. It wasn’t that the bathroom was that dirty or bad shape, but it was perhaps my grossiest bathroom experience. Way worse than the time I had go to use the bathroom during Q & Not U at Coachella a couple of years ago. I say it was gross because I didn’t use a toilet seat cover and I’m a person who in situations where I absolutely have to a public toilet will put about 3 seat covers on. It was spur of the moment and the idea of a seat cover only came to me when the process was nearly complete.
Yet as I looked around the stall, I could not find a seat cover. In the men’s bathroom of the CNN center, I could find no bathroom and of course, looking back at the scene, they were probably behind me, but never the less, no seat covers at all. Perhaps, it was their revenge on me for wearing a shirt with a cartoon rendering of Jane Fonda on it earlier in the week when I took the tour of CNN.
Semi related, the news gathers and gate keepers at CNN or at least one of them reads The Superficial while on the job. So the next time, you watch the news with Daryn Kagan or anybody else in the Atlanta studio just realize that somebody who is researching and fact checking your news on one of the world’s most powerful news outlet probably reads the same blogs as you do. Well, not this one because, we still have too many grammertical errors in spite of using spell check these days.
I left my group at the CNN center because I was in no shape or condition to visit Georgia Aquarium, which I heard was very lovely. I took a cab back to my hotel, drinking more water and poppin’ peptos like I was the ‘later years’ Elvis, clinching tightly to avoid an accident as that Marvin Gaye song that Erick Sermon sampled a couple of years ago played on the radio. It was 10 bucks and I gave the dude a 10 dollar tip. Rushed up to the hotel room, found relief, and crashed onto the bed and attempted to distract myself from my problems with a little bit of “Cheyenne”. As soon as I start enjoy adorable little beads of flop sweat forming on Cheyenne's borrow as a string breaks on a guitar in a country western bar, the cleaning lady busts into the room.
Well, she didn’t bust into the room as much as she knocked on the door a couple of times and said “House Keeping,” and she opened the door before I could get up and open it myself. I should’ve said something, but you know, I figured that opening the door would be as good as saying, “Hold on a moment!” Now, this woman as she entered was scared out of her mind and would it be wrong of me to assume that even after at least a couple of weeks on the job, one would become used to people being in the room before entering the room to clean it. This woman’s reaction, man, it felt like it was both her first day as well as she just witnessed me commit a crime (well, at that point, she hadn’t seen the toilet) and perhaps in her eyes, watching the trials and tribulations of a manufactured pop star is a strong enough offense to be screamed at.
I slowly and surely got my fluid levels up by drinking 5 or 6 liters of Fiji water, 3 liters of Gatorade and a bit of left over rice from the Chinese food I had a couple nights earlier. Sat on a bed, listened to David Cross, watched some World Cup and blocks of what really is my favorite TV show, “Next.”
Before I go on about “Next,” for like the 19th time, I have to say something about World Cup Soccer. When you’re in a hotel room, without a laptop, no Sirius radio, sick and a three hour time difference between your regular text messaging buddies, soccer becomes interesting and down right compelling. Usually, the east coast gets the shaft on the timing of sporting events, namely last week’s NBA championships. All of the games started at 9 and went well past midnight where as on the west coast, games started at 6 and were usually done by 9pm. Yet with all of these World Cup games, the east coast people totally win. Games at 9am, start at 6am over here and quite frankly, soccer will never be thrilling enough to wake up at 6am to watch.
Although, stupid old me just realized that I could just DVR all the games and watch them at my own time and pray that they don’t go into overtime or even the dread penalty kick round like that game between Ukraine and Sweden yesterday. Fast-forward through all the boring shit, the first two hours of it and of course, have the interesting part get cut off.
The public’s perceptions of soccer will only change once they get rid of all these AYSO leagues and youth leagues. It’s a sport that has the image of where everybody even the kid with coke bottle glasses has a moment to shine and play. I’m trying to remember if I’m biting Chuck Klosterman’s article in one of his books and if I am, I apologize for stealing from him, but hey, it’s like my screenwriting professor told me, ‘steal from the best,’ after we watched Sullivan’s Travels. This overpowering image of soccer being a sport where everybody gets a shot is killing its chances in America, not to mention the rather shitty coaching abilities of Bruce Arena. Watching these matches, save for the boring games between two countries with teams of largely pasty white guys, those ones are rather rough and let’s face facts unless we’re one of those nationalities, who gives a shit. But the matches were goals are actually scored and it’s physical match. I was surprised to see the games had so much rough play and at the same time, a lot of bullshit calls by blind referees. If there’s one thing that die hard American sports fan can relate to, it’s bullshit calls by referees and the game on Sunday afternoon was full of them. And to a even greater affect, the commenters let their opinions fly freely without much thought for any potential fall out. And as one watches these games, it’s quickly revealed that soccer is a game that not everybody should play at all, it’s a game that should be only played by skillful men.
Perhaps, the best bit about soccer is that there’s a constant running clock during the halves. 45 straight minutes without timeouts or commercial breaks. Sure, there’d be some delays in the game as dudes roll in the grass, pretending to be hurt, so the rest of their team to get their fluids up, but, what’s even better, the time that had been wasted is made up at the end of each half. I love basketball and all, but it’s a bit of a buzz kill when in the last minute and half becomes a battle of time outs in the fourth quarter. I don’t know, but I’m sorta hooked on World Cup or at least until the Halos get out of the cellar door.
Back to “Next,” it’s a show that I can watch whenever it’s on. There are too many levels to the show, in particular the older or if you will, the classic episodes; it’s like, “I found that girl to be hot? Man, where was my head at six months ago?” Not to mention playing the ‘Great Pumpkin’ waiting game for that episode where the girl pees her pants. I’ve just seen that part, but I have yet to see the full segment. Did she make mention of having to go to the bathroom while on the bus spite the fact that there are bathrooms on the Next bus. These are the hard pressing questions in my life.
I wish my mind was more concerned with matters as to how can I help solve the energy problem and how can I help out more people, but honestly, I’m thinking about how that really old guy with a gross baseball cap on and a long gray “I’m balding” pony tail managed to get this white washed Asian girl with too much make up on but she was wearing slutty shorty shorts and had a black belt in body karate to come with him to a Braves game. I’m wondering why two of the internet predators recently busted on an episode of NBC’s “Dateline,” had really high voices? And for those who saw that piece of “Dateline,” how disturbing/funny was that midget guy?
I’m wondering if the “Guys Gone Wild” videos normally advertise during episodes of “The Colbert Report” or was it just a Comcast cable thing in Atlanta cause you know it was a few days before Pride weekend? One of the perks of taking a break from writing this drivel was the ability to watch “The Colbert Report.” Really stupid statement, but man, is that show funny. I always miss it because I’m either writing the update for the next morning or I’m naturally watching an episode of “Next” or probably sadly seeing Richard Christy’s wang on Howard TV whenever the show is on. I can’t say if the extremely creepy ads for “Guys Gone Wild,” are a normal thing or not. I cringed every time I heard the announcer say, “Dude, Where’s My Pants?”
And sadly, I have a fairly decent grasp of the visual style of those “Girls Gone Wild” videos. It’s really weird to see the same lighting set up for what should be a girl taking an overtly orgasmic shower instead it’s some frat dude whipping his meat around the farm or at least the censor bars saved me from that. How drunk are these dudes and how often are there moments like when Bruno interviewed those dudes on Spring Break (By the by, where’s the Bruno movie? I’ve already seen Borat! and I’m moving on)? And is there a video in the works called “Boner Patrol,” hosted by a stand up comic like Ant?
Another thing I wonder about is do the guys or the women who watch these videos feel just as bad as men do after watching the other videos? We’ve all been there before. Saw the commercials or heard the story about such and such girl from high school being in one of the videos.
Semi related, but more of a side bar, a goody goody girl from my old high school was heard to be in a video or at least, a guy I knew assumed that said goody goody girl may be in the video cause he thought he saw her on the commercial, but really quickly though. And as it turned out, it was the summer and we, well, the guy I knew was friends with the younger brother of the women in question and had heard she was back home. So, we all went over to the guy’s house and just hang out in the pool and hot tub, waiting for her to show up and well, go wild. From what I remember of that day, we just hung out there too long and I ended up missing a friend’s birthday (I didn’t have a set of wheels at the time nor a change of clothes) and the girl that may or may not have gone wild never showed up. As of press time, the matter still remains largely unresolved, but the girl seemed a lot cooler.
For all those high school kids out there, and they seem weird and up tight and may like shitty movies nowadays, but the pretty, all right, smart conservative girl who go away to college will come back a lot cooler. If they stay in state, but it’s like another portion of the state, perhaps more north, then it’s a crapshoot. She may be staying slightly ajar to her home turf cause of boyfriend issues, etc. Yet the ones who go away, the super smarty pants ones come back wild or their mind has finally snapped from the stress of getting good grades and the pressure from parents to do well and learn a new definition of the word, “fun,” including beer busts and listening to !!!. They’re removed from that parent’s watchful eye and they’re finally free.
Then again, they can go the khakis and sweater set route, which could be fun if you’re into that whole scene.
Back to the topic at hand, do gay men and women get into that same shame spiral after watching a video called, “Heat Stroke”? Can they relate to that scene in “Undeclared,” where the guys feel like they want to hang themselves after watching a marathon of the videos? I don’t know how anybody cannot feel that way. I’d love to meet the person who can watch all of these videos and feel good about it.
My mind is a place where few should try to tread unless they’re willing to help things come alive or they’re top-notch style and taste makers because they’d be doing me a big favor. I can’t continue to be a one-man army shouting from the rooftops about the new thing. The new thing is wealth, well-dressed Persian feminist studies majors, naturally.
Back to the ATL for a moment, I wrote most of this while I was nursing myself back to normal as well as rewriting in Word after I got back home. What else was I going to do in between bottles of Gatorade and water? There’s only so much Cheyenne one can watch. I have to admit that Cheyenne was a big inspiration to me while I was getting my fluid levels back to normal. Her wide-eyed optimism in spite of being on a fake reality TV show is really endearing. Nothing is going to stop her and nothing was going to stop me from having solid movements again. Well, I wish had something funnier to say about the matter.
I wish there was a moment as funny as when Dumb Blonde #01 on “The Hills,” entered her weekly work schedule on Outlook. “Start work at 9am, End Work at 6pm.” What a beautiful moment. There’s a new feature added to “The Hills” drinking game, every time that Aundria or Dumb Brunette mentions how she has to work until 6pm, take a shot or pound a beer. Every episode, she somehow manages to make the reference to her quitting time and it seems each week as if everybody has forgotten that the dumb Brunette has to work until 6pm; you know by now, you would assume that her ‘friends’ would know by now. Then again, asking the cast of “The Hills,” to think beyond themselves would be more difficult than getting John Kerry elected again in 2004. And the thing about Aundria on “The Hills,” is that when she’s not on the show, not even for an all too brief but rather necessary hot tub session, the show drags and hits Dullsville, population me, the idiot stupid enough to watch the thing. Her ditzy optimism is what saves the show from simply being 22 minutes of L.C. using an iMAC while wearing calm diggers and a headband (and I’m a headband fan, too).
I love Brent Bolthouse on the show and his improv about wanting that green juice thing as well as the subsequent bit about Dumb Blonde #01 forgetting Brent’s green juice was great and funnier than of the freestyle comedy on that Nick Cannon show. But all of that stuff involving Dumb Blonde #01 aka Heidi is too negative (even for a negative Nelly like me) and too repetitious (even for a repetitious Reid like me). It’s her dream job, but she wants to quit cause its proven to be too difficult even though, it’s an entry level job at one of the best party planning places in L.A. Every entry level job in the entertainment industry is chock full of bitch work for very little money. It’s called paying your dues. Isn’t there a line in Goodfellas, “Everybody takes a beating,” and some times getting people sandwiches in their theoretical beating. I know that too much of my energy and attention is focused on this and I know for the most part, it’s a faux realism, but let’s think about telling an honest and compelling story for once. Let Heidi quit the job and the producers just walk from the situation as if they were a black jack dealer at the end of a shifting and saying:
“All right, young lady, we’re still going to film you and well, this may sound a bit extreme, but I want to put it out there while it may sound slightly rational. Well, I’m not really asking you, your contract says that we can do this, but this is more of a heads up, if anything. Heidi, we’re going to probably film you and your boyfriend having sex one night with night vision cameras. You know there’ll be a point where we’re going to need to make a car payment or the mortgage or a semester of college cause the kid didn’t get the scholarship and this TV business is rather fickle, and well, working at the Ivy may provide for nice tips every once and a while, but there’s nothing quite like the financial security from a ‘home made’ (the producer just did air quotes) sex tape of pseudo celebrities. Remember Rick Solomon? Neither do we, but he’s off somewhere in Fiji, having a blast drinking and surfing each day of his life. Yet with that said, Heidi, yeah, we’re not going to find you another job. We got you in fashion school and you shit all over that. So we get you a job with Brent and that took a lot of leg work (The assistant behind the producer makes the international hand gesture for masturbation) and the promise of a pilot or a spin off involving him and his friend, Danny Masterson. What a nightmare that will be. Do you know how hard it’s going to be find a group of editors who also are Scientologists? Danny believes that anybody who doesn’t understand the principles and teachings of L.Ron Hubbard can’t be trusted to portray him accurately on reality TV. And I know that you know we have something in the pipeline with American Apparel, but that’s season two and I can already imagine all the calls from the people over there about the lack of sex appeal from the potential L.C. ad campaign, let alone the fall out from their regular Vice magazine reading, holier than thou clientele, but hey, it’s bound to happen sooner or later, right? Eight bucks for a singe pair of socks, come on!? Heidi, I’m getting side tracked here, so allow me to pause while I catch my bearings. Oh, that’s right, you’re going to quit Bolthouse, go rock yourself out, but you know whatever job you may have is going to suck. Everybody’s job sucks. Even the head tester at the Puppy Dogs, Fire Works and Ice Cream factory hates his job every now and then. So you know, darling, grin and bear it or can you please make yourself useful and pick me up some pomegranate juice from Whole Foods?”
Anybody else notice that Heidi kinda looks a little bit like Kristin Cavallari before Kristin Cavallari dyked her hair of course or is it just me?
Actually back to the ATL for the reals this time. I couldn’t hang with the food; I’m not used to everything being fried. I’m from California, man. We put avocados on our hamburgers. Fried pickles, fried chicken, and fried fries. My stomach couldn’t handle all of the grease, which leads me to say that I may not recommend the Varsity sadly. It was too greasy, but then again, telling somebody to not go to the Varsity would be like telling somebody to not go to In-N-Out while in Southern California; it’s just something you have to do.
With that said though, I think the place you have to visit while in Atlanta has to be Fat Matt’s Rib Shack. It’s enjoyed by everybody; from gay name dropping aliens from the planet Funktron (Dolce & Gabanna and David Schwimmer?) to work friends who’ll only socialize with each other at work and at Matt’s. Perhaps the greatest ribs, I’ve ever had. You know there’ll be those specials on the Food Network about BBQ cook offs and they talk to the cooks about what makes the perfect ribs and nine times out of ten, they’ll talk about their goal is have meat so tender and juicy that’ll literally fall off the bone. Now, my life, I’ve never been a fan of ribs because well, they’re too messy; too much work and well, most of the Tony Romas in my neck of the woods went out of business. But at the same time, Tony Romas ribs were never that juicy, meat falling off the bone goodness that I’d see on the TV. Too chewy and too much sauce. Yet at Fat Matt’s, for some reason, I knew to order the combo plate and get some of their ribs. Granted it’s called a rib shack, but I knew to get the ribs as soon as I heard the name, Fat Matt’s. And when my food finally came to me and I held up that first rib and the meat was dangling off the bone a bit, I was in meat lover’s heaven. I loved that place so much that I went back a second time before I left. There are probably many great places to eat out there, but for me, there’s really only one, Fat Matt’s and I have seriously consider taking a red eye back out there and getting the ribs or at least, asking if they can do same day FedEx delivery deal. The weather, I can’t deal with. The niceness of the people, I can’t deal with that much, but the ribs, I can deal with.
While driving around town listened mostly to Hot 107.9. Hip hop radio in Southern California is terrible. Granted, the local scene amounts to whatever Kurupt, W.C., Mack 10, Daz, Nate Dogg and maybe Snoop are up to, but you know, if you’ve heard one Battle Cat beat, then you’ve heard them all. So the radio out here isn’t that region specific. You know you’re more like to hear a new Kayne tune over a Too $hort tune. Well, Julio G would slip some west coast stuff here and there, but it’s mostly whatever is the big commercial tune with Akon singing the hook. Come on, Power106 has West Coast Wednesday, when everyday should be West Coast Wednesday. That’s the thing I dug about Hot 107.9. All I heard was just south stuff. No Kanye, no shitty Busta Rhymes songs and it was great. Granted, they play a lot of Yung Joc and I’m not sipping that kool-aid yet; probably never will and the station is really into this promo they cut from their morning show using Chris Brown or some dude who sounds exactly like Chris Brown singing about their morning show over the “Run it!” beat, but at least that I heard a bit of local stuff too. And, honestly, not a lot of snap records. Sure, they blaze 18 in a row, but I may have missed songs 2 through 7 and there could’ve been a D4L tune in their somewhere, but I didn’t hear it. I think everybody out there is into that Da Great Yola and the song, “Aint Gonna Let up” (which is the song of the moment, right now). It’s a local guy and he’s just complaining over some steel drums, which is something that doesn’t come through enough of the Atlanta rappers stuff. Coke rap is complaining, but you know, why aren’t they complaining about the heat more often?
And that’s all I can think about to say about my time in Atlanta right now. I got sick. Lovely city. Screen on the Green is pretty cool; saw Baton Bob; good, solid times.
I missed California too much though. I’ve eaten Mexican food three days around; putting the lbs back on. I missed the rudeness and the shitty freeways. I missed the sushi restaurants with waitresses that look like a better version of Johanna from “The Real World,” and a thumping soundtrack of early 2000s Neptunes beat and a smidge of classic Nas (nobody cared when a track from “Illmatic,” came on; they just want “Ouchie Wally,” Nas; I don’t eat sushi, it was a friend’s birthday party. I left and went down half a block and eat tacos at Taco Loco). Which brings to me another thing I love about California, I love going to places like Taco Loco and casually ease dropping on a guy in his late 30s hit on a couple of 19 year olds with dreads and asking if they want to go up the block to smoke in his house. I’m sure that probably happens in Athens, but you know, to me, Nuevo Hippies mingling with old guys looking for a easy lay just feels like a strictly Californian activity.
Nicole Richie wants to be like Mireille Darc in Godard’s seminal Week-End. Not sure if that’s the way to win back DJ Am since I heard on the radio that AM is pounding Aria Giovanni[NSFW] these days. Talk about a quantum leap; wonder if Am consulted with both Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell before making the upgrade. Although, if Nicole Richie wants to date film nerds, she’s totally going to win them over now.
I’m not sure what’s the hard sell as of late: finding people that’ll go watch Superman Returns in Imax 3-D or finding people that’ll go to the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young Show or finding people to go to the Massive Attack/TV on the Radio show.
One of my personal favorite films, Argento’s Suspiria may be getting the anime remake treatment, which I’m already calling bullshit on if they don’t use music by the Goblin in it.
Haylie Duff is not only this generation’s Sarah Jessica Parker, she’s also the reason why many young children will have trouble sleeping at night in the next couple of years. Talk about a face for horror movies.
And finally, I have managed to take a picture that just hints at the magic and beauty of what truly and really is the best show you’re not watching, “Estudio 2” because I don’t know how many of you live out in Southern California. There’s a midget wearing a Popeye contest fighting with another guy on the show, not to mention, like 20 super hot Hispanic dancers off on the sides and there are random characters that live in cages on the show, too. Like a Mafia gangster guy who escorts the bad singers off the stage and a mariachi guy who help sings with the good ones, it doesn’t make sense, but when the mafia guy is yelling to get out o f the cage, it’s hilarious.