Friday, May 31, 2013

Rolling in the Deep: A night in the valley

In 1994, one of the most devastating earthquakes to ever strike southern California hit the small San Fernando Valley town of Northridge. It caused 20 billion dollars worth of damage and killed about 60 people. But that's not the whole story, just what Wikipedia wants you to know. Anyone that has seen the classic film Piranha 3d knows that earthquakes (underwater or otherwise) also release ancient monsters from the middle of the earth, as that is the only way to describe the type of people that you will find at the bar Dublins on a Thursday night in the valley.

But let's step back a bit...why did I find myself here at 11pm on a Thursday?

I mean is this really LA? I haven't seen that many American flags in 2 years as I did last night at the Cowboy palace. They have a fucking horse post in case people ride there. And that confederate flag? Was California even invented at the time of the Confederate States of America?

Well last night wasn't a typical LA night for me, I went to the valley...deep valley.

First things first, the valley is like Fishers, IN. Like Fishers there are the nice parts like Geist and a few of the golf courses but most of it is just shitty flat farmland with some aluminum siding track homes. So I head out to Granada Hills (Geist-y Fishers) to meet some friends for dinner at the Yard House, a nice restaurant attached to a mall. Indianapolis as fuck, it was like going to Champps at the Fashion Mall, suburbia at it's finest. However, after several yards of beer (the 3 foot glass thing) we decided to make it a scummy Northridge night as I demanded to see the bars my buddies went to in high school and college.

Things started innocent enough at some divey karaoke bar. Apparently it was the "place to be before the latinos took over" which is fine. This is the California equivalent of a midwest bar "getting a little too hood" which is just the pc way of saying black people took it over, it's ok, it's not racist, we're just having an honest conversation right now. The bar was dead so I quickly destroyed my friends at foosball, blew everyone's mind with a stirring rendition of "Basket Case" and took off.

Seeing that I was categorically unimpressed my buddies decided to take me across the street to the Cowboy Palace, pictured above. Now remember, I live in Los Angeles, the land of gays and movie stars doing cocaine in their VIP lounges. Imagine my shock when I walk in to see cowboy hats and line dancing. This bar was literally adorned with old hand bills for Alan Jackson concerts and white washed jeans. I even had a Coors original (the banquet beer! Neumann's favorite!) I watched some middle aged women eat peanuts and dance to the country western band, and even considered making a pass at the 2 cute Jappy girls sitting at the bar. "What in the fuck are you doing here?" That was literally going to be my pick up line. Perhaps they lived down the street, I guess not every cute Jewish girl in stretch pants is rich and from Beverly Hills. 

4 games of pool, 17 Garth Brooks songs and a handful of heavy beers later it was time to get super grimey. Time to go to a CSUN bar. Time to go to Dublins.

Now let me try to describe the typical student that goes to California State University Northridge. In the state of Indiana if you are normal you go to Indiana. If you are normal and kind of a loser you go to Purdue. Overachievers go to Notre Dame or out east. The kinda dumb kids go to Ball State (even tho its kinda a good school) and the fucking morons go to IUPUI. California is a bit different in the fact that 10 million people want to go to UCLA and only like 2% of the population can afford USC. So the average middle class folk end up going really random places. A lot go to one of the 3 San Diego colleges, some go up north, some go to ASU, some go to the Big Ten and I'm assuming the kids that got C's at their public school in Tarzana end up going to CSUN...that and every single illegal Mexican child trying to get that elusive college degree that puts you on that "real path to citizenship."

Honestly, it's like that hole that was dug in season 3 of Weeds that went to Mexico and the other end came up in the dressing room of Nancy's clothing shop. That hole is real. But it comes up in the bathroom of a bar called Dublins in Northridge, CA.

But it sounded like a GREAT idea at the time, go hit on all the senoritas at Dublins. My first immediate impression when I entered the bar was that it is fucking uncanny how much latinas love Pitbull. That motherfucker was on repeat all night. I got to the dance floor and there were 40 spicy Mexican chicks droppin dat ass over that new joint that samples "Take On Me" just sweating without apology. I don't know if any of you have ventured to a dance club with this kind of clientele but it is a full contact sport. I couldn't even order a drink without some pudgy little hispanic girl grinding on my thigh.

Eventually I was able to spot my intended target. 3 white girls that looked to have particularly low self esteem hanging out in the corner of the dance floor. I approached doing some of my patented dance moves and quickly won them over, but then the most incredible thing that I have ever seen happened.

During the song "I make it rain on them hoes" some Mexican dude through 20 singles in the air, hence making it rain. What happened next was indescribable. The bar melted into pure chaos as everyone on the dance floor started diving for the dollar bills like they were trying to catch a falling baby. Women screaming and punching, scrambling for one elusive dollar bill on the floor. Hair pulling, slapping, scratching. One guy broke a bottle over another dude's head to try to get a handful of crumpled ones.

I couldn't fucking believe it. A bounced blew past me muttering "not this again" as if the making it rain and scrambling for the mud and beer soaked dollar bills is a nightly occurrence. I felt ashamed just watching it. I would like to think if I was a stripper I wouldn't pick up a dollar bill if it was crumpled up and thrown at me, let alone dive on the floor at a bar where people can see and judge you.

A few minutes after the chaos the dj made an announcement asking people to please refrain from making it rain for the remainder of the evening. But in the madness I had lost my white girls. Dammit. By the time I rediscovered them I knew I was fucked. The only threat to a tall confident white guy trying to pick up white chicks at a bar is a swaggy black guy. No shame those dudes. They just sneak up behind the unsuspecting coeds and start rubbing that dick on their ass and to not appear racist the white girls have to just fucking deal with it.

It's funny, the Mexicans want to hook up with other Mexicans. The white dudes and black dudes want to hook up with white girls. So that usually leads to me losing out to a guy in a flat bill Bulls hat but then dancing with the Nikki Minaj wannabe sistas in the corner.

It's always a fucking blast.

So we drove back to our buddies house (driving intoxicated is SO valley) got some McDonald's drive thru, hit a bong and went to bed. Suburbia at its finest.

And that's what it's like to grow up and live in the valley. Sure you get a little bit more land for your money, the public schools aren't abysmal. But I gotta say, I think I would rather just suck it up and pay the 40k a year to send my kid to a private school so I can live in LA. That or tell my kid to just sack up and join the gang with the cool kids at Venice High.

Oh who am I kidding there won't be minorities left in Venice by the time I have kids?

Gentrification for the win.

Thursday, May 30, 2013


Few things are more LA than the Friday night drive to Vegas. Cram 4 dudes in a car with a handle of rye and a San Fran bag, 3 and a half hours later you're approaching the strip with a solid buzz and you're ready to check into the Cosmo and burn the town to ashes.

Or that's how it used to be. Vegas is now a town I avoid like the plague. Nothing good happens there. You spend thousands of dollars of money that you don't have on terrible things that make you feel like a horrible person. There is no look of shame quite like the Sunday guy leaving Vegas who lost 2 grand on the craps table then spent an additional 3 thousand on strippers and an 8 ball of baking powder. This guy is now 5 grand lighter in the pockets and probably didn't even get to shoot any ropes (depending on how classy the strip club was or wasn't) I've never been this guy as I have never in my life had 5,000 dollars. But I see this guy, you can see them sweating after they strike out with prostitutes coming up the escalator at Drai's, trying to get back to their hotel room before the sun rises, only to have to sleep on the floor for 45 minutes before his buddy with the car is ready to leave. This guy probably doesn't even get shotgun, and oh by the way the drive back to LA somehow takes 8 hours instead of 3, and the temperatures average 110 degrees.

I've considered exploiting this misery in the form of a Tumblr "Sunday leaving Vegas" it is literally a time devoid of happiness, all the endorphines that have been snorted up your nose are now leaking through your pores at an alarmingly gross rate. Vegas is the worst. I hate it and I'm never going back.


Maybe it's not THAT bad. I mean any place you can drink up and down the strip and debauchery is encouraged can't be awful right? I mean I am a hedonistic individual, this should be my playground. So I digress, Vegas isn't all bad. And with a little strategy, you too can conquer Vegas.

24 Hours in Vegas...
I have a friend getting married in a couple months and his bachelor party is in Vegas. Classic bachelor weekend getaway. I didn't think I could swing it because the timing isn't great for me and my car's air conditioning died last week. A rational person would probably get the air conditioning fixed, but it's chronically 68 degrees where I live, so it would be easier to just avoid deserts. I was just about to send the email that I was flaking on the bachelor party (I had only committed to Saturday because anything longer than 1 day in Vegas is too much) and then, just to check out the landscape, I did one of my favorite things to do, drunkenly got on Kayak.

Most of the pain points of the Vegas trip revolve around getting there. I mean obviously you spend a ton of money, but if it weren't for the misery of driving there and back alone, I probably could swing it. So remove that variable. What's a flight to Vegas from LA like 200 bucks maybe?

30. 30 dollars to Vegas on Saturday.

You can't turn an opportunity like that down. I immediately booked without even looking at the times of the flight. I come out of my drunken haze yesterday and realize that my flight takes off at 6 am Saturday morning. Again, it would probably be best if I just stayed in Friday night, went to bed super early and set my alarm for 4 am and then went really hard Saturday to compensate for only having half a weekend.

But, that would be boring. So as it stands now my plan is to go out hard tomorrow night, when the bar closes I will convince someone to have an afterparty until 4 am or so and then head to the airport with 6 or 7 single serve shot bottles. This should ensure that I am allowed to keep drinking at a steady pace during the 2am to 6am alcohol blackout in the state of California and keep me pretty close to blackout status until I land in 7:30am.

This my friends, is when I have to make a snap decision. I can power through and do a straight 48, or I can try to wake my friends up and go crash on the floor or something. I'm thinking the straight 48 for several reasons...

1. The rest of the bachelor party is already there. And they were all division 1 athletes in college. I'm not saying that someone that drank sparingly in college is unable to rage for 4 days in Vegas, I'm just fairly sure that an adrenaline shot of a new arrival could inject new life. (Also I'm taking a shit ton of adderall)

2. This is a hybrid bachelor/bachelorette party. I don't really know what this entails at all. Are their like group dinners and then each group splits off to a different strip club? Do they get bottles together?
Don't know but I'm fairly sure that everyone probably pairs off at the end of the night and bangs it out, or at least that's what happened in the movie Bachelorette. None of the girls except the bride know me so I do have the "new guy" thing going for me, but if I can show up drunk and sustain for the rest of the day I'm sure that at least one of them will think that's awesome. It would be much cooler than showing up Saturday and promptly going to sleep.

I assume the rest of the day will be pretty standard Vegas. Get those big ass yards of strawberry daquiri, walk the strip, hang out at the pool, go to dinner, pregame really hard, go to some club, almost pick up a hot chick, fail, go to the casino until 4 in the morning, try to sleep, pis myself, wake up. Bachelor party over. I'm sure it will be awesome.

I don't have a flight back yet...I'll figure it out later, or maybe I'll fly back to Chicago. Or maybe I'll just get a shitty room in Vegas Sunday night and go see a show. It's going to be a benderific weekend, and it's probably fiscally irresponsible being that I don't have a fixed income right now, but I've never gone on an impulsive trip and then regretted it. I've NOT gone and regretted it plenty of times. Things work themselves out, so as long as I can hook myself up to one of those emergency Vegas IV drips Sunday morning, everything should turn out fine...and this should be the best bachelor party yet.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Social Regression Analysis

Waiting in line yesterday for the Xcelerator at Knott's Berry Farm I was reminded of two things. The first was that inland orange county is really the trashiest place in america. The O.C. did a lot to fool people into thinking that the county overall is nice. It really isn't, outside of Laguna and Newport it's just some racially vague cocktail of brownish looking 13 year old girls yelling not wearing bras, cutting lines (not those) and yelling loudly. It's like they got the worst stereotypes of the 5 mixed races they represent. 2nd is that middle school kids are the worst. These 8th graders on their graduation field day were running around like they owned the park. There is nothing worse than a cocky 14 year old.

When I was in 8th grade, I was just starting to discover my interest in girls. The thing to do was try to get girls to flash you. I was fairly good at this, I think of the class of 2001 St. Simon I saw roughly 40% of the boobs. Mind you this stat made me cocky at the time. I ran the show. So I can understand why these wild latin children pushed past me like I wasn't shit. This kid just convinced the "hot" girl with the 4 bedroom house in Anaheim to show him her boobs in the haunted house. Now anyone my age will likely look back on their middle school exploits with moderate embarrassment. The first day of high school when you hit rock bottom you realize that in a hurry, but think how much better life gets after middle school, you start banging chicks, you get drunk, go to college, maybe pick up a moderate drug addiction...much better than stealing zippos from beach shacks from Florida spring break towns.

But middle schoolers do have some balls. The fact that I would get on AOL instant messenger and soberly flat out ask a girl to at some point during Peter's party tomorrow night take me into the bathroom and lift up her shirt took some serious stones. First of all, my mom could walk in and see it on the screen...oh the horror. But more likely is that this chick would say no. But back then for some reason the body is built with some lack of shit giving. I played the numbers game back then, I would ask anyone and 99 times out of 100 I got denied, but eventually someone says yes. I honestly believe that some people never lose this attitude. You know them, everyone knows this guy. The shameless salesman, the guy that never goes home alone. Everything works out for this guy, he's probably fucking killing it in every aspect of his life.

I on the other hand developed some sense of shame as I grew, I am now and have been for most of my life a total chicken shit coward. The majority of the time I go out to a bar I am talking to the people I came with. Go talk to a girl? Ya right. Maybe if I drank a bottle or 2 of whiskey before I got there. So that's what I do. More often than not if I get close to black out, I'll be social and outgoing when I get somewhere. And MAYBE if I get a girl onto the dance floor my ONE MOVE will be effective (drunken dance floor make out, it's honestly all I've got, if you are ever in conversation with me and are afraid of me leading with the tongue you're fine as long as the dance floor is at least 10 yards away.)

That's really the only way I've ever hooked up with chicks. It worked really well in college, but as you get older that shit becomes a bit more pathetic. The problem is, I can't hold a conversation at a bar, I'm pretty bad in person, the only other shot I have is the long term gchat flirt. I'm sure everyone has had at least one of these. Start gchatting, maybe it moves to text, an intoxicated phone call or two later, you're fucking. It all comes full circle to the 8th grade instant messages.

I would assume most people are kind of like me. As much as I want to be the Jay Gatsby character, I am Nick Carraway. Everyone wants to be Vince Vaughn in Swingers, not bitchy little John Favreau. Everyone wants to be high functioning cokehead i banker Tad Alagash, but you're not...You're Michael J fox, bitching about your ex girlfriend, and getting fired when you try to keep up with the guy that has it all.

In almost everything I have ever written the center of the plot is around 2 stock coming of age characters. The hard partying guy that everything seems to work out for, and the pussy that needs to discover some courage. Most people probably assume I'm the first guy because this is the image I've tried to project almost my whole life, but in all actuality I'm the second. I'm so fascinated by a guy at a bar that just walks up to girls and starts talking to them. It's so so hard to build up the courage to do that. Best case scenario you buy her a drink and have a short conversation that doesn't end in total disaster, or so is the outlook of a coward like myself. The other guy thinks either he's taking her to bed, or whatever fuck it, he'll never see her again.

What it would be like to feel that way.

I'm thinking maybe that's why when you get to be my age people start settling down. Being single is hard, it's a fucking grind. And as hard as relationships are, it's something stable. It's nice not having to go out and pick up a chick. It's nice not having to pretend to be this macho charicature of a bro. But that's when I start to hit a wall. That's it, that's where it stops for me. Society would have you believe that when you are 26 you should start thinking about getting married, having kids, buying a house...I don't want any of that shit. All I care about is making enough money to pay the rent and have fun. Honestly, I don't even want to move any closer to the beach because then my place would always be full of sand and that would be annoying. Perhaps I'm the anomally, I find myself regressing every day. Like I just want to be 22 again and go out every single night in Lincoln Park with the kids that just graduated. Life between 16 and 26 is like a bell curve. Freshman and Sophomore year of high school are awful, junior year gets a little better, senior year seems cool but then you get to college and you're like holy shit. Ages 21/22 you are on top of the world, and even though quality of like takes a slight hit after graduation, people are still into the same shit. You're going out with the frat guys and sorority girls that you hung out with in college except now you have an income and everyone has an 8 am class monday-Friday.

But now that is lost. Some people moved on and I realize I now have more in common with the 8th grade shit heads than I do with my own generation. I want to go out and be this confident guy that has it all figured out, but I don't. I would rather move to Lincoln Park with all of my friends' younger siblings and just repeat the last 4 years as opposed to take on the next 4. And the good news is that's the life that exists for you in LA.

There is no mold.

Everyone back home can get married and Facebook as many ultrasound photos as they want, but I can write coming of age stories about a couple gen y'ers doing drugs and if it sells go party in Vegas. Los Angeles is an escape from the mold, it's an island of misfit toys. I don't fit in anymore to the classic mid to late 20's stereotype of giving up the partying to focus on important matters of the future.

And while I may not be that classic literary character, any George Clooney roll in the last 20 years. The guy that has it all, oozes confidence and can charm any and every person he meets, I can still drink 2 bottles of whiskey and re-awaken that 14 year old that will walk up to the hottest girl in the bar and ask her to come home with me...and show me her tits.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Absent Without Leave

Many of you know the story how once there was this girl and she didn't like me and I drank a fifth of vodka, went to Kilroys found an ex fling, asked her to come home with me, she said no, I got kicked out, I walked home, I pissed on the side of my house and got arrested.

You probably know the next part of the story too. I got out of jail, paid my fine, scheduled drugs and alcohol class, wrote on a pledge's naked body "will you go to formal with me," sent him streaking through a sorority, she said yes, I skipped alcohol class, graduated college, moved to Chicago.

Are you still with me? Are these run-ons bothering you?


I went to the Bahamas with my friends, drank a lot, popped some molly (before it was cool) ate at Nobu, sweat a lot at Aura, and woke up on the beach...

At the same time that was happening Shingles got raided, there were lots of phone calls, some nervous friends and family...I was still passed out on the beach.

I went from the top of the world in a 10,000 square foot Bahamian Castle to finding out I was an international criminal in a matter of hours. Everyone knows this story...or at least I hope you do, because it makes me sound very cool. The kicker is, I never dealt with the charges, I just flew under the radar for 3 years until the Bloomington Police Department gave up. I've never shown proof of this until now...

Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks to behold the tale of what happens when you decide to stick it to the man, via my chronological case summary and escalating criminal charges.

Case No. 53C03-0810-CM-03962
State of Indiana vs. David Moeller
Case Type:
CM - Criminal Misdemeanor
Date Filed:
Monroe Circuit Court 3
Party Information

Moeller, David Benjamin


  1618 N. Burling
  Apt. A
  Chicago, IL 60614

State Plaintiff
State of Indiana

Erika Lynnette Kroeger
301 N College 
Bloomington, IN 47404

Charge Information
Charges: Moeller, David Benjamin

7.1-5-1-3/MB: Public Intoxication

Misdemeanor Class B

Events & Orders of the Court


Case Opened as a New Filing

Promise to Appear Filed

Initial Hearing  (1:30 PM) (Judicial Officer Kellams, Marc R)

Result: Commenced and concluded

Hearing Scheduling Activity
Initial Hearing scheduled for 10/02/2008 at 1:30 PM.

Defendant Determined Eligible for Pretrial Diversion (Judicial Officer: Kellams, Marc R )
Acknowledgement Of Rights and Request To Speak With Prosecuting Attorney tendered.

Hearing Scheduling Activity
Initial Hearing scheduled for 11/14/2008 at 1:30 PM.

Payment for Pretrial Diversion Received
PAID. $453.00 RECEIPT #20080542. PAC

Initial Hearing  (1:30 PM) (Judicial Officer Diekhoff, Mary Ellen)

Result: Vacated

Pretrial Diversion Agreement Filed (Judicial Officer: Diekhoff, Mary Ellen )
Order Of Conditional Dismissal issued. tks
File Stamp:  

RJO Entry
Order Signed:  
Vol./Book 244

Case ReOpened
File Stamped:  

Notice to Court Filed
Filed By:  
State of Indiana
File Stamp:  

Hearing Scheduling Activity
Initial Hearing scheduled for 12/01/2009 at 1:30 PM.

Initial Hearing  (1:30 PM) (Judicial Officer Todd, Kenneth G)

Result: Commenced and recessed

Probable Cause Found: Order Issued (Judicial Officer: Todd, Kenneth G )
Court finds probable cause and warrant issued. CR CD 34-09-C03/mtb
Order Signed:  

Warrant or Writ of Attmnt for the Body of a Person Issued

RJO Entry
Order Signed:  
Vol./Book 261

Administrative Event
The Court notes that the warrant issued on December 30, 2009, has expired. Court directs the State to file probable cause for the issuance of a new warrant, including defendant's current address and how such address was obtained within 30 days if the State wishes to proceed with this matter. Cause diaried. bls

Motion Filed
State's Motion to Redocket filed showing a current address for defendant as: 1618 N. Burling, Apt. A, Chicago, IL 60614. Clerk is directed to resummons defendant for initial hearing. tks
Filed By:  
State of Indiana
File Stamp:  

Clerk Administrative Event

Hearing Scheduling Activity
Initial Hearing scheduled for 09/07/2010 at 1:30 PM.

Initial Hearing  (1:30 PM) (Judicial Officer Todd, Kenneth G)

Result: Commenced and concluded

Failure to Appear (Judicial Officer: Diekhoff, Mary Ellen )
State appears by Erika Kroeger. Defendant fails to appear. Probable cause found. Warrant issued. Defendant's bail set in the amount of $1,000 surety and $500 cash.
Moeller, David Benjamin

Warrant or Writ of Attmnt for the Body of a Person Issued

Administrative Event
Expired warrarnt returned, new warrant issued. $500 cash and $500 Surety bond jm
File Stamp:  

Warrant or Writ of Attmnt for the Body of a Person Expired

Warrant or Writ of Attmnt for the Body of a Person Issued

Warrant or Writ of Attmnt for the Body of a Person Expired

Administrative Event
Warrant expired. State directed to notify the Court within 30 days of its intent to pursue or case will be closed, subject to redocket. mtb

Administrative Event
Court notes the State has not provided notice of its intent to pursue. Case is closed, subject to redocket. tks

Case ReOpened

Motion to Dismiss Filed
State of Indiana files Motion To Dismiss Without Prejudice.
Filed By:  
Kroeger, Erika Lynnette
Filed By:  
State of Indiana
File Stamp:  

Order of Dismissal (Judicial Officer: Todd, Kenneth G )
Court issues Dismissal Order. Case dismissed without prejudice. tks
Order Signed:  

I'd like to quote the great coach James Valvano in reacting to me case.
"Never give up, don't ever give up" - Jimmy V

Friday, May 17, 2013

The Endless Summer pt 2

When I was 12 years old I wanted to spend every waking minute of the summer in the basement playing Goldeneye. Sure I had a pool and it was 90 degrees out but when you grew up with one, swimming alone wasn't that great. And if you had a brother 3 years younger than you he was a huge loser (nothing was worse than hanging out with your 9 year old brother) so alas I would wake up at 8 am (why my parents would make me wake up before they went to work instead of letting me sleep until noon, I'll never know) and go down to the basement and try to beat The Facility on Double Agent in under 8 minutes so I could unlock "the golden gun." This would happen until my dad would come home from work at 4 who would be equal parts furious that I wasn't ready for baseball practice and that I had sat in the basement all day playing video games.

See back then I just didn't fucking get it. Billy Keller Basketball camp, Steve Alford basketball camp, All Star baseball, church, even when my neighborhood homies would ring my door bell to see if I wanted to play some kick the can or 3 on 3 hoops. I was just so annoyed. All of these things were just unwanted distractions prying me from my Nintendo 64.

Now when I look back on my childhood summers I think about my all star baseball team terrorizing hotel hallways in Minneapolis with knee hockey tournaments, riding roller coasters at Worlds of Fun 10 times in a row before getting kicked off, taking road trips to St. Louis to see the Cards, going to water parks...not the time I used the hook shot to find the hidden water amulet in Ocarina of Time.

Back then I didn't really give a shit about the fact that the sun would stay up until 9pm, or that I could wear shorts every day and play capture the flag until 11pm while all the parents slowly got hammered listening to Jimmy Buffet, I was just glad I didn't have to go to school in the morning.

When you get older there is no summer break, just times you go stir crazy in an office with the beautiful weather beyond the window tantalizing you. I completely understand my dad's anger now. If I came home and found out that someone was free to enjoy the beauty of summer all day and chose to rot away in a basement playing video games I would likely go on a murderous rampage.

I'm spoiled here in southern California where every day is summer and I only work about 3 weeks a month. Sometimes I have to pinch myself and remember that it's a gorgeous day out and I should go enjoy it, not spend hours mainlining coffee beans and writing screenplays that will never be read. Go for a jog, read a book on the beach, ride down to the south bay, go fly a fucking kite. All of these are better options than sitting on the couch, watching tv.

But the biggest game changer, the reason I think I finally saw the light on this issue is alcohol. I still don't know how to occupy my time on a beautiful day on Saturday, but I do know that if you step outside and crack a few cold ones, things seem to brighten up just a bit. Everything I do this summer, beach volleyball, surfing, rollerblading down the beach in my turquoise 3 inch inseam swim trunks...all of this will be better with a bit of sauce. And I think that's what is so great about summer. Even though it's just another 25% of the calendar year, people feel free to let their metaphorical hair down.

People that would have otherwise stayed in on a Wednesday or Thursday are totally down to go on a beach bike ride down to the Santa Monica pier and black out to a free concert because...summer.

Dinner plans turn into happy hours, a beer on the beach turns into day long darties that leave you too exhausted come 9pm to make it out for the night. But who cares, once the sun goes down there's no reason to be outside anymore.

Summer isn't so much a time of the year as it is a state of mind. It is the universal excuse, it can be a universal motivator. I hope that this weekend, this year, the rest of your life you find yourself inclined to do something a bit out of your character because life is short and tomorrow might not be 82 and sunny with 5 foot breaks. Because...summer.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Rock N Roll is Dead

I have a really poor taste in music. This is well documented. I once put the Jonas Brothers song "Love Bug" on repeat at Kilroy's for an entire afternoon because I fucking could. I also had bad 80's music on loop at every frat party, busted out the Boy Bands whenever possible and even now, I have a "party" playlist that consists of the 5 EDM songs that were cool like 4 years ago (yes Levels is on there, twice.)

In fact, my favorite song on the radio right now is Justin Bieber, "Beauty and a Beat" you know why? Because it's fucking awesome. No way can you listen to that song without cranking the radio completely up, rolling down the windows and screaming "I want to feel your body rooooooock"

I digress. Moral of the story, my taste in music is shit.

That said...

After my workout last night (this consisted of 14 different pectoral and bicep lifts) I had a bit of adrenaline going, I hopped in the car and flipped to KROQ (this is like the cool rock station in LA) from my typical power 105.9 (trendy hip hop) or top 40 97.1. (Note: I usually listen to nothing but sports talk radio, but both my stations have been overtaken by shitty baseball broadcasts, UGH)

And I was treated to the folksy light vocals of Of Monsters and Men, singing their fucking "listen to the words I say" song. Now don't get me wrong, that song is catchy as fuck. And so is everything by the bloated Tim Tebows, the Lumineers, Edward Sharpe and the magnetic zeroes, whoever those nerds were that played SNL last week, Purity Ring, etc, etc, etc.

But they are a bunch of fucking pussies. Even the Black Keys are hipster and soft. What happened to the bad boys of rock music? Is it too much to ask that my front man has a minor heroin problem? Would it be terse of me to request that at least one of the band members be dead of some sort of drug overdose by 27?

This whole mainstreaming of the indie rock sound is poisoning the image of what a rockstar used to mean. And it's not even like I hate the rise of the female vocalists. Joan Jett sings the unofficial anthem to rock music "I love Rock N Roll" Joan Jett was a fucking rockstar. Do you know why? Because when she started the Runaways at the age of 16 all of her music was about sucking dick and doing coke with noted slut Cherie Curie. Now that's rock and roll. Meanwhile we now have New Girl as the face of Indie rock, and if Zooey Deschanel has ever sucked a dick in her life, she surely didn't swallow (I hear spitting is en vogue with the Silverlake crowd)

I suppose the problem is that real bonafide rockstars die out. Look at Amy Winehouse, probably the biggest rockstar persona since a late 80's Keith Richards (snorting his dad's ashes along with a speed ball) she openly sang about her drug addiction, unwillingness to get help and her impending doom. And then she went on a bender and died :( cementing her legacy in the 27 club with the rest of the tortured greats who burnt out far too young carrying on a larger than life lifestyle.

There is no rock and roll anymore, The Strokes were close but they hate each other so much that a band member's death is more likely to be a homicide as opposed to alcohol poisoning and so what do we have left? The bands from the 60's 70's 80's still going.

I would pay anything to see the Stones, Eagles, Aerosmith, even the Red Hot Chili Peppers still have it. That is real music, not some pop rock, electronic studio fusion bullshit. I want my rock idols to burn down hotel rooms and have sex with low end prostitutes, not fit into 30' waist skinny jeans.

I realize I lack credibility on this topic, but even the shitty post grunge bands like Third Eye Blind sound more passionate in songs like "Semi-Charmed Life" an ode to crystal meth, than whatever flavor of the week indie band is singing a folksy ballad about love.

Perhaps we life in a world with too much emphasis on image, a PR manager probably wouldn't want bands behaving like the Rolling Stones in the late 60's...the social media backlash would be too prevalent. But really I just want some inspired rock music, is that too much to ask? And if some megalomaniac British act has to commit a few felonies to find the inspiration to make that music, I say it's well worth it.

On an unrelated topic, feel free to direct message me questions, I'm going to start a new "bad advice from a bro" column, I won't reveal who you are but I think it will be fun to interact with my readers a bit. Anyway, thanks for the continued support!

Friday, May 10, 2013

Responsibility (5 things Friday)

When I go to the Staples in Hollywood there is this physically handicapped homeless man that sits outside the entrance in his non-functioning electric wheelchair. He sits there all day because there is a large oak tree that provides him shade from the sun and because the manager of that Staples is a limp wristed bitch that is afraid to tell a homeless man to get off his lawn. Now this homeless man isn't THAT homeless. On a 1-10 scale he is like a 4. 1 being the type that sleeps under a bridge with no blanket, 10 being a guy with a shopping cart full of shit and a tent on 6th street in skid row. (6th street is like the coachella campgrounds for homeless people, in fact it's probably a lot of similar things that happen there, just sub out cocaine and molly for meth and heroin...but still a party) So when I say 4 out of 10, I mean that this guy doesn't noticeably smell from 5 feet away, he seems to have been wearing the same outfit for no longer than a week and he doesn't appear to be in the midst of a severe PCP trip.
I mean he has an electric wheelchair it probably worked at some point. I'm sure in the 90's this guy was like the upper middle class of homeless people.

But he also has this weird fucking disability where he has these short ass legs, like the character crazy legs from the movie Don't Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood (note: I fucking loved this movie when I was little. At that time I didn't realize it was a parody movie of Menace 2 Society nor that it would be the last good Wayans Bros film outside of the original scary movie) Now that I think about it, this motherfucker probably IS the wheelchair bound actor who played crazy legs. He literally looks like a normal black dude that grew like an average human, but his legs stopped growing at age 4. I digress. Every day I walk past this guy and he is a shrewd homeless man. Instead of lazily begging, he exploits his handicap by dropping his cell phone at his feet and then asking people to help him pick it up. Of course you stop and pick it up because if you don't help a disabled person you're just a fucking prick. But then you have established an emotional connection with this cunt and he then asks you for a dollar or two so he can eat. You can't pick up his cell phone for him and then tell him to fuck off...this guy knows what he's doing. It's literally like paying a fucking troll a toll to pass, I might come at him with a riddle next time.

But this is what this guy lives for, he has established his hustle and even though he probably has a higher success rate than most annoying bums all the money in the world won't make his little baby legs grow because Aldrich Killian's technology isn't real. Iron Man 3 was a work of fiction. Let's get into it then shall we? This week's 5 things Friday focuses on 5 things I won't be responsible enough to do this weekend.

5. Mop the glass shards off of my kitchen floor.
Remember adderall? I used to take that shit and clean like I was an illegal Polish immigrant. Now I just kinda puh shit around until it looks presentable. This is the metaphorical embodiment of sweeping shit under the rug. My room is dirty? Push everything under the bed? Bunch of shit in the family room? Sweep it under the couch. Last weekend we broke so much glass in my kitchen that I just started periodically bleeding from my feet all week because new shards found ways to embed themselves in my feet? Don't walk around barefoot you say? Clearly you've never had an issue with foot odor, the way to alleviate foot odor is to never wear shoes, your feet don't start to smell until you put a shoe on and then take it off. This is why I almost always wear sandals, it's because I'm afraid I might accidentally stumble into a situation where I am forced to have sex with a chick and not know the horror of my fot odor until its too late. I have definitely bailed on a sure thing hook up before because I was scared of what might happen if I took my shoes off. But ya, those tiny glass landmines are still in the kitchen but I probably won't do anything about it because walking around with flip flops should mitigate the risk. Speaking of Polish immigrants, we have Mexican cleaning ladies in LA. I think my next reality tv show idea pits Mexican cleaning ladies against Polish cleaning ladies. We'll do a home and away series where I destroy my LA apartment one weekend, and Burling in Chicago the next and they compete to see who can do a better job for 5 bucks an hour. Illegal labor is the best.

4. Imagine the HORROR of when I got a big ass envelope from the IRS yesterday. MOTHERFUCKER I thought. They called me on my lies. I honestly couldn't believe I was going to get audited on a 30some thousand salary. But when I opened it I realized I had just forgotten to sign on the line that is dotted. I can totally sign it, but the thing is, they didn't include return postage. AND I have a flat bike tire. SO I'm probably just not going to ever send it in, they owe me 8 bucks, let's call it even. Going to the Venice post office is like going to the LA free HIV test clinic. You stand in line with a bunch of strung out gays that are dying of AIDS. By the way, I recently read an article about how awful the AIDS plague was in the 80's in West Hollywood. It eradicated like 2/3 of the population because all the residents were shooting poisonous semen up each other's butts. West Hollywood almost didn't make it...almost...*curses under breath* Note: That's not a statement about how I feel about homosexuality, but a statement on how I feel about all of LA east of the 405. West side gays are the shit.

3. Take my clean clothes out of the dryer
I have too many clothes for the amount of drawers in my room. Also I hate folding. That said, when I cram half of what I own into the dryer, my room feels extremely clean. The last thing I want to do when I hear the dryer buzzer is put down my beer and fold and put away all of my clothes. In fact if I didn't have roommates I think every morning when I woke up I would turn the dryer on for 30 seconds and then just take out what I wanted to wear that day. Nothing feels better than putting on a warm shirt that has no wrinkles because you cheated and put it in the dryer.

2. Get my air conditioning fixed.
I remember from when I was younger that taking your car in for a tune up was a regular thing that adults do. I also remember that "tune ups" cost around a thousand dollars. Who in the fuck has a thousand dollars laying around to get their car worked on when nothing is even broken, just to make sure it's running at optimal condition. I will literally drive my car until it explodes, at which point I will just leave it burning on the side of the road and then go buy another shitty car and repeat the process. 1000 dollars could probably get me to London and back to see my old roommate. I'm not going to use it to clean my cars air filter and replace some belts. Fuck that noise. I'd rather ride my bike. Oh wait that has a flat tire. Ride my roller blades...oh wait those are broken too. Fuck, looks like I'm walking this weekend.

1. Do a rewrite on my most recent pilot.
I am one of those people that love to complain but never really do anything about it. I am of the mind that I am so awesome that I should just get paid to exist. I've already written 100000 words of a memoir about my exploits during college. I envision that this book will make me the most famous person ever, I will be the most beloved guest on the late night circuit and I will crush my SNL hosting gig. But the thing is, I've lived a pretty douchey life, a few Brobible disciples might think what I have written is mildly entertaining but not much past that. Anyway, some Chinese producer wants me to rewrite a pilot I wrote but SET IT IN CHINA. Even when I told him that the Hangover 2 basically did that and it sucked he still thought it was this glorious idea and he could probably if nothing else get someone to fly me to China to pitch my idea. That would be cool i guess, I've never been to China. Alas, rewriting that this weekend would require a lack of partying that I'm not sure I can commit too.

In fact all I can say whole heartedly that I will do this weekend is stay alive and call my mom on Mother's day. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much of a self indulgent heathen you are, as long as you call your mother on her special day and tell her you love her, you're a "good kid." And as long as you have a pulse and you make your mom smile what else do you need? Sure I set the bar low, but I leave room for improvement.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

I am not a human being II

Pictured: Middle of fucking nowhere

NOTE: I wrote this earlier this week and just got around to posting it now, it is now dated, we'll call it a period piece.
I’m sitting in my car right now 200 miles from Los Angeles in a blistering hot desert. My air conditioning isn’t working so I am dripping sweat onto the keyboard of my laptop. If you’re wondering where all those car commercials with a 50,000 dollar car ripping through the desert at supersonic speed are filmed, it’s here. Or rather 5 miles from here. Set is about 5 miles away, I am not there yet, because I accidentally arrived an hour early today. I could go to set, you know help out a bit, but I’m not into going above the call of duty. If I go over there now, I’ll have to lift heavy shit and get even sweatier than I am now. I can’t just cruise up and be like “yo, I’m not on the clock for another hour.” They will tell me to go fuck myself. Thus, I am on the side of this country road blogging.

Commercials suck, I think everyone involved in them hates them, but there is so much money involved. No aspiring filmmaker wakes up every morning and says “I can’t wait to film a car driving really fast through the desert, this is really going to be a great opportunity for me to express myself creatively.” They probably wake up and say, “Shit I’m making $20,000 a day, I’m going to go get 4 Taiwanese hookers when this is all over and take them from behind. Then just for kicks I’ll murder them and then pay someone to hide the bodies.”

Or maybe they are excited to stop working 16 hour days and get back to their wife and kids. Sorry, I’m just getting really excited for the American Psycho screening at Hollywood Forever next week.

So I’m in Target yesterday on a “run.” In PA’ing, a run is basically when anyone on set needs something. I’ve had to get tampons for a bleeding costume supervisor, I’ve had to get crystal meth for a grip, yesterday someone really wanted Sprite Zero,. You may think this work sounds remedial, but runs are fucking sweet. I get to get in my car (paid by the mile) and listen to sports talk radio while all the other PA’s carry heavy shit around the set and sweat all over their 100 dollar Brooks Brother’s shorts (scratch that, I’m the only one that wears pink seer sucker to set) I saw Little Wayne’s CD I am Not a Human Being for sale. Now to be honest with you, I’ve never been a Weezy fan. I liked the Hot Boys and all of Cash Money in the 90’s because I thought I was ghetto fabulous and I wanted the black kids at Belzer Middle School to accept me, but ever since the Carter 1, I think he kinda sounds/looks like a mumbling rat…and to take this even further, I was kinda hoping he wouldn’t make it a few weeks ago after that stroke.

We haven’t had a good celebrity death in a while, sometimes I hope for chaos.

Alas, he survived his purple drank overdose and now he’s touring promoting his new album I am Not a Human Being.

I thought about it for a minute and I realize, he’s probably going for the same definition I am. Every night, he crushes a bunch of Xanax and cocaine (this ingredient is optional) throws it in a cup of vodka, adds Nyquil and Sprite and drinks this shit until he goes insane. He has kids that he doesn’t really give a shit about (watch the 60 minutes interview) all the money in the world, goes to jail regularly due to various infractions against responsibility and is just generally someone that doesn’t give a fuck.

I can totally relate.

For example, Saturday night I had the Bones wrap party. I didn’t work on Bones, but I work at Fox a lot and I’m homies with some of the people there and I was really looking forward to this wrap party. Meanwhile my best friend had been in town the previous 2 days and I was in the midst of a hard bender. I think I singlehandedly went through 3 bottles of vodka at Lure on Thursday, committed felonies on Friday and Saturday was supposed to be the big grand finale. Hollywood wrap party, OPEN BAR. This should get interesting. The only problem was, I had a 4 am call time. In the desert. On Sunday.

I am then tasked with this. How in the fuck am I supposed to  black on on Saturday night at a wrap party, then pick up a truck, pick up 3 motorcycles, transport said motorcycles 2 hours to the desert all by 4 am on Sunday.

Most people would probably advise, “Hey, skip the wrap party, duty calls. Drink a little for the derby on Saturday and then get to bed early so you can take care of business.”

But like Little Wayne, I am also NOT a human being. Even after my boss called me and told me that I would never work in Hollywood again if I was late (I would be costing the production $50,000 for every hour late I was with the motorcycles) I decided the PARTY must go on.

Long story short, I crushed it. I raged at that wrap party, I taught young and old alike the value of the double dutch dance floor and I got those fucking motorcycles to the Antelope Valley at 3:45am. Why chose when you can have both right?

You might be wondering how this was all possible? You always have 2 options, sleep it off or pull a Denzel at the end of Flight.

So Mr. Wayne, I apologize for briefly hoping for your death. I’m glad you didn’t die, someone else will Amy Winehouse it soon and give me an enjoyable hour on Twitter (I love the inappropriate jokes made in the wake of a celeb’s death) but you and I are kindred spirits and we should hang out soon…I’m even going to buy your album, probably listen to it tonight before I crush my daily purple drank.