Tuesday, May 10, 2005

poetry soup

Hello dear friends of the arts (and of soup, raucous laughter, and partying),

This Saturday, you can catch a double bill of art. The Brewery's Spring ArtWalk is from 11 am to 6pm, where you can walk from studio to studio and feed your brain with art.

Now for the best part. From 6pm to midnight, there will be a firework of words and flavors at PoetrySoup. I will be reading new works, two or three short stories (all dependent on my ratio of alcohol to soup intake) and I would love to see you there. I'm a little nervous about this, and those who know me know that I don't get nervous. So please come, I appreciate the support.

The PoetrySoup is co-sponsored by the c3.

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Monday, April 11, 2005

playing with nipples

I can't get out of the penthouse today, I just keep playing on this website. Someone help me!

Friday, April 08, 2005

Star Wars nerds, drugs and the hustle

I think the world just ate a big bowl of crazy. By now you probably have heard all about the Star Wars fans who are lining up in front of Grauman's for the May 19th release date, even though it isn't playing there. Blogs have been tracking their activities, followed by mainstream media. But check out what they're doing on Craigslist.

As if that weren't crazy enough, yesterday the FDA pulled Bextra off the market. That's not the crazy part.

Whatever you were doing this weekend, cancel it. Go watch Kung Fu Hustle. If you have weak rectal muscles, wear Depends. You may soil yourself, you will laugh so hard. You have never seen a film like this. Laugh, I thought I'd die. It's a romp! I attended the midnight screening at the Arclight and I haven't been able to sleep since. Great fight choreography, by Master Yuen Wo Ping, who choreographed The Matrix movies, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, and Kill Bill V1 & V2. Additional choreography also by Sammo Hung. I screamed in glee at the screen, clapping my hands like a fucktard. It was that good. Here's what the critics say. But fuck what anyone else says, go see it yourself. Call in sick, drop everything. What are you doing still reading this?! Go!

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

hasselhoff watch

For those of you who enjoyed my previous post on the Infinite Hasselhoff (and can't explain why), here's Tidal Dave. Truly hypnotic.

(Thank you Manolo!)

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

welcome to los angeles, now get the fuck out

Los Angeles is a mean town. The saying goes that if you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere, but my experience is that Los Angeles is a tougher town to crack. Many friends have come here and left for various reasons, but I know so many others (not friends) who couldn't take the heat and left. There is a dead-on rant/post on Craigslist re assholes in this town that paints a picture of someone come undone titled, "Fuck you LA, and the BMW you rode in on…" - hilarious.

My favorites:

This is it…the last straw. There have been other last straws, too many to count in fact, but this is really really it. I have spent 2 years in this godforsaken metropolis testing my tolerance for the intolerable and I have finally given up- I hate you I hate you I hate you.

FUCK YOU traffic on the 405 at 4am. When I’m driving home at 4am, I’m either drunk, horney, or crying (the only reason one is driving at 4am), so I need you to be clear. I spend my whole day at your mercy, doing runs, burning high-priced watered-down gas, and basing my entire social life on your whims, but at 4 fucking am, I need you to NOT CLOSE DOWN TO ONE FUCKING LANE. I hate you.

I’d put this old Italian thousand-year curse I know on you, but I think the wildfires, earthquakes, floods, mudslides, and 800lb flying boulders have got it covered. Perhaps you’ll collapse under the weight of your own smog someday, but til then, you guessed it. FUCK YOU.

Although I am one of Los Angeles' biggest boosters, I have to admit that as a writer, sometimes this city just kicks my ass. But I have my reasons for being here and I'm trying to keep my eyes on the prize. Last year I worked at this company with, there's no other way to say it, a complete fucking idiot. This bozo was a wannabe hipster from Seattle. I've never been to Seattle, but he definitely belongs in a flyover state. There were many reasons I couldn't stand this guy, but here's just a sampling of why.

Bozo often spoke of his dream of becoming an actor, but he had the dream and not the drive. He didn't take acting classes, he didn't hit auditions, he didn't read scripts or keep up on what was going on in the industry, he had no idea what Meisner, Alexander or Method was, he'd never been on-camera, he'd never even been on a film or television set. When he learned that I was a writer, he proclaimed in an insanely me-too moment, "I'm a writer, too!". He'd never been published, didn't even know what the Writer's Market was, didn't belong to a writer's group, never took a class, never completed a single screenplay, teleplay, essay, never submitted to a publication or even had a story killed. But he did write a short story in high school that his buddies thought was kewl. One Monday he said to me, "Hey, I can write screenplays now!"

Reserving judgement, I asked, "Yeah? Did you write something?"

"A friend loaned me his copy of Final Draft. I figured out how to do that tab thing to write the dialogue and stuff."

Congratulations, now get yourself one of those baseball hats from The Writing Store that reads, "writer" and you'll be all set.

Ten years ago I was in New York City, visiting Carl, a friend who recently moved there for a better gig in the music industry. Carl said that when it is summer in NYC and he's in a sweltering, piss-soaked subway station waiting to get on a train to stand armpit to face for 20 crowded and smelly minutes for the ride home, he had to remember the reasons he moved to NYC in the first place or he'd move back to Manhattan Beach in a New York minute. That goes for anyone who moves to a competitive space. If you're gonna come, you better come correct. And if you're not ready to play where the big dogs bark, you're going to find your tail between your legs as you run back home where it's safe.

I hear Bozo is back in Seattle now, married and probably content to be a big fish in a small pond. Good riddance. Because there's already too much traffic on the freeway.

Thursday, March 31, 2005

no lunch and no Vegas

Jersey had to cancel our lunch and downtown Los Angeles tour plans. He's trying to open a restaurant in Los Angeles and was waylaid by meetings with financiers. Oh well. Now what do I do about lunch? Minutes later, I got a call from AE, he can't go to a special midnight screening of Sin City at the Arclight (which has since sold out), he's doing a 24-hour turnaround to Las Vegas and do I want to go? Hell yeah!

So I scramble, trying to get my act together and take it out of town when I realize that I promised to attend a showcase for Violet Brown's latest signing, Coffey Anderson, at the Temple Bar in Santa Monica tonight. Sigh. Normally I'd say "screw it, I'm going to Vegas", but I've punked out on Violet so many times I couldn't do it again. So I called AE back and told him to go on without me. No Vegas, no lunch date and I have to go west of La Brea (ugh).

So now the most important decision I'll have to make all day - French, Italian, Mexican, or dim sum for lunch? Life is hard.

was it my perfume?

Jersey never showed up at my birthday party this past Saturday because he never got my email. I was going to email him some information about the downtown housing tour but I called him instead. So he asked me to lunch and if I would show him around town. So today's the day. I don't have a thing to wear, I hate my hair and I have no idea where we should go for lunch.

Last night I was getting ready to head out to Cole's for the triumphant return of I See Hawks in L.A., and my phone was ringing off the hook. The good news is I have a date for tomorrow night (guy from my party, from left field!) and for drinks on Tuesday night with longtime ex (the young buster). I finally got out of the penthouse and was walking to Cole's, two different men pulled over to tell me it wasn't safe for me to walk alone at night. One guy in a Mercedes said he'd follow me at a safe distance to make sure I got to wherever I was going safely.

Once inside, it was all good. The joint was jumping, lots of music fans out to support the Hawks. That guy who made the awkward pass at me during the last Downtown Art Walk came in. Awkward. I just kept drinking my beer and eating my yummy french dip sandwich. That awful writer who I saw at The Smell this past Sunday was also in the house. I wanted to take him out back and pummel him mercilessly for his crimes against writing. I guess he recognized me because he kept jocking me. Other guys who have hit on me at one time or another kept coming in. More beer, please! Note to self: don't go to Cole's by yourself again.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

i'm going to hell for laughing at this

If I didn't laugh, I'd have to cry. But I laughed my sick and twisted ass off at this.

Thanks to my numerologist for this.

met another guy

I think he was one of only two straight men at Club L this past Tuesday. We were there for karaoke night with one of my favorite cousins and a bunch of queens. He was shooting pool with my brother (the other straight guy) and asked if we were "together". My brother said, "She's my sister." He perked right up and laid his rap on me. He wasn't clumsy and he wasn't slick, he actually had a pretty good rap. He just moved here from New Jersey and he didn't know where he wanted to live yet, so he was staying in different hotels, trying out different neighborhoods. I suggested he stay out of the Valley (I admit it, I'm a snob) and try downtown Los Angeles. Jersey mentioned that he stayed at Checkers for a few days before he moved to another hotel. I wish I could remember what else we talked about, but I was so heavily medicated and drunk, I didn't retain much.

He kept trying to chat me up more, but it was difficult to get me off the mic as I was determined to punish the audience with my rendition of 10cc and Donny Osmond songs. So he gave his email address and phone number to my brother and asked him to give it to me. How cute is that? I was getting ready to hit a painfully high note when he walked past me and the stage, waving goodbye. It was a school night, so I guess he didn't want to stick around until someone wrestled the mic away from me. I guess he passed some sort of test because my brother gave me his info at the end of the evening. How cute is that?

So I invited him to my birthday party this Saturday. I hope he shows up, but I could've scared him off with that high note. It was a little off and I think feral dogs were circling the building. If you want to know how we wound up at Club L, read this.