Today is the last official day of summer, tomorrow there will be exactly 12 hours of light and 12 hours of dark and if you are 9 years old you can balance an egg upside down. Sometimes times like these are a good time to reflect. For example, I myself have had a roller coaster 3 months. I got to deal with being dismissed by my old job pretty much balling all summer on my severance checks, moving back home and moving to LA. I went from August 1st, to last week without actually having my own place (literally my parents got rid of my old bedroom, it was either sleep in the ferret's cave in the basement or find somewhere in Broad Ripple to sleep/live) I guess the word that would best describe my summer is chaotic.
But what a fucking summer, right? We killed Bin Laden's ass, Chicago had 2 Lollapaloozas (I'm counting the caravan, not North Coast) and we took 235 shots of whiskey on Independence day...well done everyone, well fucking done. As we move into fall and closer to seasonal depression there will be a few highlights: football, tailgates, road trips, Halloween, homecoming and new episodes of Gossip Girl but the pure ecstasy of warm weather and swimsuits is gone. If you are in Chicago, you are probably done with Castaways for the summer. Maslanka is probably dry docking his boat pretty soon, and you can feel free to go hang out in the front yard of Burling because Jake will probably start wearing shirts again. While these are all quasi upsetting issues, whenever there is a season finale, there is a season premiere.
Hoodies, bonfires, barbeques, carving pumpkins, jeans. Fall is bad ass. It is constantly the most underrated season. I think that is ingrained in our minds because we had to go back to school and until college that blows donkey dick. And yes, unlike spring the weather slowly deteriorates into winter instead of ramping up into summer, but there is still plenty of fun to have in 2011. In fact I am ready to argue that the only thing wrong with the weather cooling off is females will trade in their low cut tops and short shorts for baggy sweaters and uggs a crime that they will all overcompensate for when they dress like massive skanks the 3 nights you celebrate Halloween.
Long story short: you have a lot to look forward to the next 3 months, autumn is the tits, and ya it will cool down a bit but now you can walk places without worrying about how sweaty you will get, you can rock the sweater/shorts outfit and toss a football around on a Sunday while drinking some Oktoberfest, win!
But that said, this post was called season finale, not season premiere...something dramatic and awesome usually comes at the end of a tv season, a cliffhanger, a death, two people that you have been waiting for to do it all season finally get it on...well this site is social satire not a narrative, so I can't give that to you, but you write your own story. Go out tonight, the last night of summer and make a memory make a mistake, fuck it go to Joe's on Weed and bring home a latina fireball or if you are in LA go to Westwood and bring home a Freshman from Maloney's. If you are one of my female readers call that guy you know has a crush on you and see if he wants to grab a drink. Be spontaneous, go crazy, because tomorrow morning when you wake up you can kick them out of bed and say sorry bro, it was just a summer fling.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Fuck your letter jacket
I had one in middle school, it was super douchey, but whatever. I was in 7th grade on the football team, I was the fucking man. Sure I got cut from basketball and baseball, but I went to a public school in the ghetto, we had black people, no way was I making the basketball team (even though I played for an AAU state champion in 6th grade...this was probably the height of my athletic ability 5'6 12 years old with a 58 mph fastball, a sick knuckleball toebash in soccer and I could hit 8/10 free throws) Anyway, I wore that Belzer Bruins Red and White with pride. Even after I transferred to St. Simon in 8th grade I still rocked that shit to put forth the image that I was the new mysterious kid with a troubled past...and amidst first kisses, sneaking out and trying to convince girls to show me their tits I snuck in 4 competitive sports in 8th grade. Clearly I was destined for greatness.
Begin high school, I play football for the Freshman team, obviously, and then I play lacrosse in the spring (because I have tremendous foresight that I will be able to put this on my bro resume come college) nope because baseball players can't go on spring break...fuck that noise. I'm a very mediocre talent at football, tennis, lacrosse throughout high school, but I still have to play, because that's what you do in high school...or you go home and are a fucking loser, or you go to theatre practice and are a fucking weirdo (I secretly wanted to be doing this the whole time.)
I never did get a letter jacket in high school, I'm fairly certain at the time I was too obsessed with new cz earrings and baggy jeans to worry about how to iron on a varsity letter. But I did walk away with a state ring, some good memories and a reasonable social relevance. Sports did me well-ish. Because that's really how your popularity is judged in high school, what team are you on, how good are you and did you get to 3rd base with a cheerleader (no one has sex at Cathedral except for like 5 people...you can probably guess who they were)
College comes and people join frats and get somewhat into intramurals but by Senior year are so over it. Flag football is a burden, soccer isn't fun anymore and some walk-on rejects will hurt you on the basketball courts so fuck it, let's drink. It's not like social relevance is influenced by your Greek League A record. What matters is relevance of your frat, money you spend, and how many top tier sorority semi-formals you go to. (At this point this article seems so so douchey, I was considering stopping here, but I promise this is not going to turn into an essay about how to be cool in college. Many of you probably hated me and accuse me of social climbing, I just "get it" and even if this seems wrong to you, this is the way college works.)
Graduation happened, that sucked. I don't care how much you love your job, you would rather be on a patio somewhere at happy hour with 0 responsibility. I don't care if you are changing the world by teaching Nigerians how to read, or volunteering for a political campaign it would be easier to sleep until noon and then go play golf...and btw, people that do the aforementioned two things and love to talk about it, fuck you.
So you're in the real world, in a big city, you get to go out on the weekends and be morally reprehensible still but then what about the other 5 days a week. The "Meh." You could just go through the motions of your life and have 2/7 of an existence. But no, that simply won't do. You could go through the denial of growing up and go out 5 nights a week...that works for a while, until everyone else gets sick of it...what you need are activities. Organized fun to break up the week, something to look forward to...like a smoker counts down the minutes to his next scheduled cigarette break. What you need is softball.
Softball is fucking great. So is beach volleyball, bowling...any semi-competitive league sport post college is the best. You hear those stories of old men tearing an ACL rounding 3rd and you think to yourself...what an asshole? Why is he taking this shit so seriously? Oh I get it...the same reason ESPN has 4 hours of programming for fantasy football. These are the little things that keep life exciting. It must be some crazy phenomenon that somehow the stupidest dykiest sport from high school becomes the life blood for 20-40something year old males. (Scratch that women's lacrosse is worse) But it happened, and I fucking love it. Some friends and I were trying to pinpoint the age at which softball becomes more fun than baseball...it must be 20. Because 20 must be the age that you stop caring about your stat line for the game and worry more about how many pitchers you are going to smash after the game.
And how great is that? Bars will pay for your league registration, your uniforms and even GIVE you alcohol to rock their logo and party at their place. It's really capitalism at its best. They know that by giving us a sense of entitlement that we run the show at their bar, we will in turn triple their investment and get all of our friends to go there all the time...the extremes people will go to for one free beer. But I fucking love it, you can use me as a pawn in the system all day. Because I can still crank it 300 feet and I wear my old softball league shirts jogging just to let people know that this scene is for me and they probably think to themselves, this dude is probably pretty sweet, he still plays sports with his friends and goes out drinking after...yep...fucking right I do.
It's kind of like the high school letter jacket in a way. A point of pride, extremely douchey (not as bad as wearing your old frat tees after you graduate) a slight reminder to the rest of the population that you are involved in an activity that you believe makes you awesome. Maybe it's not for everyone, maybe people should give up on the glory once they realize they aren't going to go pro. That said, I assure you that if I hit a home run tonight, I'm going straight to Third Stop and buying a bottle.
Begin high school, I play football for the Freshman team, obviously, and then I play lacrosse in the spring (because I have tremendous foresight that I will be able to put this on my bro resume come college) nope because baseball players can't go on spring break...fuck that noise. I'm a very mediocre talent at football, tennis, lacrosse throughout high school, but I still have to play, because that's what you do in high school...or you go home and are a fucking loser, or you go to theatre practice and are a fucking weirdo (I secretly wanted to be doing this the whole time.)
I never did get a letter jacket in high school, I'm fairly certain at the time I was too obsessed with new cz earrings and baggy jeans to worry about how to iron on a varsity letter. But I did walk away with a state ring, some good memories and a reasonable social relevance. Sports did me well-ish. Because that's really how your popularity is judged in high school, what team are you on, how good are you and did you get to 3rd base with a cheerleader (no one has sex at Cathedral except for like 5 people...you can probably guess who they were)
College comes and people join frats and get somewhat into intramurals but by Senior year are so over it. Flag football is a burden, soccer isn't fun anymore and some walk-on rejects will hurt you on the basketball courts so fuck it, let's drink. It's not like social relevance is influenced by your Greek League A record. What matters is relevance of your frat, money you spend, and how many top tier sorority semi-formals you go to. (At this point this article seems so so douchey, I was considering stopping here, but I promise this is not going to turn into an essay about how to be cool in college. Many of you probably hated me and accuse me of social climbing, I just "get it" and even if this seems wrong to you, this is the way college works.)
Graduation happened, that sucked. I don't care how much you love your job, you would rather be on a patio somewhere at happy hour with 0 responsibility. I don't care if you are changing the world by teaching Nigerians how to read, or volunteering for a political campaign it would be easier to sleep until noon and then go play golf...and btw, people that do the aforementioned two things and love to talk about it, fuck you.
So you're in the real world, in a big city, you get to go out on the weekends and be morally reprehensible still but then what about the other 5 days a week. The "Meh." You could just go through the motions of your life and have 2/7 of an existence. But no, that simply won't do. You could go through the denial of growing up and go out 5 nights a week...that works for a while, until everyone else gets sick of it...what you need are activities. Organized fun to break up the week, something to look forward to...like a smoker counts down the minutes to his next scheduled cigarette break. What you need is softball.
Softball is fucking great. So is beach volleyball, bowling...any semi-competitive league sport post college is the best. You hear those stories of old men tearing an ACL rounding 3rd and you think to yourself...what an asshole? Why is he taking this shit so seriously? Oh I get it...the same reason ESPN has 4 hours of programming for fantasy football. These are the little things that keep life exciting. It must be some crazy phenomenon that somehow the stupidest dykiest sport from high school becomes the life blood for 20-40something year old males. (Scratch that women's lacrosse is worse) But it happened, and I fucking love it. Some friends and I were trying to pinpoint the age at which softball becomes more fun than baseball...it must be 20. Because 20 must be the age that you stop caring about your stat line for the game and worry more about how many pitchers you are going to smash after the game.
And how great is that? Bars will pay for your league registration, your uniforms and even GIVE you alcohol to rock their logo and party at their place. It's really capitalism at its best. They know that by giving us a sense of entitlement that we run the show at their bar, we will in turn triple their investment and get all of our friends to go there all the time...the extremes people will go to for one free beer. But I fucking love it, you can use me as a pawn in the system all day. Because I can still crank it 300 feet and I wear my old softball league shirts jogging just to let people know that this scene is for me and they probably think to themselves, this dude is probably pretty sweet, he still plays sports with his friends and goes out drinking after...yep...fucking right I do.
It's kind of like the high school letter jacket in a way. A point of pride, extremely douchey (not as bad as wearing your old frat tees after you graduate) a slight reminder to the rest of the population that you are involved in an activity that you believe makes you awesome. Maybe it's not for everyone, maybe people should give up on the glory once they realize they aren't going to go pro. That said, I assure you that if I hit a home run tonight, I'm going straight to Third Stop and buying a bottle.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Encino Man 2
After an lengthy stay on a series of couches our hero DAVE approaches his new home. He stands before a large Mediterranean style mansion on the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains. After moving his MASSIVE BAG OF SHIT into an empty room save for a ratty mattress in the corner, he cracks a beer and goes to explore the grounds of his new abode. While fucking around the pool he discovers a trampoline in the woods behind him. Bored and longing for the sensation of his childhood back in the midwest he begins jumping up and down on the trampoline and trying out the tricks that he had mastered as a youth. Time has not been kind to our protagonist, as he attempts a backflip he rotates three quarters of a full rotation, hits his head on the steel rim and falls off plummeting down a steep hill. When his body comes to rest he realizes that he is at the base of a large ravine, but he notices a small cavern opening. As he brushes himself off and moves to investigate further he realizes that the small crack in the rock opens up to a MASSIVE CAVE. The cave contains a small stream that empties into another smaller room. It is in that room that DAVE discovers a rock structure that resembles a sarcophagus of sort. But upon closer inspection it is a GIANT BLOCK OF ICE containing that actor guy from Monkey Bone.
SMASH CUT TO: ROLL THE FUCKING OPENING CREDITS
I agree, it's not the most original thing I've ever written but Fraser could use the career boost, it's not like he's in that high of demand ever since Furry Vengeance. And honestly, if they can remake Point Break without Patrick Swayzee than nothing is sacred, so fuck you Samwise Gangee and Paulie Shore I'm remaking your stupid teen angst movie about high school losers and a Caveman as a buddy comedy with me and BF running around slaying valley girls and lording over West Hollywood clubs.
Ok, I'm not really writing a sequel and I don't even think it would be fun to hang out with Brendan Fraser, after he failed to close Liz Hurley in Bedazzled, I kinda lost interest in him anyway. That said, I do live in Encino now with two alternate life styled women and 2 30 year old guys...pretty random. But I have a pool, trampoline and ping pong table and they said they wouldn't be bothered if they found me passed out in the kitchen after a Friday night bender, so that's nice...and we don't cable, so I'll be forced to write more of my self-indulgent blogs and semi-autobiographical ruminations of how awesome college was, maybe I'll get famous after all.
So yeah, I kinda sorta live in the valley, but not really. I technically live on the north slope of the mountain. I think the fairest way to put it is "yes, I live west of the highway, but I'm in Bucktown." But fuck it, it's not like I'm a struggling actor in Burbank, although I do think that the fact that I work on a college campus is Benjamin Buttoning me a bit. I went to the USC tailgate last week and crushed between 40-50 beers including doing a keg stand at a Phi Psi tailgate. Yes, I was that guy (although not until I had exhausted all of my own booze)
"Hey man, I was a phi psi can I take a shot of that 4 dollar per handle vodka?"
"FUCK YA MAN!!!!"
"Can you also introduce me to all of those skinny girls dancing on the table in frat tanks and tell them that I am your 21 year old friend from UCLA...nevermind, I'll handle my own lies."
But honestly, tailgating is so great. I remember in college, I fucking hated it. I would DREAD home games for a litany of reasons. People would stay in Friday night, I would be cold and miserable Saturday mornings since IU was treacherous, god forbid we get an afternoon game. Then everyone would go home and die at like 4 o'clock and the weekend was over. (Sidenote: This didn't apply to Senior year when heroes like myself saved the day and had rocking after parties once the game started)
But that said, unless you were some sort of MacGuyver and good successfully broker a day shack after tailgate your cock was almost always locked down without the opportunity to take a drunken rando home on Friday or Saturday night. But it didn't really matter that much because whatever it's college people go out like 5 nights a week anyway.
BUT NOW...we work during the week. Friday comes around and it is a 48 hour spring break. Everyone can hold it together for 48 hours. Go to an event on Friday (a concert, a show, an art exhibit and bar afterward)
Saturday at 8am...It is Little 5, wake up at 5am and start drinking, make sure you are on campus by 10am...make sure you have lied about your age 30 times by noon, it helps if you have an old frat tee laying around from undergrad...great convo starter. (Oh, I'm visiting blah blah no strings attached hook up, see ya) The best part is they literally tailgate in their quad, it would be as if we got the entire IU Greek System in Dunn Meadow and had a rager. I'm not by any means complaining of our set up, it was much rowdier, but this next part is pretty money. Instead of going to the Kilroy's or insert your campus awesome bar here, they walk into a school building...to study? Fuck no...they have a bar in the basement called Traddies that rages for the rest of the day. I guess what I'm saying is that I still hate USC but they exceeded my opinion of them by lightyears...well done Trojans.
Anyway, from there you get your buddy's girlfriend to pick you up, go home take a nap by the pool and start re-pregaming around 9, then out until 2, then sleep til 8am Sunday and then if you are on the west coast you have NFL football starting almost immediately...so ya, limp to the liquor store, and start all over again.
But won't I be hungover on Monday morning if I do this every week? This isn't the blog for pussy ass bitches, go take an excedrin and sack up.
Next tailgate is this Saturday...and it's a night game, seriously hide your kids hide your wife, because this Angelino is coming strong.
SMASH CUT TO: ROLL THE FUCKING OPENING CREDITS
I agree, it's not the most original thing I've ever written but Fraser could use the career boost, it's not like he's in that high of demand ever since Furry Vengeance. And honestly, if they can remake Point Break without Patrick Swayzee than nothing is sacred, so fuck you Samwise Gangee and Paulie Shore I'm remaking your stupid teen angst movie about high school losers and a Caveman as a buddy comedy with me and BF running around slaying valley girls and lording over West Hollywood clubs.
Ok, I'm not really writing a sequel and I don't even think it would be fun to hang out with Brendan Fraser, after he failed to close Liz Hurley in Bedazzled, I kinda lost interest in him anyway. That said, I do live in Encino now with two alternate life styled women and 2 30 year old guys...pretty random. But I have a pool, trampoline and ping pong table and they said they wouldn't be bothered if they found me passed out in the kitchen after a Friday night bender, so that's nice...and we don't cable, so I'll be forced to write more of my self-indulgent blogs and semi-autobiographical ruminations of how awesome college was, maybe I'll get famous after all.
So yeah, I kinda sorta live in the valley, but not really. I technically live on the north slope of the mountain. I think the fairest way to put it is "yes, I live west of the highway, but I'm in Bucktown." But fuck it, it's not like I'm a struggling actor in Burbank, although I do think that the fact that I work on a college campus is Benjamin Buttoning me a bit. I went to the USC tailgate last week and crushed between 40-50 beers including doing a keg stand at a Phi Psi tailgate. Yes, I was that guy (although not until I had exhausted all of my own booze)
"Hey man, I was a phi psi can I take a shot of that 4 dollar per handle vodka?"
"FUCK YA MAN!!!!"
"Can you also introduce me to all of those skinny girls dancing on the table in frat tanks and tell them that I am your 21 year old friend from UCLA...nevermind, I'll handle my own lies."
But honestly, tailgating is so great. I remember in college, I fucking hated it. I would DREAD home games for a litany of reasons. People would stay in Friday night, I would be cold and miserable Saturday mornings since IU was treacherous, god forbid we get an afternoon game. Then everyone would go home and die at like 4 o'clock and the weekend was over. (Sidenote: This didn't apply to Senior year when heroes like myself saved the day and had rocking after parties once the game started)
But that said, unless you were some sort of MacGuyver and good successfully broker a day shack after tailgate your cock was almost always locked down without the opportunity to take a drunken rando home on Friday or Saturday night. But it didn't really matter that much because whatever it's college people go out like 5 nights a week anyway.
BUT NOW...we work during the week. Friday comes around and it is a 48 hour spring break. Everyone can hold it together for 48 hours. Go to an event on Friday (a concert, a show, an art exhibit and bar afterward)
Saturday at 8am...It is Little 5, wake up at 5am and start drinking, make sure you are on campus by 10am...make sure you have lied about your age 30 times by noon, it helps if you have an old frat tee laying around from undergrad...great convo starter. (Oh, I'm visiting blah blah no strings attached hook up, see ya) The best part is they literally tailgate in their quad, it would be as if we got the entire IU Greek System in Dunn Meadow and had a rager. I'm not by any means complaining of our set up, it was much rowdier, but this next part is pretty money. Instead of going to the Kilroy's or insert your campus awesome bar here, they walk into a school building...to study? Fuck no...they have a bar in the basement called Traddies that rages for the rest of the day. I guess what I'm saying is that I still hate USC but they exceeded my opinion of them by lightyears...well done Trojans.
Anyway, from there you get your buddy's girlfriend to pick you up, go home take a nap by the pool and start re-pregaming around 9, then out until 2, then sleep til 8am Sunday and then if you are on the west coast you have NFL football starting almost immediately...so ya, limp to the liquor store, and start all over again.
But won't I be hungover on Monday morning if I do this every week? This isn't the blog for pussy ass bitches, go take an excedrin and sack up.
Next tailgate is this Saturday...and it's a night game, seriously hide your kids hide your wife, because this Angelino is coming strong.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
The Craigslist Killer
Life update: Still living on a couch, although I did their dishes today to endear myself and my friend's little brother has 3 queen mattresses pushed together in a Westwood apartment and assures me that the I will always be welcome to crash in the Superbed. (While 99% of people may think crashing on said superbed with 3 other frat guys would be weird, I find it strangely awesome)
Since I am too cheap to pay Westside rentals $60 to find a place for me I have been doing most of the legwork myself, clearly it's not going too well. The only places in my price range seem to be weirdos seeking roommates in Burbank and lonely cat women that want to treat me like the son they never had. Another major issue I am having is the descriptions of these units.
Super quiet neighborhood, not a party house, expect a clean respectful roommate, no drugs, no excess drinking, no drama. Cats ok, meow.
Are you fucking kidding me? Why do you think people move to LA, to enjoy a quiet read on the balcony during a sunny day? If I wanted a super quiet alcohol free existence I would have moved to Provo, Utah and gotten a job delivering milk door to door. This is LA, if you aren't raging hard and hosting at least one after party a month you're doing it wrong. Drugs are basically legal here, the coffee shops serve beer, aspiring industry people are required by law to go out 5 nights a week to "network." In fact, I think the only thing worse than living alone would be living with a pretentious roommate who judged me for cracking that second bottle of wine on a Monday night. Where is this Craigslist ad...
3 ex-USC frat guys seeking 4th roommate to live in broom closet, not because we want to pay less rent, but we need one more dude to play in our weekly golf foursome. Utilities included except for our $300 cable bill, must like to stay up extremely late listening to 80's music drinking 40's and buy at least one keg a month for our Sunday pool parties.
Do those people exist? They probably do, they just don't need to stoop to the depths of Craigslist to recruit. They can probably have a strict interview process and put potential roommates up to all sorts of exciting challenges like how fast your tennis serve is or how good your goalie shot is in foosball.
It's shocking how many people in LA just suck, I might have come to the conclusion that the people that are celebrities just for being naturally awesome, are probably just the cool kids from LA, like they were just being generally awesome and some kid's dad owned a production company and said "let's make you famous."
That said I press on and on searching for even a place to live for 90 days before I find something more permanent with actual friends. Some guy in Beverly Hills tried to scam me today and asked me to "wire him money and then he'll make sure that a courier brings me the house key." Are you kidding me pal, I wouldn't wire anyone money even if my daughter was being held hostage. You're a college professor teaching in the Philippines? There were enough misplaced modifiers in your craigslist ad that you clearly didn't graduate middle school.
Alas, at this point it looks like I'll be living with some Latin Kings in Long Beach or I may just have to murder one of my friends so I can take their room in their current housing situation. I really don't want to do that so I may just have to move to Newport and move in with a rich Jewish family looking to help out a blonde kid from the other side of the tracks.
Since I am too cheap to pay Westside rentals $60 to find a place for me I have been doing most of the legwork myself, clearly it's not going too well. The only places in my price range seem to be weirdos seeking roommates in Burbank and lonely cat women that want to treat me like the son they never had. Another major issue I am having is the descriptions of these units.
Super quiet neighborhood, not a party house, expect a clean respectful roommate, no drugs, no excess drinking, no drama. Cats ok, meow.
Are you fucking kidding me? Why do you think people move to LA, to enjoy a quiet read on the balcony during a sunny day? If I wanted a super quiet alcohol free existence I would have moved to Provo, Utah and gotten a job delivering milk door to door. This is LA, if you aren't raging hard and hosting at least one after party a month you're doing it wrong. Drugs are basically legal here, the coffee shops serve beer, aspiring industry people are required by law to go out 5 nights a week to "network." In fact, I think the only thing worse than living alone would be living with a pretentious roommate who judged me for cracking that second bottle of wine on a Monday night. Where is this Craigslist ad...
3 ex-USC frat guys seeking 4th roommate to live in broom closet, not because we want to pay less rent, but we need one more dude to play in our weekly golf foursome. Utilities included except for our $300 cable bill, must like to stay up extremely late listening to 80's music drinking 40's and buy at least one keg a month for our Sunday pool parties.
Do those people exist? They probably do, they just don't need to stoop to the depths of Craigslist to recruit. They can probably have a strict interview process and put potential roommates up to all sorts of exciting challenges like how fast your tennis serve is or how good your goalie shot is in foosball.
It's shocking how many people in LA just suck, I might have come to the conclusion that the people that are celebrities just for being naturally awesome, are probably just the cool kids from LA, like they were just being generally awesome and some kid's dad owned a production company and said "let's make you famous."
That said I press on and on searching for even a place to live for 90 days before I find something more permanent with actual friends. Some guy in Beverly Hills tried to scam me today and asked me to "wire him money and then he'll make sure that a courier brings me the house key." Are you kidding me pal, I wouldn't wire anyone money even if my daughter was being held hostage. You're a college professor teaching in the Philippines? There were enough misplaced modifiers in your craigslist ad that you clearly didn't graduate middle school.
Alas, at this point it looks like I'll be living with some Latin Kings in Long Beach or I may just have to murder one of my friends so I can take their room in their current housing situation. I really don't want to do that so I may just have to move to Newport and move in with a rich Jewish family looking to help out a blonde kid from the other side of the tracks.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Glamorama
Everything I've been doing is like SO LA. Thursday night I went to a premier party in Hollywood attended by all these A-list actors and I actually ended up talking to an agent about my blog and now he wants to rep me and turn this into a web series.
Actually, false. I waited in line for an hour at The Lexington only to be told that even though I had a wrist band, I couldn't come in...even after I went home and put jeans and shoes on. As a parting gift they gave me a swag bag that included vibrators, condoms and lube...it was a highly sexually charged movie apparently.
Anyway, off to the after after party. No free booze the way one would think but at least we got in. The entire cast of Saturday night live was there and they really aren't that funny in real life. They just hang around each other talking presumably about how short they are. I stand out like a sore thumb out here. It's as if these guys got into acting because they got cut from the Football team in 8th grade and took some of daddy's money to enroll in the Groundlings (second city la edition.)
But whatever, fuck it, I'm living the life right? Slowly alienating my friends one by one by overstaying my welcome on their couch, running around Westwood being told by every property management company, "I've got a beautiful one bedroom I would like to show you, only $2000 a month with a $4000 security deposit. For anyone that has ever had $6000 in your bank account, I'm extremely jealous of you. It must be nice to know if you are having a really bad day you can just fly to New Zealand or some shit. I could probably Amtrak it to San Fran or something if I needed to clear my head, that's how liquid I am, in case you were wondering.
So it's off to Craigslist where the perennial question is, "by reading this post can I safely assume that these roommates will not kill me in my sleep or worse, attempt to ass rape me. Everything in West Hollywood immediately raises a red flag because the guys have names like Roman and Bruce and everyone owns a cat. (I realize I am a huge supporter of cats, and I really would like to live with a cat, but gay name + boystown + cat + my love of musicals = not going to fucking happen)
Hmm, this looks promising: private bedroom in large building...I'll click this link. MEN'S SOBER LIVING. NO ALCOHOL NO DRUGS...no thanks, why do you think I moved out here? More sunny Saturdays to day drink, that's why.
So where to now, Burbank...fuck. That is the equivalent of moving to Wicker Park, in fact I think telling girls you live in the valley might be a bigger game-changer than telling them that you are in fact HIV +. I want to trick people into thinking that I have a sick place but I want to pay next to nothing to keep my weekend budget at an optimum level. (You would vomit if you knew how little I paid at Burling)
It's not all shitty though. Although I have never felt more alone in my waspiness, everyone seems to be cautiously accepting of an obnoxious aryan from the midwest, that and my friends have invested in extremely comfortable couches. That said if I can successfully navigate these little African American children that they bus in from Compton to sell me candy bars, I think I may actually like it out here. "No, I'm actually allergic to chocolate...oh, I can donate anyway and not take a candy bar. Well why the fuck would I do that when I can walk into that CVS and buy some sweet tarts?"
Seriously between the Comptonites, homeless people and fundamental religious fanatics I have never faked more phone calls in my life. The good news though, I have found a bar with $3 beers all day every day, I'm on a softball team, and I get to wear shorts 12 months a year.
I'm not the Prince of Malibu yet, but I'll get there...and if you live out here and I have not yet invaded your living room, don't worry that call is coming.
Actually, false. I waited in line for an hour at The Lexington only to be told that even though I had a wrist band, I couldn't come in...even after I went home and put jeans and shoes on. As a parting gift they gave me a swag bag that included vibrators, condoms and lube...it was a highly sexually charged movie apparently.
Anyway, off to the after after party. No free booze the way one would think but at least we got in. The entire cast of Saturday night live was there and they really aren't that funny in real life. They just hang around each other talking presumably about how short they are. I stand out like a sore thumb out here. It's as if these guys got into acting because they got cut from the Football team in 8th grade and took some of daddy's money to enroll in the Groundlings (second city la edition.)
But whatever, fuck it, I'm living the life right? Slowly alienating my friends one by one by overstaying my welcome on their couch, running around Westwood being told by every property management company, "I've got a beautiful one bedroom I would like to show you, only $2000 a month with a $4000 security deposit. For anyone that has ever had $6000 in your bank account, I'm extremely jealous of you. It must be nice to know if you are having a really bad day you can just fly to New Zealand or some shit. I could probably Amtrak it to San Fran or something if I needed to clear my head, that's how liquid I am, in case you were wondering.
So it's off to Craigslist where the perennial question is, "by reading this post can I safely assume that these roommates will not kill me in my sleep or worse, attempt to ass rape me. Everything in West Hollywood immediately raises a red flag because the guys have names like Roman and Bruce and everyone owns a cat. (I realize I am a huge supporter of cats, and I really would like to live with a cat, but gay name + boystown + cat + my love of musicals = not going to fucking happen)
Hmm, this looks promising: private bedroom in large building...I'll click this link. MEN'S SOBER LIVING. NO ALCOHOL NO DRUGS...no thanks, why do you think I moved out here? More sunny Saturdays to day drink, that's why.
So where to now, Burbank...fuck. That is the equivalent of moving to Wicker Park, in fact I think telling girls you live in the valley might be a bigger game-changer than telling them that you are in fact HIV +. I want to trick people into thinking that I have a sick place but I want to pay next to nothing to keep my weekend budget at an optimum level. (You would vomit if you knew how little I paid at Burling)
It's not all shitty though. Although I have never felt more alone in my waspiness, everyone seems to be cautiously accepting of an obnoxious aryan from the midwest, that and my friends have invested in extremely comfortable couches. That said if I can successfully navigate these little African American children that they bus in from Compton to sell me candy bars, I think I may actually like it out here. "No, I'm actually allergic to chocolate...oh, I can donate anyway and not take a candy bar. Well why the fuck would I do that when I can walk into that CVS and buy some sweet tarts?"
Seriously between the Comptonites, homeless people and fundamental religious fanatics I have never faked more phone calls in my life. The good news though, I have found a bar with $3 beers all day every day, I'm on a softball team, and I get to wear shorts 12 months a year.
I'm not the Prince of Malibu yet, but I'll get there...and if you live out here and I have not yet invaded your living room, don't worry that call is coming.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
How the west was won
You see those fucking palm trees? I scaled one last night and fetched myself a coconut, then I cracked it open on a medical marijuana billboard and drank the milk and now I'm pretty sure I'll live forever. So I'm here, living on a couch with a suitcase full of pastel polos and shorts and a trunk full of Kilroy's tshirts. I have 2 cell phones, this cute little mac book air and a mismatching pair of flip flops, that's about it. I'm going to fit in about as well here as Paris Hilton did on the Oxygen network (boom, industry joke, her show got cancelled yesterday)
I'm already preparing for "Where are you from? What's Indiana? You worked in Chicago, I've heard it's fun to visit once in your life. What's your dad do? You mean there are professions outside of film? What are those weird shoes you are wearing?"
I'm from Indiana, it's a state in the midwest, we have a race and Peyton Manning. Chicago is awesome if you have a serious college hangover and need to get it out of your system, it snows. My dad is in private wealth, it's like a stock broker, umm...Wall Street the movie, no he's not a criminal. He's from Iowa, it's like Indiana kinda but more farmy, no I'm not an assistant, I work for a start up. These are Sperry's. GOD DAMMIT YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT! Not everyone has a film producer dad and is from Beverly Hills. Your Tom's shoes look stupid and those skinny jeans make your ass look fat. No not good hip hop video fat, like you smoked too much pot and got late night pizza too many times fat.
I will have to become a hipster assassin.
Moving out here I figured it would be the epicenter of mainstream media. I mean all the studios, record labels, tv production companies are out here. If I want to see a good concert tonight I should have 20 options of bands that have had a number one in the past 6 months. They all live and record here right? But no, instead my options include going to a music festival headlined by a band called "!!!" How the fuck is that even pronounced? "AHHH RAGE RAGE AHHH!!!" That would be my first guess.
Slowly I will start building my army out here, midwestern transplants who wanted their hungover NFL to start at 10am instead of 1, pool parties in January and the constant possibility of bumping into Blake Lively. It is going to be an uphill battle, I know few people out here and the only bar that I fit in at has a crane game with live lobsters. Honestly there is nothing better than striking out on a chick and taking your anger out on marine life. But fuck it we all start somewhere, and I am starting right here at the bottom. And I'm either going to swim or find myself a shopping cart and an old rag and sleep on the beach with all the other wise homeless people in the country.
You may not understand the references like you did in Chicago. (OMG he mentioned McFadden's I've like totally been there) But please join me as I brainwash the left coast into thinking that Third Eye Blind is still relevant music...and if I fail miserably well, everyone watches autoracing for the crashes...
I'm already preparing for "Where are you from? What's Indiana? You worked in Chicago, I've heard it's fun to visit once in your life. What's your dad do? You mean there are professions outside of film? What are those weird shoes you are wearing?"
I'm from Indiana, it's a state in the midwest, we have a race and Peyton Manning. Chicago is awesome if you have a serious college hangover and need to get it out of your system, it snows. My dad is in private wealth, it's like a stock broker, umm...Wall Street the movie, no he's not a criminal. He's from Iowa, it's like Indiana kinda but more farmy, no I'm not an assistant, I work for a start up. These are Sperry's. GOD DAMMIT YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT! Not everyone has a film producer dad and is from Beverly Hills. Your Tom's shoes look stupid and those skinny jeans make your ass look fat. No not good hip hop video fat, like you smoked too much pot and got late night pizza too many times fat.
I will have to become a hipster assassin.
Moving out here I figured it would be the epicenter of mainstream media. I mean all the studios, record labels, tv production companies are out here. If I want to see a good concert tonight I should have 20 options of bands that have had a number one in the past 6 months. They all live and record here right? But no, instead my options include going to a music festival headlined by a band called "!!!" How the fuck is that even pronounced? "AHHH RAGE RAGE AHHH!!!" That would be my first guess.
Slowly I will start building my army out here, midwestern transplants who wanted their hungover NFL to start at 10am instead of 1, pool parties in January and the constant possibility of bumping into Blake Lively. It is going to be an uphill battle, I know few people out here and the only bar that I fit in at has a crane game with live lobsters. Honestly there is nothing better than striking out on a chick and taking your anger out on marine life. But fuck it we all start somewhere, and I am starting right here at the bottom. And I'm either going to swim or find myself a shopping cart and an old rag and sleep on the beach with all the other wise homeless people in the country.
You may not understand the references like you did in Chicago. (OMG he mentioned McFadden's I've like totally been there) But please join me as I brainwash the left coast into thinking that Third Eye Blind is still relevant music...and if I fail miserably well, everyone watches autoracing for the crashes...
Sunday, August 21, 2011
The end of an era
I haven't posted in a month. Hopefully the summer excitement was enough to keep you going during those Friday morning hangovers instead of my half assed satire. Anyway, the reason I stopped is because my life was in a bit of flux. I kinda sorta left Chicago, and lived in Indy for a bit while I was training for my new job, which more or less involves me hanging around college bars all day (this should go over well.) But, I'm settled in now, 2000 miles away from where I started. Single Dude in LA is coming soon. I promise more hipster hate, more fomo inducing rants and perhaps some anecdotes of encounters with coked out former starlets. (Parent Trap has been on a lot lately and I badly want to bump into a 2006 version of Lindsay Lohan)
Since I'm in Hollywood now, I'll probably be writing a lot more in the hopes of being the next overweight Jewish nerd with his MFA from Columbia to write a treatment for a superhero movie and make bank. Wait scratch that, I'm going to keep writing my egotistical fratboy trash and hope that some naive producer options my blog and gives me a 30 minute sit com on FX. Give me a week or so to pick up some deep v's down on Melrose and I should be up and running in no time. Chicago was real, but it's time to take the west coast by the balls and make it rain. Peace.
Since I'm in Hollywood now, I'll probably be writing a lot more in the hopes of being the next overweight Jewish nerd with his MFA from Columbia to write a treatment for a superhero movie and make bank. Wait scratch that, I'm going to keep writing my egotistical fratboy trash and hope that some naive producer options my blog and gives me a 30 minute sit com on FX. Give me a week or so to pick up some deep v's down on Melrose and I should be up and running in no time. Chicago was real, but it's time to take the west coast by the balls and make it rain. Peace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)