Saturday, March 29, 2008


Looks great. I have a feeling it will probably be the best film of the first half of the year.
Check out the trailers.

Sarah Marshall brings down the Times

Damn you, LA Times. The Sarah Marshall ads have infected your story like a virus, and even you don't know what to do. Quote the ads as they are, or insert the vacant comma? How about both? Oh, LA Times, you cut me to the quick.

They proclaimed, in black letters scrawled against a white background: "I'm So Over You, Sarah Marshall," "You Suck Sarah Marshall," "My Mother Always Hated You, Sarah Marshall," and "You Do Look Fat in Those Jeans, Sarah Marshall."

Why does "You Suck Sarah Marshall" get no added comma? Did the writer assume that Sarah Marshall and "you" are not the same person... and then decide to miscopy all the other ads? I'm not gonna bug the author, Alana Semuels, about it, nor am I gonna take to task the copy editor who mangled that paragraph. But seriously. What the hell?


I wrote this, approximately, in October of '05.
I apologize for the length. It's not structured... just meandering thoughts.
It's political and if it makes you angry at me, that's fine. But remember this is just a poem. It's neither legislation nor a dead body, both of which mean much more than this poem.

Frozen Tulle makes Lovely Armor Just So Long As You Don’t Wear it in the Desert

The comedian says
“I feel your
scorn and I accept it;”
irony’s punctured lungs
beats a weeping honeyed heart

and lays it out on the scarecrow’s table,
hysteria hugged close like the passport
of a man preparing to run
“What you do is not honest.
What you do is partisan hackery.
You have a responsibility to the public discourse,
and you fail miserably.”
control, teeth set
hard within the gum
how to stay calm
and keep the numbness at bay

The man in a bowtie says,
“Allowing women to get shot to death, or blown up, or mutilated and disfigured in
war – particularly in a voluntary particularly in a voluntary
war – is horrible. It’s unnecessary. It’s
Men make war. Voluntary war. It is their barbary alone. Goes the argument.
Condoleeza Rice is not a woman. Madeline Albright is not a woman. It seems.
Women could get hurt in war.
A man. However.
with shrapnel speared through
his jaw
Is not horrible. Is not barbaric.
Fragments of testicle and pelvis strewn across the sand
Is not barbaric. Is not horrible.
And this breakage
would not touch women. Women who are kept from war are just
fine. Saved to wait for the broken
soldiers to float back

“Those willing to give up a little
liberty for a little
security deserve neither security nor liberty.” Bright ol’ Benjamin fled to Paris.
French fries were invented in Belgium.
American idiots were invented again
for the festivities of a
new millennium.

A pair of generations ago, we scurried to the moon
not for the moon
but for the sake of showing the muscle of
capitalism was predestined to outwrestle the upstart
in red…
But still, the moon!
That anabatic desire, to rise further, higher!
How to exclaim it more and longer and
stronger: the moon, the moon!
To look outward rather than inward, to long beyond
the pauses
of the nitrous sea

The leader of the free-falling world says,
“We’re making the right decisions to bring the solution to an end.”
The ice cubes in the water cannot say
what forces fuels this agitation
They can only say
they are shaken.

they were, you know, underprivileged anyway

our troubadours rally for the troops with songs about nothing at all
where is your rage? where
is your rage?
raise funds, raise spirits, entertain yourselves, sedate yourselves
with festivals and no new stories, no outpouring of true music
of true fury-infused music that questions why are we allowing
these villains to plow through our
folktales, why do we step back
not clapping, but
still permitting the parade to pass on
it is not enough, for the thunderous thumping of fists and booted feet
on the sticky tar streets, the thugs trumpeting and hollering
drown out the furrowed brows, the crossed arms that bear no bullets
slashed at the throat by decorum, by a straight and narrow
middle and proper

that depression in swaddling clothes
rumpled nose and gourdling face
chattering to the reluctant warrior, saying nothing
maybe: goodbye, don’t go
you won’t see me defile myself
scythe open the jade heart, mushing north to an uncertain future
stem cells sleeping in Petri dishes, discarded on a dusty shelf
you won’t see me migrate out of here to a Nunavut neighborhood
get an illegal abortion and an unsure suture
the smog sugar-coating the candles of remaindered redwood

the rounding seals cannot be bothered, sleek and
full with the botulistic swell of mediocrity

the man in the beard and bleary eyes says,
you are so poor
and you are so black
and you are so watching the television, expecting that the answers
will be there
or the people you can blame will be there
or something
will be there
to hold to touch
but you
are so poor and you are so
black and eventually
the anchor will sign (you) off
for the night
for he is tired
and there are no answers, no criminals, no victims, no
tragedies just news and sometimes, facts to go along

my rational self says rabid liberalism, foaming and fanged
will accomplish nothing
will do such damages as I cannot dream
and my honest self says moderation will make of us mat men
hung on the line and beaten with brooms,
if we are remembered at all
nailed against that white, white wall

with my signature, I assign
I shall not be violated, my rights, my
dear dear dear rights
shall not be violated, for they are mine
and mine things go with me, I sew them into my heartskin
security for an illusion
liberty of a mass deception
(abstracts were always such)
confined to words and understandings between two men
a shake and faith
and America said, let us play that we can be better
than our nature
let us save each other by granting each other fantastic rights…
My faith is shaken.
The holding hands are breaking.

if the lacrimal levees break along the borders of my eyes
just call it an epiphora of our times
flooding the banks of our battered lives
I am too young to be so inundated with gussied-up lies
their swag skirted dress
the corset a fashion of orphaned whalebone
and a spout of fear to
geyser us out of the mess

God, in his heaven, sticks a finger in the air glow
tastes the myrtle blue
and lays his eye upon the Hubble lens
to say, what I have wrought they have brought
crashing down
I am not needed
they will bring about
their own Armageddon

just call it the epiphora of our times
and fill the next sandbags with the lead
of our sorrow to make sure
there be no more epiphora
that no more lines can break through
to douse the half-drowned and
the three-quarter-dead

Friday, March 28, 2008

the weirdest thing

I saw this woman in plaid shorts standing next to a plaid recliner outside on Magnolia this afternoon.

Also, I had the craziest dream last night. I won't bore you with the details, but imagine The Devil Wears Prada meets Saw meets my family photo album, and you start to get the general idea.

Must finish taxes, poetry thing, and start packing my world to move down the street. Different appartement, same arrondissement.

Thursday, March 27, 2008


Oh, about so many things.

1) Both Flawless and Priceless are bowing this weekend. I think the latter is the French film, but that's only because I just read an email. Still, at least two people should be fired for this scheduling phenom.

2) What the hell is this cough about?

3) How can something have a candy coating? Isn't candy just a catch-all term for sweets (anything with sugar in it)? How can a piece of candy then have a candy coating?

There are more things, but they're personal, and y'all know too much about me as it is, which is really unfair, considering I'm not getting any reciprocal blog action. Actually, you could say "action" and I aren't really on speaking terms at all lately in any capacity. Action sees me walking across the street and inevitably ducks into a Baja Fresh to escape. I pretend not to notice, not to care, but deep down, it hurts.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Regarding Jesse

Having not seen The Assassination til today, I thought I was stating my film appreciation for last year with some ignorance. But now I've seen it.

First, the DP, Roger Deakins, who also did No Country is a genius. My favorite part, probably of both films, was how they were shot. He's actually responsible for the "look" of more of my favorite films than any other human being. If Roger Deakins ever needs a spare organ, I would happily give it. The man has done more for American cinema than any other single human being I can think of, including writers, actors, and directors. I may take this back later, but I doubt it.

Second, the film is not particularly active. More contemplative. In that it's supposed to be more about Robert than Jesse, I think, it works. We're outsiders who are almost insiders. There's a lot of boredom. Crime's not exciting, not really. It's a character study, this film, and yes, apparently, Casey Affleck is capable of being on the screen for 2 and a 1/2 hours without making me want to punch him. Who woulda guessed?

And yet, the film didn't get under my skin. Maybe it was the biographical, historical aspect of the film. The voice over. But while truly excellent, it didn't have the effect on me No Country did, or heck, even There Will Be Blood.

And yet, I have nothing to criticize. The criminal underuse of Zooey Deschanel and Mary Louise Parker, two of my favorite actresses, makes sense, considering they weren't really central to Ford's story with Jesse. And, of course, Paul Schneider worked the supporting cast quite well, as did Garret Dillahunt and Sam Shepard. Sam Rockwell's a bit too much for me. He would have felt more at home, I think, in There Will Be Blood, but I did love his last few scenes.

I think it would have done really brilliantly on HBO as a miniseries. Just a thought.

Monday, March 24, 2008

nutflush is a super-gross term, by the by

The chicken I am eating at present is quite revolting. Whole Foods deli section, consider your nuggets off my list.

Applied for a writing thingamajigger today. Cross your plentiful digits that they deem me jig-worthy.

Came up with some good sketch ideas.

Been reading Arsonist's Guide, which isn't as good as its title, but am still working through it.

Love captioning World Poker Tournament. LOVE IT.

Gorgeous day. To be succeeded by less gorgeous days.

Sold my bureau. Went on grocery shopping spree with my earnings. Huzzah, applesauce!

That is all. G'night.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Happy St. Pat's + Six

Been drinking pink lemonade all weekend like it's going out of style, business, and there really ought to be a third thing.

Had a dull, dull Easter, but pleasant enough. Gorgeous day.

Banged out a few monster pages. Later tonight they'll come to life and eat me, after which they'll have human breath. Shudder.

I know a bunch of people are going through some roaring bad times right about now. Please sleep 8 hours a night, eat well, take deep breaths when you feel yourself beginning to fret, take a nice walk (but wear sunscreen and sunglasses), and remember, it could be worse. You could be whoever's gonna lose the Democratic nomination.

Back to toiling.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Mardy Fish!

I'm a big fan of Fish. So I'm shocked and thrilled that he beat Federer to go to the finals against Novak at Indian Wells, which I would kill to see tomorrow. To miss the Federer-Fish match (I was in Venice this afternoon) is quite the disappointment.

But Venice was cool. Finding parking took an eternity, but then I walked to the beach, checked out Small World bookstore, a nice bookstore in the middle of total trashiness. Then I strolled down Abbot Kinney, a decidedly more pleasant route, and bought some chocolate at Jin Patisserie.

Can't believe I missed that match!

Friday, March 21, 2008

Quick Guide to Obtaining a Geek Boyfriend, or The Way to a Man's Heart is Through His Rat's Nest

So, the major life lesson I came out of this week with (I'm still in the week, so I'm projecting forward, whatever) was that all men love video games.

Scratch that-- all men are obsessed with video games.
Scratch that again so hard that you make a sorry little hole-- 92% of all men to whom I am attracted are obsessed with video games.

So until now, I knew nothing about Halo 3 or any of this, and if you're a girl, you probably don't either (this is a generalization, obviously).

So let's say the guy you like's a big gamer/geek-type. You have one of two choices: you can pretend to be an avid, but not so good gamer (and thus require his help), or you can pretend to be, like, a brigadier and impress him with your awesomeness (dangerous in the long-term, useful in the short).

Look, to melt his dorky heart, you don't need to buy an XBox or know anything about Halo. If you want to buy an XBox backpack, that's a cool, but cheap investment, and will have the added bonus of attracting hot geeks to your safe, secure XBox-playing side.

If you're a newbie, just say your Level's 13, you like SMGs 'cause they're loud, but they suck as actual weapons, and then ask him who he thinks would win in a Voltron v. Godzilla battle (this isn't Halo 3-related, but Damon Lindelof asked the cast of Chuck that this past week, and it seemed to get the crew excited). Oh, and Voltron is a Transformer, if you don't know.

Now if you want to impress the crap out of the hot guy, so much so that maybe he's afraid to play you, but thinks you're cool for being a gamer, might I suggest expressing affection for Rat's Nest, saying you're a 38, but you've ranked as high as 45 (brigadier), you got a Killimanjaro the other day, you preferred the battle rifle in Halo 2, you think the needler has its moments, but nothing beats a decent plasma grenade. And then, once again to get off the subject, ask the Voltron v. Godzilla question. When he asks you to play with him (if he's really good), get out of it by saying you're so over the Halo machismo and 14 year-old boys cursing out your mom-- and thus are going back to Zelda. Then you're still cool, but you're out of his territory.

Though this is technically lying, I think all of us (at least those of us who don't have heads as hollow as the crap chocolate Easter bunnies) realize that there is a time and a place for lying, specifically when it comes to attracting a member of the opposite sex who spends 8 hours a day playing Halo 3. The alternative is actually playing Halo 3. The choice is yours.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

I get alot of pudding

Don't worry. Not blogging isn't a sign that anything bad's happened, just that I had a friend come over and, hence, social life.

Sunday went to Pasadena/San Marino and the Huntington Gardens, which are really lovely. Saw my second lizard. I personally prefer the new Japanese and Chinese Gardens (complete with taihu!) and the desert gardens. Great Sunday afternoon.

Then we saw There Will Be Blood, which, thank God for David Spade, I found funny rather than disturbing. I know Daniel Day-Lewis's performance was a tour-de-force, but much like Leo's performance in The Departed, it was a little over-the-top. You wanted to shout, "Yo, dude, it's just a movie. Chill." Also, Eli Sunday doesn't age in this entire time period? Granted, you don't want aging makeup that's as crap as the Brokeback Mountain cosmetic creations, but still, Paul Dano doesn't change AT ALL. Overall, I thought it was an excellent movie, not at all what I expected, but the ending was quite rushed. So, I stand behind my love of No Country.

Monday had brunch at Paty's in Toluca Lake. Yummy and homey. Will go again.
Then planned on doing some cool stuff that night, got tickets and everything, but the event, turns out, was TONIGHT. So, instead, we had Indian at Clay Oven. Totally delicious, if a bit pricey.

Then we walked around and played Blokus, which I rule at, despite being mathematically-challenged. To be fair, my opponent never played before. But also to be fair, she's a PhD student in Sociology at Columbia. You decide who should have won.

And now I'm exhausted, still have a busy week ahead. But thus far, it's been, in a word, awesome.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

the flu report

I don't know if you've been sick, but odds are you know someone who's had some flu/bronchial thing in the past few weeks. My office, my roommate, me, loads of people around have all had the flu and/or some sort of bronchial infection. And I just found this flu report through The Weather Channel web site. According to the report, the flu is "widespread" all over the country, INCLUDING Alaska and Hawaii. However, it's only regional in Massachusetts, Michigan, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Utah, Delaware, Louisiana, and Alabama. Only two of these states border each other.

[breaking blog moment: some girl in Cambridge just said something obnoxious about Yale... on a Food Network show... um, okay... whatever]

So back to IMPORTANT things.
So I go check WHO to see if the flu is widespread throughout North America, the world, or what.
And what do I find out?
There's a good sized avian flu outbreak in Egypt.
Didn't know that.

Also, apparently America's maternal mortality rate per 100000 live births is in the same category as Mexico, Russia, China, Brazil, and Libya -- in other words, behind Canada, Australia, Western Europe and Japan. Hell, Greenland has a better rate.

So I checked out the Canadian flu report. It's high, but not as high as ours.

And that's what I've learned so far. I'll report back if I find anything else comforting and/or distressing.

talk like an encryption

Stranger hath done been read, muchachos, and now I've borrowed some Rulfo from the library.

I'm supposed to be reading some Amis for book club, but it's like steeling oneself for oral surgery. Am doing other things instead.

I have decided if, by the fall of 2009, my lit life in LA appears to be going nowhere, I will move to Buenos Aires and write there. I have wanted to go to Buenos Aires for some time and recently the stars have been aligning in the sky like magic alphabet soup to say, Yo, kiddo, don't get too thick with this place, this time, this dream. The earth moves, so must you.

Yeah, them stars are poetic-like.

Changed a character's name in my novel. His original name was too white. Pasty. Bland. Like chalk.

Now it's a cooler, stickier name. A name of a person you might meet on the street and remember days later as you're window-shopping for vinyl. I'll even tell you the cool, new name (but not the old pasty name, in case it's yours).


You're welcome.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

I wish you had better punctuation, Sarah Marshall.

So there's this billboard up on my way home from work for the new Jason Segel movie, Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I can't tell you how happy I am that I can say the phrase "Jason Segel movie," but I can tell you how unhappy I am that the sign reads as follows:


Comma, man. Commmmmmma!

But if you can forgive that, roll on over to The punctuation continues to be human and, thus, egregious (I am not claiming my punctuation or spelling is perfect by the way... I'm just saying people should get proofers for their billboard ads).

Also, while I love Jason and his work and will definitely see the movie, isn't this the third time he's played a guy who can't get over his girlfriend? Freaks, Undeclared, and now this, he plays a guy who loves hard and then is dumped and can't deal. Kinda happened briefly in HIMYM too when his fiancee split.

But if Matthew McConaughey (I'm not gonna bother spell-checking his name) can make a career out of shirtless Southern charm, I guess JS should embrace the good fortune of being typecast.

I guess.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

the feature is...

at the moment clocking in at about 77 pages after some inspiration over the past 24 hours.

It's not done, obviously, but it's closer and closer every minute. Scripts are so much easier (and enjoyable) than novels and short stories for me to work on. I don't know why. I think I'd rather tell people how to perform a story than actually fake-report on it as if it already happened. That was a crude way of describing the fiction-writing process, which I exalt above all others, but there you go. I'm crude.

Am terribly concerned about money. So much so that I'm thinking of selling Mexican chocolate part-time. Don't ask.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

good for describing arbitrary rules with which one must comply

Did a little creative thinking in the shower. Then wrote. Good momentum. Needed something off-beat. Came up with something unique.

Woke up at 4am this past morning. Something going on in the Valley, noises were helicopters perhaps. Can't be sure. Nothing in the news.

Not so sure about Stranger anymore. Parts are a bit disconcerting. A bigoted paragraph there, a smug chapter here, begins to taint the whole. Just because I don't know any writer who is able to divorce their own personal philosophy from that of their stories doesn't mean it's not possible... hmm.

Cut my chin. Looks ghastly.

Really want to go somewhere out-of-city, preferably out-of-state, super-preferably out-of-country. Feeling not trapped so much as relegated.

Captioned the fourth episode of a reality show about to start up again, and the task the contestants had to do was really cool. I am totally intrigued by doing something similar and will discuss it in more detail once the ep airs. Damn do I hate being unspecific. But rules is rules.

New word: bullstupid. It's like a swear, but better.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

sci-fi and pet ownership

Used to be, I'd sit down and read for hours on end. This rarely happens any more. But I've been racing through Stranger in a Strange Land over the last 24 hours, after a slow start weeks ago. I don't think of myself as much of a sci-fi geek, but I'm really into it.
And yet what makes one a sci-fi geek?
I liked Star Trek: TNG, but never watched the other variations. Love Dune. Not so much Battlestar Galactica. Firefly I liked, but it wasn't the space aspect that grabbed me. Dug the original Star Wars. Couldn't sit through even part of any of the prequels. I think it's much the same for fantasy. Some appeals to me. The rest doesn't. Lord of the Rings were great books and films, but I don't own calendars or reread/rewatch. Loved Buffy the Vampire Slayer, (does that count as fantasy? don't know), but I don't read the comics. I have a passion for great literature, TV, and film, whatever its so-called "genre," but I don't get caught up in that "world" when fans take it out of the story and into the real world. I don't buy T-shirts. I don't wave any flags.

I wonder if that's because of snobbery, apathy, or what. Perhaps it's something akin to my aversion to practicing religion--my reluctance to worship that which is meant merely to be loved. I can appreciate creation stories on an academic, even an anthropological level, and I love some (not all) of the moral philosophy established in those texts, not to mention some of the greatest music the world has known. But the context of my appreciation is limited. I think idolatry is dangerous in any form, and I'd think that even if it wasn't in the Bible. And to idolize a figment of someone's imagination insomuch as trying to give it life is just not my cup of tea.

Maybe it's a lack of total immersion and appreciation of the work. Maybe it's a lack of imagination. It's a struggle to know how much of one's aesthetic has anything to do with what one believes in, or what one is afraid not to believe in.

Then again, I also have strong, matter-of-fact opinions on "pets" that are not, as far as I can tell, shared by many. I have had pets, but I've never been comfortable owning an animal. There's something very wrong, scientifically, about owning pets. This isn't the same as domesticated animals, who we keep for food or work. They are necessary in the civilized world. With the exception of sheepdogs, dogs are not. Nor are cats, rabbits, mice, hamsters, gerbils, fish, lizards, turtles, or anything else that can't be used for basic agro-needs (i.e., being eaten, sheared, or used to plow fields). To use horses for riding, as pets, is also distressing. It's also why I feel dirty at circuses and somewhat aggrieved by zoos, particularly urban ones, though zoos (as preserves) can do a great deal of good. It just seems wrong to incarcerate an animal for one's own pleasure. I particularly can't understand vegetarians/vegans who do it. "Loving" an animal is silly. It's purely selfish. If one truly "loved" animals, I feel, one would try to end the entire pet ownership system. That's my feeling on it anyway. You might be able to fight me if you live in suburbia, or in the country. If you live in Manhattan and have a dog, I'm sorry to say, you're an asshole--though I'm sure unconsciously so, as the concept of pet ownership has been embedded into you as a natural human right since birth.

I know there are plenty of people who would say that many animals are better off for having known us. That horses desire to be ridden, that cats like to stay in the house. And now we have bred them that way, that's entirely possible. Doesn't mean it's right.

But that's just me.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Super Booker

you may, if you follow the world of books, or the world of being British, know that the Brits are trying to decide on a Booker of Bookers. That's like, for us, the Pulitzer of Pulitzers.

Now I haven't read every Booker winner, but I have read a few. I've read The Blind Assassin, Life of Pi, Vernon God Little, Disgrace, Amsterdam, The God of Small Things, and half of Possession. I loved Vernon and The Blind Assassin, but I can't imagine any book being more beautifully composed than The God of Small Things, a truly gorgeous work. Anyhow, having read 6 and a half of the Bookers, that would be my pick. I own Midnight's Children (the current Booker of Bookers) and The Sea (and possibly a few others), so I could bang those out if I had to, but really, The God of Small Things is a fantastic book.

Now, if there was a Pulitzer of Pulitzers for fiction, I wouldn't even dream of hazarding a choice, as it's been around alot longer than the Booker, and I wouldn't have read even 20 percent of the books.

Pulitzer novel/fiction winners I've read: The Magnificent Ambersons, Gone With the Wind, To Kill a Mockingbird, Humboldt's Gift, A Confederacy of Dunces, A Thousand Acres, Interpreter of Maladies, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Empire Falls, and The Road. It's possible I've read some others and just don't remember (ahem, Hemingway)... I've been keeping a list of all the books I've read since 2002. Anything before that I can't be certain unless it was something I read in school or own and know I've read. But that's still only 12 of the Pulitzer winners since 1917 (a few years they didn't give it out, but still). 12/91 (approx) is much less than 6.5/38 (approx).
OK, you talked me into it. Of the Pulitzer winners I REMEMBER reading, several of which were excellent (Kavalier and Clay, The Road, and Confederacy of Dunces being my favorites), I feel like To Kill A Mockingbird would be a hard one to beat.


So I was going to go to the UCLA Arts Day today, but instead I slept and then went hiking at Bronson Canyon, which I can't recommend highly enough as an alternative to crowded, intimidating Runyon. First, you have the child-friendly short trail to the caves (where, apparently, the old Batman series used to be shot) and then the longer, steeper, adult trail. But there's a good view of the Hollywood sign, it's in the nice part of Hollywood, Franklin Village, right down the street behind the UCB and Mayfair Market. My lungs are still at less than 100% from this bronchial infection, so I wasn't able to complete both trails, but I definitely plan on it.

Also I saw a lizard.

Wore ankle socks with my sneakers, which have broken heels, and cut up my own heels pretty badly and had to take the socks off. Lost one of my bloody socks somewhere on the trail, which is funny, considering yesterday's post.

Now going to sleep some more.

Friday, March 7, 2008

why the world (and sometimes its web) rules, man

so many surprises.

so i just shot on over to The Hollywood Reporter, see what's goin' down on the other side of the Hill, and I came across some stuff about pilots and casting.

so i googled one of the guys who was cast on The Worst Week, and it's this cool Canuck comedian, Jay Malone.

so check out his clips on Youtube. personally, i think if his sitcom is well-written, boy's gonna blow up. seriously. and when he does, i'm going to send this blog around to all the entertainment magazines and say, yo, look at me. i'm a smartypants.

and then they're gonna note that i wrote this blog without caps on "i" or at the beginning of sentences. i don't know why i decided to write this particular post that way. maybe i just like to shake things up. keep you on your toes like a ballet dancer learning en pointe. you're gonna need new socks what with all the blood.

if i weren't poor, i would do the following, in order:

1) sign up for a class at UCB
2) buy a Prius
3) go to a hockey game
4) take a trip to Hawaii
5) get a gym membership (i miss the elliptical machine. i miss the other machines, too, but elliptical, you were by far the dearest to my heart)

oh, and pay off my student loans. but, obviously.

CH is sooooo boring

So Vanity Fair, bless its manic heart, decided to run a women of comedy cover to combat the moronic essay CH (he doesn't deserve to get his full name written anymore) that women aren't funny. And so they got Alessandra Stanley to write the story, and then they had CH rebut. To sum up, his stance was "Alessandra's hot for me."

I just puked and yawned at the same time.

CH is just as bad as Tucker Carlson or any other brain-dead pundit. He's just trying to get a rise out of people, and it's worked real well for a long time. He's controversial, and that's why VF continues to publish him. I'm surprised they haven't hired Don Imus to write for the magazine. They'd sell tons of copy.

No one's gonna convince CH women are funny anymore than anyone's gonna convince Republicans to give a crap about the environment. People believe what they want to believe. You just have to do your own thing until the icebergs melt and prove the naysayers wrong by drowning them. The equivalent, for us, I hope is when EVERYONE who sees The Love Guru has a brain aneurysm, and everyone who goes to see Baby Mama leaves with the power to turn their own spit into chocolate milkshakes.

Also, I know Baby Mama was written by the guy who wrote Austin Powers, which I hate, but, um...
Shut up, OK.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

It's Always Sunny renewed

do yourself a fava fave, and watch this extremely funny show.

To wit.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008


Won tickets to the Paley Center Festival panel for Friday Night Lights at the Cinemarama Dome in Hollywood. I can't really express my excitement. So... wait for it...


Monday, March 3, 2008

what up, g?

I had some serious bronchial infection the latter half of this past week and it wiped me out. I'm feeling much better now though. Thanks for asking!

Driving to and from Santa Monica, I briefly considered the possibility I had a brain tumor. The smell of gardenia (or some familiar flower) was overpowering. From the 405 to the Promenade, it never wavered. Same coming back. Luckily my friend was experiencing the same sensation, so unless tumors are contagious now, spring hit the Westside tonight in the form of some blossoming perfume. As I drove back the long way through the Palisades and Brentwood, the fragrance remained. It was pretty cool. And freaky. Like, it was either some amazing LA thing I don't know about, or possibly a pleasant side effect of massive pollution? I know everyone was hoping for mutants, but if all the pollution we created just happened to glom together by happenstance to form a harmless cloud of gardenia-smelling vapor, I'd be cool with that. Weirder things have happened (yo, penicillin).

Read I Am Legend. Not impressed. Read a friend's manuscript. Impressed. Watched big hunks of Children of a Lesser God for the first time. For once, I kinda dug William Hurt. Had a few hours of intense depression. Chalking it up to hormones. Watched Charlie Bartlett. Love Robert Downey, Jr. anyway. How could you not? How could anyone not? He's like your childhood concept of a hot air balloon ride. Not a real one, but a kind of animated one, where you maybe have a duel with another hot air balloon and play rock songs and eat picnics and watch shooting stars (was that the Chipmunks?). That's Robert Downey, Jr. to me.
In summing up, I wish I had some kind of affirmative message to leave you with. I don't. Would you take two negative messages?
-- Woody Allen