I can't imagine anyone looking through my phone. It's not because of all the anime porn google searches and tits that I've screenshotted off of Snap Chat but because of my last 3 texts.
They are...
1. Heil Hitler!
2. Mein Fuhrer!
3. How many times can I watch Love Actually in the months of November/December without actually becoming gay?
Now on the nose 2 long standing assumptions about me would be confirmed. I'm a raging antisemite and a total gay. But that's not quite true. I'm currently reading one of the best books ever written called The Book Thief. It takes place in Nazi Germany where all the normal German citizens were forced to salute each other on the streets by saying absurd shit like Mein Fuhrer and Heil Hitler or they would be gassed along with all the other Jews/Catholics/Gays/Blacks/Gypsies or whoever the fuck else the Nazis felt like killing that day. Myself and my twisted book club members have adopted this as a way of addressing eachother. Fucked up? Maybe, but not anti Jew. (A Jew is the hero of the book, I'm rooting for him...I give him a 50/50 shot of surviving.)
As for the Love Actually thing, well there is no excuse, except to just admit it's the greatest fucking movie ever made. So under that assumption of course I was going to see that director's recent rom com offering, About Time.
I went to a pre release screening on the Universal Lot (because I have a more interesting life than you) and while I wasn't blown away like I was at Love Actually, it was a lovely film.
The movie tracks a schlubby red head in his somewhat creepy pursuit of Rachel McAdams, the wrinkle is he can travel back in time, so any time he slightly fucks up with this chick he goes back and tries again, knowing the proper decision to make. It's kind of like an R rated British Groundhog Day.
I left the movie wondering what I would do with the power of time travel. I assume that I would probably use it to acquire a modest fortune and then track down the girl of my dreams (after obviously using the power for a 2 year fuck fest with every hot girl I ever wanted to bang) but I also think I could change the world in 5 quick trips through time. Make the world a better place for everyone, because with great power comes great responsibility. And it would be a shame to use time travel exclusively for the benefit of MY wallet and penis.
5. Where: Silicon Valley, CA Time: Circa 2011
Sometime around the advent of the iPhone 4 a new app allowed for emotes to be sent from phone to phone through iMessage. These emotes would grow to be compatible with twitter, instagram and ALL CHICKS. Literally, if you are a guy...the quickest way to get your dick in a chick's mouth is to blow her shit up with emotes. You don't even have to type words, enough winky faces, it's a done deal.
However, there are some VERY OBVIOUS omissions on the current iteration of iPhone's Emoji app, and in a society of painful tinder conversations is there any awkward silence that wouldn't be completely saved by a winking Pikachu? Girls love the wink, and everyone fucking loves Pikachu, he is adorable. Make that motherfucker wink??? Panties = soaked.
I would merely suggest this to the programmers and those Japanese-culture obsessed nerds would put that in there right away and probably give me 10% of the company. Big win for everyone involved.
The Impact: Nerds everywhere are getting laid, there is a national reduction in sexual frustration. National tragedies are avoided because instead of plotting mass murders, people that were previously in their basement playing World of Warcraft are riding Pikachu's winking coattails to Grand Central Station of the Pussytown express.
4. Where: Standford University Time: Fall of 2009
A week ago I had this idea to write an entire thesis about how the reason Jonathan Martin quit the NFL was the exact same thing as a pledge quitting a frat during pledgeship. But since John Martin was like a triple legacy (NFL player) nationals was going to get involved (the commissioner) and fire some people in the Miami Dolphins organization (brotherhood review)
You like that fucking metaphor? Mic drop.
Anyway, I decided against it because I'm not a sports blogger and I'm already too fratty. I needn't focus the attention on my prior awesomeness, you were all there...as Drake would say "if you ain't been a part of it at least you got to witness" God my arrogance is almost too much for me to even handle...
So I wasn't going to write the blog. Flash forward to Saturday. I get all fucked up at the USC/Standford tailgate, then high tail it to an IU party in Brentwood. As soon as I get there I am immediately sequestered in a bedroom.
"Are you drunk?"
Very.
"Ok, I'm going to tell you something and I really need you not to be an asshole about this. You can blog all about it Monday but don't make this weird."
What.
"You know that guy that quit the Dolphins because he was being bullied or whatever?"
Ya.
"He's here."
What do you mean he's here...
"He knows my new roommate, he is here, at this party drinking."
Isn't he on suicide watch in a mental institution or something?
"No his buddy brought that Fireball."
So ya, I was at a party with Jonathan Martin Saturday night. Hitting on white women. I pondered all sorts of fucked up schemes. Ordering a bunch of coke and somehow implicating him, convincing one of my female friends to bang him, or just get him extraordinarily drunk and see what happened."
As it would go, I did none of the following. I said what up to him, cheers'd a beer maybe and watched him get on his hands and knees when he spilled a whiskey coke. I can't confirm that he was drunk but there was a drink in his hand, clearly not the look of a guy going through deep emotional distress. Moreso the look of a guy that quit the frat because he didn't like getting yelled at and was now happy to be at a house party with gdi's off campus.
See because that's what happened. This Martin guy grew up wealthy, was always bigger and better than everyone else and probably never got picked on until he was 22. When he did join the Miami Dolphins and a bunch of Seniors told his faggot ass to get on his fucking face and do push ups until he puked, he didn't know how to react.
Now more than ever "hazing" is in the national spot light. Sure once in a while a frat kills a pledge, or a black school band beats a Freshman trumpeter into a coma, but no one really cares...because the departed are nobodies. This is a NFL STAR, BULLYING IS A BIG DEAL. Richie Incognito is just a guy that was following a culture of hazing the pledges, and this one couldn't handle it. And now because we live in a reactionary society, Greek life as we know it will probably end in the next 20 years. No more hazing in the military, no more hazing in secret societies or any organization and the PUSSIFICATION of AMERICA is COMPLETE!
Unless...
I travel back in time and convince Freshman John Martin to join a fraternity. Yes, it will suck John, but think about the white girls you get to fuck by being an athlete. If you join a frat you can quadruple that, and it will be all sorority girls, you can run nightly trains! Then when you show up to training camp and old Richie gives you some lip, you tell him to "eat a gaggle of dicks you fucking hick" and this whole devolution of our society is avoided.
Impact: Greek Systems thrive for another 1000 years, churning out the leaders of the world, despite some push ups and a little light water boarding. Leaders that otherwise would have grown up to be huge wimps and lead us into silly wars, leading to the destruction of life as we know it.
3. Place: Miami, FL Time: November 27, 2007.
Obviously one would want to use the power to save so many single people, but remember there are drastic consequences every time you go back, it affects the future that you presently live in. Remember the Butterfly Effect? Anyway, this was a tough one. Part of me wants to get back to Vegas and tell 2pac that maybe he should skip the fight, or invest in a bulletrproof car. But honestly, he would have probably just gotten hit a week later, it wasn't like that was the first time he had been shot at multiple times.
No, if I'm going to limit the celebrity saving to one, it goes to Sean Taylor, the greatest that never was. This guy would have probably gone on to be the greatest NFL safety of all time, but some cunt shot him in the leg whilst trying to rob him. Shot him in the leg because he specifically wanted to NOT kill him, but start the large man with a machete from slicing him in half. YES, in lieu of a gun in the bedroom, Sean Taylor kept a 28 inch SWORD under his bed to stave off intruders. But unfortunately for Sean, the thigh contains some pretty heavy duty arteries.
Sean was however not one to shy away from the party though. In his brief career, he managed to get a dui and an aggrevated assault charge. I'm thinking on the night of the 27th I convince him to get a table at the Fontainebleau and we party together until 7 in the morning.
Impact: Sean Taylor goes on to have the best defensive career of all time. The Redskins are so good that Native Americans stop bitching about the racist connotation and embrace the nick name. The alternative to this dream scenario was that I secretly wrap Sean's thighs in kevlar and he weathers the bullet and then slices the assailant in half with the machete. He would then surpass Ray Lewis as best NFL player to ever murder someone with a knife.
2. Place: Washington DC Time: September 1, 2011
After the wedding last Saturday (which I did not get laid at by the way almost everyone had a date, and I kept forgetting the names of the girls I didn't already know. The quickest way to shoot yourself in the foot is to forget a girls name. Whatever, when the fireballs in the system, ain't no tellin. I did get Steak n Shake at 4 in the morning, and that's all that really matters) I spent 8 hours at a b dubbs next door to the Bloomington, IL airport. I got really drunk and then watched the Colts get ass raped by the Rams.
In my drunken stupor I bought a thing of beef jerky and a Rockstar which I intended to smash right before I got on the plane so I could sober up enough to read some more of The Book Thief. Then I got to security and I was taken to some terrorist room for additional screening. They tested me for bomb residue, gunpowder, all the usual terrorist shit. I'm thinking, what the fuck, am I really that drunk that they thought this all necessary. Then my immediate thought goes to drugs. Fuck, this is the bag I took to Vegas, what could possibly be in there.
But you know what prompted all this shit? It wasn't even the Ambian I had in my bag, it was that fucking Rockstar because REMEMBER? No liquids.
Which is fucking retarded anyway, does the FAA think I am going to smuggle on a vat of acid and poor it on the flight attendant's face in order to highjack the plane? They probably just used national tragedy as an excuse to make people buy the plane's 7 dollar beers. (This can be avoided by filling your bag with the little shot bottles fyi)
But I digress. They threw out my Rockstar and out of principal I refused to buy another, so I got shit faced at the airport bar and slept all the way back to LA...which was fine I guess.
But America should be the land of the free. I should be able to take a pregnant ferret on my shitty Spirit Airlines flights and no one should be able to say a god damn thing.
Actually scratch that last thought from the record, anyone that isn't skinny and silent on aircrafts I want to fucking murder. Babies, I will shake you. Fat people? Get off my plane and into the gym. Strangers that talk? I'M WATCHING PITCH PERFECT ON MY iPAD, PLEASE FUCK OFF.
But I should be able to quietly drink my Rockstar.
And I would have been able to until a couple jack asses crashed some planes into the World Trade Center and took several thousand people out with them.
Dicks.
And if you watch documentaries about the events leading up to it, it sounds like it was maybe kinda sorta preventable, but a few things slipped through the cracks because people aren't perfect.
I fuck up at work all the time, but if I screw up, an actor doesn't get the newest copy of the script. If those people in Washington screw up? Terrorism.
So what could I do to prevent 9/11? Run into the Pentagon screaming? Nein. Wouldn't work, I'd be thrown in the pre 9/11 version of Guantanomo and never be heard from again. (Y'all watch that 60 minutes? Fucked up shit)
So I have to prevent the attack without telling anyone there would be an attack. Basically I have to ensure that everyone does their job perfectly, with no potential for fuck up.
You know who NEVER fucks up? People on Adderall.
In the early ages of these amphetamine salts that have become so famous and seemingly readily available, they were only intended for children with severe hyperactivity problems. But eventually they became to take over the mainstream. College kids adopted it, ibankers subbed prescription drugs for cocaine, and now I'm sure almost anyone in a high stress, high importance job gets through the day with the help of amphetamines.
If I could have flooded capital hill with 2 million miligrams of orange goodness, 9/11 would never have happened and you would have to pick your girlfriend up at her gate instead of waiting in the car outside the airport. (I stole that joke from Daniel Tosh)
Impact: The Hurt Locker never gets made, Avatar wins Best Picture spawning a new Fern Gully environmentally conscious sub genre of film and John Kerry probably would've become president with no war on terror for Bush to run. (This is a negative fringe effect, I fucking love W)
1. Place: Los Angeles, CA Time: Pilot Season 2007
My college career was pretty great but after Sophomore year I was kind of in a rut. People were doing cool shit and I was stuck in Indianapolis interning at an insurance company, using my shitty fake ID to go to the Broad Ripple Tavern every night. I filled that summer by driving down to Bloomington every weekend and getting drunk with the Tri Delts at Frat West (The White House) It was a marvelous summer. We became great friends, got boats all the time, and logged several thousand hours at Kilroy's.
In fact I probably thought I was as happy as I could possibly be doing this. However, 2000 miles away, TBS had given a series order to the most obscure guy from the Blue Collar Comedy Tour...well maybe 2nd most. There was Larry the Cable Guy, Foxworthy and then the other 2.
Being 19, I could have spent the summer in LA and maybe through some miracle I could have landed a job as a PA on this pilot. (It's very fucking hard to get a job on a tv show without a connection, but remember I have the ability to travel through time, I can just show up and try every day until it works)
Working in the production office I would have eventually met one of the actors, Jen, she would introduce herself as. She being 17 and by no means being a star, wouldn't have any trouble hanging out with a PA. She would also be new to town and we would kind of spend the summer exploring Los Angeles together. Time would come to go back to school but I would decide to stick around because I had recently been promoted to staff writer. (Remember I could travel to like 2010 and just steal the Modern Family pilot and turn it into this showrunner and he would think it was the greatest writing sample ever, I might be selling myself short at JUST staff writer) So I work on this show for like 3 years and start dating this no name actress and become a somewhat well known writer myself.
I would never know have the memories of Shingles or Europe or being the most socially relevant person in a city of 80,000 people...but I would have my girlfriend Jen and we would go on Saturday hikes through Runyan canyon and buy a boat in Marina Del Rey.
Impact: After the cancellation of the Bill Engvall Show she would get cast in an obscure Indie which would lead to an Oscar nomination. Afterward she would land the role of Katniss Everdeen. So yes, I would use my time travel ability to marry Jennifer Lawrence. We would be the craziest Hollywood power couple since whoever the last guy to dump Taylor Swift was.
But wait...
So If I could travel through time we would live in a pre 9-11 utopia where Jonathan Martin wasn't a pussy, nerds got laid, Sean Taylor was still wrecking fools and I was banging J Law? That sounds pretty great, but honestly...I wouldn't trade any of it for what actually happened. I think that was supposed to be the takeaway of the movie. All of us have made mistakes, or perhaps have regrets about decisions we did or did not make. But this is the life we've got, and typically it's pretty amazing. (Well my life is slightly more amazing because I get to go to screenings on studio lots) And I've been dumped too, I've done awful things that I wish I could take back, but I can't. Life is about moving forward, and yes it's funny to pontificate about the shit that I would do if I had superpowers, but at the end of the day, would I want to miss out on one unique memory? One joke, one laugh, one day spent with a good friend. The answer has to be know, you move forward and try to improve upon your current situation while cherishing old memories. Shitty things will always happen in the world, but it's our job to find a way to make sure they don't happen again. And let's be honest...certain things are still in play for me!
I'm still young enough where I can find a certain amount of success in this town, I already run in circles with a few quasi famous folk. Hey, fucking Jessica Alba married an assistant, who says Jennifer Lawrence is above giving her number to a random guy she meets at a party. And when she does, best believe she will be getting blown the FUCK up with winking pikachus...if I have to program that adorable little thunder rodent myself.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Red Wedding
The next several paragraphs I write at very great personal risk. It has nothing to do with the fact that I JUST started a new job with nobody I know, but because I am going to outline my weekend plans for you, and I must confess, my intentions are cruel.
So I have this wedding on Saturday, in Illinois. Not only is it a wedding but it's a frat wedding. A guy from my frat is hanging out with a girl from a sorority we used to hang out with. I have MASSIVE expectations, in fact to set the stage, let me briefly incapsulate the last time something like this happened.
In August 2009, my first pledge brother got married. I kicked the day off by smashing a case of beer at my pool with a couple of buddies and then threw on a seersucker suit and a fresh pair of Air Force Ones. I then forced my mother at Jaegerpoint (where you threaten to drink a bottle of Jaeger and drive somewhere if the accosted doesn't do your bidding) to drive my drunk ass from Geist to Carmel so I could go to this wedding. At said wedding I proceeded to drink triple whiskey cokes and aggressively grind with every girl from that sorority I had ever hooked up with until the bar ran out of booze. Then we cabbed it to broad ripple, drank until the bars stopped serving me and then recruited my mother to drive me, 3 buddies and a very lucky girl back to the Indianapolis Yacht Club where we proceeded to drink for 4 more hours and then pass out on a boat. In fact my last memory was finishing a bottle of blue Boone's Farm and watching the sun rise while two of my pals took turns getting to 2nd base with the aforementioned girl. It was magnificent.
When I woke up it felt like we had just been to a really awesome frat party with a wedding theme, but when the dust cleared one of my friends was married. And so began the slow desolation of my single buddies that eventually began to drop like flies.
So sure that was 4 years ago...mere days after graduation, who could fault us for acting like we were still in college?
Flash forward to this past Saturday, I am in a field of 60,000 people wearing my 5th Halloween costume of the season with my took firmly down the throat of a Junior at Chico State.
Her: "Do you want more?"
Me: "Uh, I probably shouldn't"
Her: "You want to be peaking during Skrillex."
Me: "Ok, fuck it..."
Reach into her bag and throw down one more "moon rock."
See while most people that will be attending this wedding were probably planning out their outfit or spending some quality time with their plus one, I was rolling my balls off and trying to find a secluded place at this rave to go fuck this 21 year old corpse bride before "Bangarang" came on.
So ya...not much has changed.
But it leads me to question how this weekend will play out.
The Hollywood version obviously has the bad boy from the west coast showing up without a date looking for a one night stand until he connects with some girl from his past with whom he always shared a romantic tension but the timing was never right. (Depending on how big this wedding is, there are probably at least 3 candidates for this) They spend all night talking about the past and future and what a shame it was that they never got together. They share a passionate slow dance and right before they kiss...HER douchebag boyfriend shows up. It's time to head back to the hotel babe.
Our protagonist is heart broken but then when he is at the airport the next day HE SITS DOWN NEXT TO HER ON HIS PLANE BACK TO LA.
Him: WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?
Her: I don't know.
Him: What happened to (thinks of douchey name) Ted?
Her: Ya it wasn't gonna work out
He doesn't say anything, but grabs her hand and smiles as they both travel off into the great unknown. The credits roll and a Shins song plays.
But that won't happen because...
A. Respectable young women don't like to associate with guys that lost their wallet whilst skinny dipping at 4am last Thursday.
B. I am not Dermot Mulroney (or Dylan McDermott?)
In fact, a far more likely scenario is that I show up and every girl there has a date and I feel like a massive tool that is until I find the younger sister of the bride's long lost cousin bored at the bar. Game on.
See at first glimpse I am extremely interesting and appear to have my shit together. I write. I work on a television show, I live near the beach in Los Angeles, I'm 6 foot 3 and I haven't gotten fat yet. I'm basically god to all bored distant cousin's younger sisters out there. The key to my success is to keep it extremely vague. We don't have to bring up the fact that I'm 26, I write on a blog that averages a couple hundred viewers, I'm still an assistant or that I chose to not fix my air conditioning all summer in order to have more money for drugs.
Eh...details.
But then again, is that fulfilling? Is that how I want people to view me? Weddings are also a sort of check-in game. See how everyone is doing. If you're a girl it's about how much weight you've gained, if you've stopped working yet and how big your ring is. If you're a guy it's about what your job is, how hot is your date and if you still go out on Thursdays.
So clearly it's a much more stressful event for a girl. I'm certain a fair share of people will shit talk me for the way I continue to live my life and my questionable morals, but at the same time, most people respect that I sacked up and moved 2000 miles from home to attempt to do something I love. The girl that slept with her married coworker and now everyone knows about it??? Oh she's much more fucked than me.
Ok, enough pontificating...what's the play? Black out and act a fool, try to bed a stranger? Try to rekindle and old fling? Clearly the right move is to just go and have fun. The night is not about me. Sure I'm on vacation, and I will certainly go to Pretty Lights at the Aragon Ballroom Friday night in Chicago and then close down Butch McGuires...but Saturday, go spend some time with old friends. Tell stories of abroad of college, make fun of the groom, marvel at the bride who will be the most beautiful woman in the room and genuinely enjoy the moment. It's not my job to paint Springfield, IL red and party it into oblivion. I'll still host a pre game in my hotel room for those that want to come, that's fine...respectable even. But when you leave, you never want to be a story, at least a bad one...because that story will never die. It will be repeated at every wedding to come, the rest of your life (that's if you are even invited)
But let's say I'm casually sipping a vodka tonic and a girl I used to know sits down to me and asks, "Why didn't you ever ask me out?"
Or maybe a cute girl taking fireball shots by herself offers me one...
"Bride or Groom?"
"Groom."
"Where you from dude? Chicago like everyone else here?"
"Venice beach, I'm a writer."
2 more fireballs.
So I have this wedding on Saturday, in Illinois. Not only is it a wedding but it's a frat wedding. A guy from my frat is hanging out with a girl from a sorority we used to hang out with. I have MASSIVE expectations, in fact to set the stage, let me briefly incapsulate the last time something like this happened.
In August 2009, my first pledge brother got married. I kicked the day off by smashing a case of beer at my pool with a couple of buddies and then threw on a seersucker suit and a fresh pair of Air Force Ones. I then forced my mother at Jaegerpoint (where you threaten to drink a bottle of Jaeger and drive somewhere if the accosted doesn't do your bidding) to drive my drunk ass from Geist to Carmel so I could go to this wedding. At said wedding I proceeded to drink triple whiskey cokes and aggressively grind with every girl from that sorority I had ever hooked up with until the bar ran out of booze. Then we cabbed it to broad ripple, drank until the bars stopped serving me and then recruited my mother to drive me, 3 buddies and a very lucky girl back to the Indianapolis Yacht Club where we proceeded to drink for 4 more hours and then pass out on a boat. In fact my last memory was finishing a bottle of blue Boone's Farm and watching the sun rise while two of my pals took turns getting to 2nd base with the aforementioned girl. It was magnificent.
When I woke up it felt like we had just been to a really awesome frat party with a wedding theme, but when the dust cleared one of my friends was married. And so began the slow desolation of my single buddies that eventually began to drop like flies.
So sure that was 4 years ago...mere days after graduation, who could fault us for acting like we were still in college?
Flash forward to this past Saturday, I am in a field of 60,000 people wearing my 5th Halloween costume of the season with my took firmly down the throat of a Junior at Chico State.
Her: "Do you want more?"
Me: "Uh, I probably shouldn't"
Her: "You want to be peaking during Skrillex."
Me: "Ok, fuck it..."
Reach into her bag and throw down one more "moon rock."
See while most people that will be attending this wedding were probably planning out their outfit or spending some quality time with their plus one, I was rolling my balls off and trying to find a secluded place at this rave to go fuck this 21 year old corpse bride before "Bangarang" came on.
So ya...not much has changed.
But it leads me to question how this weekend will play out.
The Hollywood version obviously has the bad boy from the west coast showing up without a date looking for a one night stand until he connects with some girl from his past with whom he always shared a romantic tension but the timing was never right. (Depending on how big this wedding is, there are probably at least 3 candidates for this) They spend all night talking about the past and future and what a shame it was that they never got together. They share a passionate slow dance and right before they kiss...HER douchebag boyfriend shows up. It's time to head back to the hotel babe.
Our protagonist is heart broken but then when he is at the airport the next day HE SITS DOWN NEXT TO HER ON HIS PLANE BACK TO LA.
Him: WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?
Her: I don't know.
Him: What happened to (thinks of douchey name) Ted?
Her: Ya it wasn't gonna work out
He doesn't say anything, but grabs her hand and smiles as they both travel off into the great unknown. The credits roll and a Shins song plays.
But that won't happen because...
A. Respectable young women don't like to associate with guys that lost their wallet whilst skinny dipping at 4am last Thursday.
B. I am not Dermot Mulroney (or Dylan McDermott?)
In fact, a far more likely scenario is that I show up and every girl there has a date and I feel like a massive tool that is until I find the younger sister of the bride's long lost cousin bored at the bar. Game on.
See at first glimpse I am extremely interesting and appear to have my shit together. I write. I work on a television show, I live near the beach in Los Angeles, I'm 6 foot 3 and I haven't gotten fat yet. I'm basically god to all bored distant cousin's younger sisters out there. The key to my success is to keep it extremely vague. We don't have to bring up the fact that I'm 26, I write on a blog that averages a couple hundred viewers, I'm still an assistant or that I chose to not fix my air conditioning all summer in order to have more money for drugs.
Eh...details.
But then again, is that fulfilling? Is that how I want people to view me? Weddings are also a sort of check-in game. See how everyone is doing. If you're a girl it's about how much weight you've gained, if you've stopped working yet and how big your ring is. If you're a guy it's about what your job is, how hot is your date and if you still go out on Thursdays.
So clearly it's a much more stressful event for a girl. I'm certain a fair share of people will shit talk me for the way I continue to live my life and my questionable morals, but at the same time, most people respect that I sacked up and moved 2000 miles from home to attempt to do something I love. The girl that slept with her married coworker and now everyone knows about it??? Oh she's much more fucked than me.
Ok, enough pontificating...what's the play? Black out and act a fool, try to bed a stranger? Try to rekindle and old fling? Clearly the right move is to just go and have fun. The night is not about me. Sure I'm on vacation, and I will certainly go to Pretty Lights at the Aragon Ballroom Friday night in Chicago and then close down Butch McGuires...but Saturday, go spend some time with old friends. Tell stories of abroad of college, make fun of the groom, marvel at the bride who will be the most beautiful woman in the room and genuinely enjoy the moment. It's not my job to paint Springfield, IL red and party it into oblivion. I'll still host a pre game in my hotel room for those that want to come, that's fine...respectable even. But when you leave, you never want to be a story, at least a bad one...because that story will never die. It will be repeated at every wedding to come, the rest of your life (that's if you are even invited)
But let's say I'm casually sipping a vodka tonic and a girl I used to know sits down to me and asks, "Why didn't you ever ask me out?"
Or maybe a cute girl taking fireball shots by herself offers me one...
"Bride or Groom?"
"Groom."
"Where you from dude? Chicago like everyone else here?"
"Venice beach, I'm a writer."
2 more fireballs.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
What its like to get cancelled
It was a Friday afternoon at 1pm and I was standing in the line at Jamba Juice making the most important decision of my life. Which energy boost should I rock in my Strawberries Wild? Energy is simply B12, there is a lot of it in 5 hour energies. It is quasi effective and also slides under the banner of healthy because, hey, it's a vitamin, must be an organic surge. But there is also the caffeine shot...they both cost the same requisite 25 cents and more or less cause the same effect, but for whatever reason this is always a very hard choice for me.
Caffeine just seems like it has a better chance of working, but California law also stipulates that the menu let me know that this will cause me to be ingesting an extra 25 calories...sorry I know I'm stalling and the line of impatient customers behind me is growing, god dammit.
*iPhone 5 with the new iOS text sound*
I look at my phone in a desperate move to find an answer.
"You owe me three bucks."
I knew immediately. I had lost my job.
See, I wasn't just out getting a smoothie for sport on a Friday afternoon, I was depositing my boss's paycheck at a Wells Fargo. It just happens by fortunate coincidence that there is a Jamba Juice next door. My boss and I have a cursory understanding that if I do her a personal favor and deposit her check, I can take an extra 5 minutes and get myself some fruity goodness.
I left the line, the gay aspiring actor asked me if I was all right? "You can have an energy and a caffeine, I'll only charge you for one." But I needed to go outside and sit on a bench to process the gravity of what had just happened.
6 Months ago I made 3 bets with one of my best friends:
1. Ironside would see episode 6.
2. Ironside would receive a back 9.
3. Ironside would be renewed for season 2.
We had oft made jokes about these bets and even that day I had told him, "if we survive the day, I think I'll owe you 2."
We did not survive the day, and while you might assume it was a shitty way to console a friend, there is no way he could have assumed that I had not heard. By the time I got in line at Jamba, Deadline was already announcing our doom.
Texts started flooding in from my coworkers, "fuck" literally within 5 minutes of our producer telling us it was over, the entire town knew.
Immediately everyone goes into a subtle depression. Even if you kind of expected it, you never see it coming. While working on a show everyone sort of brainwashes themselves into thinking, "this is it, this is the next big thing." You think of how you will rise the ranks season to season and eventually achieve your goal which is a vastly different position than whatever you are doing at that moment.
I got back and the doomsday mentality had already set in. A sense of shock transforming into "What now?"
I got back to my work and was immediately handed an adult beverage. While I sipped my champagne, I read the comments on ratings blog TVbythenumbers. Comments heralded the move by NBC, thrashing our numbers and lamenting the fact that it hadn't happened sooner.
"Thank God NBC woke up and cancelled that stinker, good riddance, what were they thinking even greenlighting this remake that NO ONE was asking for."
I have no idea who the fuck these people are that comment on tv blogs, because it is certainly no one in the industry. Because people in the industry would know that 300 people that were working their ass off at their respective careers just lost their jobs. It's morbid really to celebrate the cancellation of a television show. Can you imagine if an American company went under, letting go of all of its employees, followed by a comment section that said "Toldja Toldja Toldja!!!"
But it's the nature of the beast. I don't contend that the show was the greatest thing ever, but people gave it their all. I imagine folks unfamiliar with TV thinking that NBC execs just throw some money at a half assed idea, pick up 8 of their friends off the street and tell them to make it happen.
That's not how it works. Network writers make a lot of money to do what they do. But they are not hacks. 50% of the people in LA want to be writers, there is a reason the people that get paid to do it are employed. But sometimes, for whatever reason, it just doesn't work.
I've been "relieved of my duties" 3 times in my life. The first time it was my last day at The Gap before I started my Freshman year at IU. I was carrying a 50 pound metal sign and my boss did not like the form in which I was carrying it. I threw it over my back and said "I'll carry it like Jesus carried the cross then, God forbid I knock over any urban plaids." She fired me for insulting her Jewish heritage. The second time I was fired for writing this blog (which was totally warranted) and the third was after I was reassigned once one of my projects had ended.
There is a quote in The Mighty Ducks that goes, "Losing isn't that bad once you get the hang of it." And really it rings true. No one should ever aspire to lose, but the initial sting numbs and you learn to carry on.
No one on my show deserved to lose their job, but it happened. It's the nature of the beast. No matter how bad our ratings were, the construction guys were still building amazing sets. The special effects guys were making it look like people really were getting shot and the costumers were outfitting the cast in realistic hip modern outfits.
But it doesn't matter, because this is what you sign up for.
Once we realized that Friday would be our last shooting day, shit just kinda went off the rails. Our props guy informed us that all the "prop booze" was in fact real and we poured cocktail after cocktail telling stories about the past and what we planned to do next.
I am one of the lucky ones, I'm an office guy, so I will have 3 more weeks of employment to pack up the office and figure out my next move. Others were slowly sipping drinks while updating their resume and desperately making calls to see if they could maybe have a job on Monday.
It's a fucked up game. There is a reason so many people wash out of entertainment, it really is a crap shoot and the nature of the beast is soul crushing...but
There will be another show. Someday. If not tomorrow, television as a medium of entertainment is unlikely to cease to exist. There will be a bit of panic, but if you truly believe that everything will be ok, people are more than likely to land on their feet.
And sure, it sucks to start over. When you spend 70 hours a week with people, with one goal, it does become a family dynamic. Some of the people from the show I will never see again. But they'll rebound, or maybe they won't. Maybe all of this nonsense will leave them disillusioned to the point that they pack up their bags and head home.
But for me, that is not an option.
Everyone comes to LA dough eyed with dreams of becoming a star. Obviously it doesn't work out for most of them, if it was that easy everyone would do it. But for the people that KNOW, eventually, things will work out...their time is coming. Life is a war of attrition. A lot of people will decide that either their goals are too difficult or just not worth it, but if you find yourself in the minority of people that know they will succeed, it's only a matter of time before that rings true.
At 7pm I went to a buddy's place and played drinking games until the rose. Largely similar to any other Friday night.
"What are you gonna do now?"
I'll figure it out.
There is always a way to figure it out. Maybe you go back to shopping at the dollar store. Perhaps you file for unemployment, but if you keep on trucking there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
This is a small town and you never know could happen. If networks could read the future first season shows wouldn't have an 80% cancellation rate. Nor would a guy that pitches a series about show choirs have been laughed out of his first meeting.
It's a roller coaster ride for sure, and definitely not for the faint of heart.
So Monday morning I'll go to work and start carrying thousands of files out of the office and load them onto trucks that will take them God knows where. I'll answer all of the texts and emails offering me condolences by saying "it's all good, shit happens." And I'll start sending my resume to every show in town with a 1% response rate.
But in the mean time I'll be hanging out at the beach, writing my own material and then I'll unexpectedly get a call one day from a guy who was an assistant in the writer's office.
"Hey man, I sold a pitch, it's going to pilot, do you want to come work with me?"
10 seasons later we're vacationing on our yachts off the coast of Cyprus, because ya...that's how it works.
Keep your head up.
Caffeine just seems like it has a better chance of working, but California law also stipulates that the menu let me know that this will cause me to be ingesting an extra 25 calories...sorry I know I'm stalling and the line of impatient customers behind me is growing, god dammit.
*iPhone 5 with the new iOS text sound*
I look at my phone in a desperate move to find an answer.
"You owe me three bucks."
I knew immediately. I had lost my job.
See, I wasn't just out getting a smoothie for sport on a Friday afternoon, I was depositing my boss's paycheck at a Wells Fargo. It just happens by fortunate coincidence that there is a Jamba Juice next door. My boss and I have a cursory understanding that if I do her a personal favor and deposit her check, I can take an extra 5 minutes and get myself some fruity goodness.
I left the line, the gay aspiring actor asked me if I was all right? "You can have an energy and a caffeine, I'll only charge you for one." But I needed to go outside and sit on a bench to process the gravity of what had just happened.
6 Months ago I made 3 bets with one of my best friends:
1. Ironside would see episode 6.
2. Ironside would receive a back 9.
3. Ironside would be renewed for season 2.
We had oft made jokes about these bets and even that day I had told him, "if we survive the day, I think I'll owe you 2."
We did not survive the day, and while you might assume it was a shitty way to console a friend, there is no way he could have assumed that I had not heard. By the time I got in line at Jamba, Deadline was already announcing our doom.
Texts started flooding in from my coworkers, "fuck" literally within 5 minutes of our producer telling us it was over, the entire town knew.
Immediately everyone goes into a subtle depression. Even if you kind of expected it, you never see it coming. While working on a show everyone sort of brainwashes themselves into thinking, "this is it, this is the next big thing." You think of how you will rise the ranks season to season and eventually achieve your goal which is a vastly different position than whatever you are doing at that moment.
I got back and the doomsday mentality had already set in. A sense of shock transforming into "What now?"
I got back to my work and was immediately handed an adult beverage. While I sipped my champagne, I read the comments on ratings blog TVbythenumbers. Comments heralded the move by NBC, thrashing our numbers and lamenting the fact that it hadn't happened sooner.
"Thank God NBC woke up and cancelled that stinker, good riddance, what were they thinking even greenlighting this remake that NO ONE was asking for."
I have no idea who the fuck these people are that comment on tv blogs, because it is certainly no one in the industry. Because people in the industry would know that 300 people that were working their ass off at their respective careers just lost their jobs. It's morbid really to celebrate the cancellation of a television show. Can you imagine if an American company went under, letting go of all of its employees, followed by a comment section that said "Toldja Toldja Toldja!!!"
But it's the nature of the beast. I don't contend that the show was the greatest thing ever, but people gave it their all. I imagine folks unfamiliar with TV thinking that NBC execs just throw some money at a half assed idea, pick up 8 of their friends off the street and tell them to make it happen.
That's not how it works. Network writers make a lot of money to do what they do. But they are not hacks. 50% of the people in LA want to be writers, there is a reason the people that get paid to do it are employed. But sometimes, for whatever reason, it just doesn't work.
I've been "relieved of my duties" 3 times in my life. The first time it was my last day at The Gap before I started my Freshman year at IU. I was carrying a 50 pound metal sign and my boss did not like the form in which I was carrying it. I threw it over my back and said "I'll carry it like Jesus carried the cross then, God forbid I knock over any urban plaids." She fired me for insulting her Jewish heritage. The second time I was fired for writing this blog (which was totally warranted) and the third was after I was reassigned once one of my projects had ended.
There is a quote in The Mighty Ducks that goes, "Losing isn't that bad once you get the hang of it." And really it rings true. No one should ever aspire to lose, but the initial sting numbs and you learn to carry on.
No one on my show deserved to lose their job, but it happened. It's the nature of the beast. No matter how bad our ratings were, the construction guys were still building amazing sets. The special effects guys were making it look like people really were getting shot and the costumers were outfitting the cast in realistic hip modern outfits.
But it doesn't matter, because this is what you sign up for.
Once we realized that Friday would be our last shooting day, shit just kinda went off the rails. Our props guy informed us that all the "prop booze" was in fact real and we poured cocktail after cocktail telling stories about the past and what we planned to do next.
I am one of the lucky ones, I'm an office guy, so I will have 3 more weeks of employment to pack up the office and figure out my next move. Others were slowly sipping drinks while updating their resume and desperately making calls to see if they could maybe have a job on Monday.
It's a fucked up game. There is a reason so many people wash out of entertainment, it really is a crap shoot and the nature of the beast is soul crushing...but
There will be another show. Someday. If not tomorrow, television as a medium of entertainment is unlikely to cease to exist. There will be a bit of panic, but if you truly believe that everything will be ok, people are more than likely to land on their feet.
And sure, it sucks to start over. When you spend 70 hours a week with people, with one goal, it does become a family dynamic. Some of the people from the show I will never see again. But they'll rebound, or maybe they won't. Maybe all of this nonsense will leave them disillusioned to the point that they pack up their bags and head home.
But for me, that is not an option.
Everyone comes to LA dough eyed with dreams of becoming a star. Obviously it doesn't work out for most of them, if it was that easy everyone would do it. But for the people that KNOW, eventually, things will work out...their time is coming. Life is a war of attrition. A lot of people will decide that either their goals are too difficult or just not worth it, but if you find yourself in the minority of people that know they will succeed, it's only a matter of time before that rings true.
At 7pm I went to a buddy's place and played drinking games until the rose. Largely similar to any other Friday night.
"What are you gonna do now?"
I'll figure it out.
There is always a way to figure it out. Maybe you go back to shopping at the dollar store. Perhaps you file for unemployment, but if you keep on trucking there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
This is a small town and you never know could happen. If networks could read the future first season shows wouldn't have an 80% cancellation rate. Nor would a guy that pitches a series about show choirs have been laughed out of his first meeting.
It's a roller coaster ride for sure, and definitely not for the faint of heart.
So Monday morning I'll go to work and start carrying thousands of files out of the office and load them onto trucks that will take them God knows where. I'll answer all of the texts and emails offering me condolences by saying "it's all good, shit happens." And I'll start sending my resume to every show in town with a 1% response rate.
But in the mean time I'll be hanging out at the beach, writing my own material and then I'll unexpectedly get a call one day from a guy who was an assistant in the writer's office.
"Hey man, I sold a pitch, it's going to pilot, do you want to come work with me?"
10 seasons later we're vacationing on our yachts off the coast of Cyprus, because ya...that's how it works.
Keep your head up.
Friday, October 11, 2013
The Legend of Zelda: A Link to dat ass
Ever since I started writing I always had this one story I desperately wanted to adapt. I would always fantasize about the opening scene...
There is some devastatingly handsome guy at a bar, leaning up on the rail...cocky smile like he owns the place. He's talking to some babe over beers. Let's say it's Zac Efron, perhaps in his post heroin rehab comeback. So right as he is about to take this chick home (this chick has some fucked up ears but a banging body) this little fairy comes and tells him he needs to come with her NOW.
And the viewer is like...wait a second, this arrogant bro was about to go slam this dime, but now we're living in a world with fucking fairies? Ok...interesting. We pull out a little and realize everything in the bar did look a little off. Very wooden, and our protagonist is all decked out in green...Wait, no fucking way...is this some sort of retelling of Peter Pan?
No. It's not.
So our hero steps out of a tree. Yes the bar was in a tree. He pulls out a green hat out of his bag and pulls it slowly over his sandy blond hair, then for the first time we see him unsheath his long silver sword. (Not a metaphor for his penis) and stare at the fairy awaiting instruction.
Navi (that's the fairy's name) explains to our guy that some evil monster has taken a beautiful princess hostage...blah blah blah some faint song from our childhood starts softly playing, crescendoing to...
SMASH CUT TO TITLES.
THE LEGEND OF ZELDA.
Ahhh man, I get hard just thinking about it. Live action Zelda movie starring Bro Link fucking up all of Hyrule while also crushing all of the pussy from the Shadow Temple to Lon Lon ranch. It's true, I spent months of my youth playing that video game in my basement. Politely declining backyard baseball games due to an undisclosed illness, straight up in the basement in the dark eating a Domino's pizza with my Nintendo Power guide telling me exactly how to 100% Ocarina of Time. I firmly believe that I could have been a professional athlete had I spent half the time I spent playing Zelda learning how to catch a pop fly.
But I didn't. So now I'm a 26 year old production assistant with an advanced knowledge of a video game that came out in 1998. But it wasn't all for not because I could still bust out the Bolero of Fire if someone handed me an Ocarina. And look, I probably won't get to write the big screen adaptation of the movie ever (it likely won't happen...thanks a lot Prince of Persia/Mortal Kombat Annihilation) but consider the following my audition. The next 5 stories I will tell you are not even loosely correlated to the game or eachother, but take notice Hollywood producers. This is my voice.
Since we need something to structure this rant around let's roll with the 5 best songs that could be played on the Ocarina.
5. Minuet of Forest
When I was in college there was this epic party thrown by this frat that will remain nameless. The party was called *redacted* (sorry if that tipped my hand) basically it was this 500 person rager with a live band and every hot piece of ass in the greater Monroe county area. It started off innocent enough. Beer baths, jungle juice, finger banging a freshman on the dance floor...standard fare. But as things started thinning out people would disappear into rooms with closed doors and then reappear 20 minutes later with ambition of watching the sun rise. As confident as I am that everyone at that party was blown out of their skull on copious amounts of cocaine, so to is my confidence that every female that works out at the Universal City LA Fitness has fake tits.
It's amazing, these girls show up in yoga pants and sports bras with impossibly perky d-cups. I'm always trying to do a few bench sets and get the fuck out of there but I just can't fucking leave. I've been trying to figure out some sort of causation for this anomaly but I have failed thus far. All ages, all nationalities. Hard bodies. Perfect tits.
The best part is all the meat heads approach them and ask them on dates, offer them a spot...I'm not sure whether to sport wood or laugh. My trips to the gym are all fun and games until I get to the steam room/sauna/hot tub and I am just straight up assaulted by gays. Nothing is more offensive than trying to relax after a work out only to find a couple massaging each other in the hot tub. It's not even a gay/straight thing. Couples workouts are fucking miserable, regardless of your sexual preference. I just think that 60 year old gay couples think that because they are so old, they don't have to play by the rules of decency. Whatever, I just get in my car, leave, drive by Vivid entertainment and go into work at Universal. Wait a second, now that I think about it, Vivid is a porn company. I have definitely jacked it with that logo superimposed in the lower right hand corner of my computer screen.
Mystery solved. Every girl at my LA Fitness has been turned out by the Bang Bros.
4. Epona's Song
Ok, one of the most contested battles on the internet for OC enthusiasts is the notorious love triangle between Seth, Summer and Anna. I never got too deeply involved because I was a Ryan/Marisa guy all the way. As you all know, Seth chose Summer (because Anna was from Pittsburgh and people from there always lose) and Anna went on to star in one episode of Entourage and then quit acting. The end.
However, I think a far more compelling love SQUARE were Link's choices of babes in Ocarina of time. So you have Saria, Link's childhood friend who turned out to be a Sage, which I believe is like a goddess? Then you have the horse girl Malon, who TOTS wanted to fuck Link the entire time. Finally of course you have Princess Zelda. Let's do a quick pro/con.
Saria:
Pros: Goddess, strangely erotic green hair
Cons: Elf ears, unclear rules on mortal/immortals banging out
Malon:
Pros: DTF, gives you free milk
Con: Ginger, rides horses*
(I heard a rumor when I was growing up that girls that ride horses MUST have full bush, because it acts as some sort of vaginal padding when riding bareback. I have no evidence that such a practice is commonly accepted, but I blindly accept this as fact)
Zelda:
Pros: Super fucking hot, rich, princess
Con: Ok let's be honest, we're going to save that bitch and fill that gash all the way to the top. Rule 1 in life, always choose royalty son.
3. Requiem of Spirit
So there is this movie called LA Story. It stars Steve Martin. This story is not like the story in LA Story, but it's a very LA story...or moreso it is a story that is #SoLA.
I was at this random party in the hills a few weeks back after a movie premiere, it was pretty lame, but there was this chick that was super into me. She ends up inviting me back to her house where she promises to make me Cheese Quesadillas. We get back to her house and instead of making cheese quesadillas she proceeds to take me to her bedroom and felatiate me. Which is cool...BUT. Lately I've been putting a lot of time and effort into the cheese vs. blowjob debate, so instead of my usual "just last at least 30 seconds so this isn't embarrassing" thought process I couldn't help but wonder what type of cheese she might have used in those quesadillas. I assume it would have been a sharp or mild cheddar, but WHO KNOWS she might have gone rogue and used an aged garganzola. I was so deep in my internal debate that I failed to notice 10 minutes had gone by. No one likes to suck on anything for 10 minutes, unless it's a sour apple blowpop. I switched my train of thought to, OMG last at least 30 seconds, and 4 seconds later it was over.
I made up some excuse and Ubered it to the nearest In N Out, when I approached the drive thru I ordered a triple double. The cashier politely assumed I meant 3 patties and 2 cheese slices (like that 3rd cheese slice is really going to send my cholesterol over the edge when I'm ordering a triple cheeseburger at 2 in the morning) I corrected him. Naw mahfucka...cheese patty, cheese patty...CHEESE.
The next Monday at work I went to make myself a small bowl of cottage cheese and instantly became aroused. I have inexplicably developed a Pavlonian response to cheese that a blowjob is imminent. The two are forever linked in my subconscious, so I either need to contract Leo to incept me, or the next time old girl domes me up I better be eating a cheese quesadilla, I feel like that could break the curse.
2. Prelude of Light
I am going to a wedding in a month in Springfield, Illinois. I thought, hey what the fuck is in Springfield? The Lincoln home? You bet. I'll get myself a little culture in central Illinois. Today when I googled the site I was greeted by a nice fuck you that read "due to the government shutdown, all national parks have been shut down." Ya that's right, those fucktards in Congress get paid to sit on their couch but the old lady selling post cards in the gift shop at Lincoln's house is out of a job. Fuck you America, but you know what...I don't blame you. I blame Sex and the City.
We once lived in a society where people got jobs and paid their bills. But now every upper middle class female that thinks office life is boring moves to New York to "pursue her dream as a writer." Because OMG Carrie Bradshaw's apartment was like SOOO nice...and I'll work 2 hours a day and just go out to drinks with my besties and gossip about all the pole we smoked the previous week. Look at Lena Dunham, she's TOTS living her dream.
First of all, Carrie Bradshaw looks like a horse, and via the transitive property we can assume that she does not shave her bush...and no one should aspire to look like a 50 year old French nudist. 2nd of all, print is dead and no one reads your blog, so stop being an apathetic little cunt and either make an honest living on the pole or hit up your parents for more cash. Because if I can't roll on ecstacy checking out our 16th President's boyhood home due to a government shutdown, I may be forced to watch Girls reruns on my Doubletree's tv while I wait for the wedding to start...but hey, Free HBO!
1. Zelda's Lullaby
I haven't decided who I would cast as Zelda yet. Perhaps we'll do Shailene Woodley. Right after Link hookshot's Ganon in the eye and then piledrives his sword into his eye (freeing Hyrule and rescuing the princess) there will be this awkward moment where Zelda doesn't know how to react to the levity of it all. I mean Link DID bang Malon AND Saria on his epic journey, but hey he's a fucking stud and he saved the day. I imagine it is exactly like the closing scene from The Spectacular Now, except instead of a cut to black and an ambiguous ending they share a sensual kiss over Zelda's lullaby. She then leads Link to her Royal Chamber and they consummate what will inevitably go down as the greatest power couple in Video Game history. (Fuck Mario, he's a blue collar plumber with a retarded younger brother and by far the worst playable character in Super Smash Bros)
So there you have it Hollywood. My audition tape. You want an outline? Nope. Story? Nope? Just have Nintendo or the Japanese fuck who owns the rights just go ahead and send over the paper work and a few bottles of vodka. I'll give you the single greatest cinematic masterpiece since Grown Ups 2. And yes I understand that it is far from likely that I will receive the Academy Award for best adapted screenplay, I'm sure I will have ample time to make a rousing speech when I accept the best original song oscar for Nocturne of Shadow Dubstep Remix.
Jesus...did I mention I've already been fired once for writing this blog?
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Wake up Call
I set 5 alarms every day before I go to bed. I used to always use Siri to set these alarms but it seems that Siri has not endured a year of blackouts as well as I have. Just as I wake up slightly more damaged, emotionally and physically every Monday morning, my iPhone just looks and acts a little shittier. I have taken this on as a personification of my lifestyle, and whereas my physical wear and tear is largely internalized, it seems that my iPhone is like my Dorian Grey mirror. Another crack in the glass every time I do blow off a prostitute's tits.
But anyway, these alarms I set, are with the most ambitious of plans. Because it's easy to plan to attack the future when you're playing video games at 4am on a school night. "Oh sure I was a piece of shit tonight, but TOMORROW, just wait, I'm going to be a star.
FIRST ALARM ~ 3 hours before I need to be at work.
The first alarm or the "Seize the day alarm" if you will usually falls between 5 and 7 in the morning. What I anticipate doing if I wake up for this alarm is typically starting things off with a morning jog. Maybe I stroll down to Abbot Kinney and order a proper breakfast while reading a morning paper. I'll take my iPad, read a script, perhaps do a little work on my own spec. I can go on a bike ride around the neighborhood and marvel at the beauty of Los Angeles. By the time I leave for work and arrive early I have time to go next door for a pumpkin spice latte. I am ready to conquer the shit out of this day.
But the reality is...ya fucking right. I've done this maybe once. In sounds great in theory but really, another hour of sleep sounds much better.
SECOND ALARM ~ 2 hours before work
The second alarm is, ok I'm going to get up and do some shit around the house. Watch last night's episode of the Daily Show, do some laundry, clean the apartment. Basically this is the alarm of compromise. Why do my dirty dishes when I'm stoned laying down on the couch watching reruns of the League when I can get up and clean the apartment in the morning when I'm well rested?
Besides, I was having a dream and in it my life was a lot more exciting than the reality I live in. SNOOZE.
THIRD ALARM ~ 75 minutes before work
Every day at around noon when I'm ingesting my 7th slice of pizza, I tell myself "It's ok, I'm not going to get fat, I'll go to the gym after work." But then when I get home I am tired as shit or ANYTHING better comes along and I'm like fuck that, I'm going to get drunk. I'll go work out in the morning. To my credit, about 10% of the time I actually trudge to the gym and do 15 minutes of lifting (biceps, triceps, chest) and leave. But you better believe I tell everyone that will listen. OH I WENT TO THE GYM TODAY. Because that's why I do it. So I can tell people I did it, and so I feel better about myself. My current lifestyle is unsustainable. It works only because I'm young. I'm probably 4 years away from having a body mass index in the high 40's...especially because most mornings I say "fuck the gym, I'll go tomorrow."
FOURTH ALARM ~ 50 minutes before work
This is the alarm that allows me time to take a 6 minute shower (10 if I choose to beat off) get dressed, and maybe check my email before sprinting out the door. I have a reasonable chance of making it in on time if there is no traffic and some fucktard didn't cause a 14 person pile up whilst texting and driving. (Note: there is always traffic and a 14 car pile-up) The shower is always a depressing shower, I sit there and think about all the cool shit I DIDN'T do that morning so I could get like 1 more hour of sleep. I don't even finish half of my attempted masturbatory sessions because I'm so sad. And the thing is I'm still tired as shit. When you're laying in bed, you think that last hour matters, but waking up just straight up sucks. No matter when. Even dragging myself out of bed at 2pm on Sunday is sometimes difficult. I'm just not a morning person.
FIFTH ALARM ~ 30 minutes before work
This is definitely the OH SHIT alarm. The last line of defense. This involves me jumping out of bed, no shower, wear what I wore yesterday, spray some cologne and go. I have precisely 90 seconds to get in my car and be driving before I enter the totally fucked zone. It takes me about 40 minutes to get to work, but people usually don't say anything until I'm more than 10 minutes late.
The thing about the 5th alarm is often times I'm in traffic, so I have this system where I take screenshots of my phone to show horrible accidents on google maps to prove that there is NO WAY it's my fault that I'm late.
And I know what you're thinking, what if you're just running really late and there is no bad traffic with which to screenshot and send to supervisor? I thought of that! So I have recently started just screenshotting bad traffic at all times and stashing them for emergencies. A car exploded 2 weeks ago on the 101, I was at home but I heard about it on the news, so I found that section of freeway and took a picture, saving it for later. There was a wildfire earlier this year that completely closed the freeway, I've got that ace in the hole waiting too. Because if you're going to lie, you have to just fully commit to that story and roll with it.
So ya, what's the takeaway from this? That I am a piece of shit? Probably. But upon further review it is just an indictment on my motivation.
All these articles have been floating around the internet lately about why gen Y is as a whole such a whiny little bitch. The thesis statement is that we are unhappy because we were spoon fed all this bullshit growing up about how we were so special and how great our life was going to be...and it hasn't worked out necessarily the way we had planned, leaving us all a tad unfulfilled.
I was told that I would have wealth and happiness beyond my wildest dreams, yet I'm still flying Spirit Airlines back to Chicago for a wedding.
However, along the way, I experienced a paradigm shift in my point of view. Whereas when I was 22 I expected everything was going to be great because I was David Moeller and everyone loves me, the cocky confidence and peachy optimism eroded as I grew older. Now I kind of just expect things to suck. I am 26 and jaded, reality won...my flame...extinguished.
But recently something strange happened. I realized just how shitty everyone else's life was as well.
When you live in LA, you get used to disappointment, it happens every day. Older people dehumanize you as you climb the corporate ladder but it stings worse because you know what it's like on top. That may sound childish but when you walk on water throughout your college career and then a bunch of people in middle management constantly knock you down it can be demoralizing.
But...just like college, high school, any social organization with some social/professional heirarchy, you realize that the people who give you shit are the ones who are unfulfilled themselves. In the world of entertainment I am essentially a pawn, a plebian, a peasant, a pledge. Something to be sacrificed for the good of those in power. But while the king is busy getting his dick sucked and couldn't give two shits about me, it's the unhappy sophomore whose girlfriend cheated on him or the unmarried 50 year old production supervisor that never quite made it as a writer, these are the people that spew their bitterness on the people below them in an attempt to drag them down to a certain level of spite.
Once you realize this, you wield all the power. The same people that used to drag me down have unintentionally given me this strange sense of hope. While I am on the ground floor and subservent to middle management...I still have a chance. They lost, they came up short of their dream. I'm still in the first quarter.
I was starting to think that maybe I really wasn't talented, I was just some dough eyed kid from the midwest addicted to partying and writing scripts about a lost generation doing a bunch of drugs and trying to figure it all out. But at least we won't wake up in 20 years and be bitter and alone, getting our rocks off dragging our subordinates down. The coolest people I know in LA are the people on the top, they're not envious of talent or threatened by charisma. And that's probably what makes them successful, they keep their eye on the prize.
A really smart guy I know told me three things that I think of every day. When you're ready to stop partying, call it quits. Don't jump off of high shit. Be nice to people. Maybe that's all there is to it. Maybe my crusade of anger that I AM GOING TO SUCCEED in spite of you, is not the best way to go about things. Instead of fantasizing about telling all the people who wronged me on the way up to suck it; perhaps I should fantasize about inviting all the people that helped me along to an amazing party where I say thank you.
And look, I know I suck still. My writing is not great. My work ethic is meh. But you know what? Everyone else's writing fucking sucks too. There are only a few Charlie Kaufmans out there, and a thousand other writers thats are just good enough to get shit made. And maybe that's all I need to be. Maybe I would get to where I'm trying to be quicker if I was more of that first alarm guy. Or maybe the fact that I go out drinking on Tuesday nights with my buddies and quote shitty 90s movies at a pub (BODHI THIS IS YOUR FUCKING WAKE UP CALL MAN, I AM AN F B I AGENT) leading me to be an hour late and 2 days hungover, will allow me to not take myself too seriously and make a career out of this some day. But until then best believe I'm hitting snooze.
But anyway, these alarms I set, are with the most ambitious of plans. Because it's easy to plan to attack the future when you're playing video games at 4am on a school night. "Oh sure I was a piece of shit tonight, but TOMORROW, just wait, I'm going to be a star.
FIRST ALARM ~ 3 hours before I need to be at work.
The first alarm or the "Seize the day alarm" if you will usually falls between 5 and 7 in the morning. What I anticipate doing if I wake up for this alarm is typically starting things off with a morning jog. Maybe I stroll down to Abbot Kinney and order a proper breakfast while reading a morning paper. I'll take my iPad, read a script, perhaps do a little work on my own spec. I can go on a bike ride around the neighborhood and marvel at the beauty of Los Angeles. By the time I leave for work and arrive early I have time to go next door for a pumpkin spice latte. I am ready to conquer the shit out of this day.
But the reality is...ya fucking right. I've done this maybe once. In sounds great in theory but really, another hour of sleep sounds much better.
SECOND ALARM ~ 2 hours before work
The second alarm is, ok I'm going to get up and do some shit around the house. Watch last night's episode of the Daily Show, do some laundry, clean the apartment. Basically this is the alarm of compromise. Why do my dirty dishes when I'm stoned laying down on the couch watching reruns of the League when I can get up and clean the apartment in the morning when I'm well rested?
Besides, I was having a dream and in it my life was a lot more exciting than the reality I live in. SNOOZE.
THIRD ALARM ~ 75 minutes before work
Every day at around noon when I'm ingesting my 7th slice of pizza, I tell myself "It's ok, I'm not going to get fat, I'll go to the gym after work." But then when I get home I am tired as shit or ANYTHING better comes along and I'm like fuck that, I'm going to get drunk. I'll go work out in the morning. To my credit, about 10% of the time I actually trudge to the gym and do 15 minutes of lifting (biceps, triceps, chest) and leave. But you better believe I tell everyone that will listen. OH I WENT TO THE GYM TODAY. Because that's why I do it. So I can tell people I did it, and so I feel better about myself. My current lifestyle is unsustainable. It works only because I'm young. I'm probably 4 years away from having a body mass index in the high 40's...especially because most mornings I say "fuck the gym, I'll go tomorrow."
FOURTH ALARM ~ 50 minutes before work
This is the alarm that allows me time to take a 6 minute shower (10 if I choose to beat off) get dressed, and maybe check my email before sprinting out the door. I have a reasonable chance of making it in on time if there is no traffic and some fucktard didn't cause a 14 person pile up whilst texting and driving. (Note: there is always traffic and a 14 car pile-up) The shower is always a depressing shower, I sit there and think about all the cool shit I DIDN'T do that morning so I could get like 1 more hour of sleep. I don't even finish half of my attempted masturbatory sessions because I'm so sad. And the thing is I'm still tired as shit. When you're laying in bed, you think that last hour matters, but waking up just straight up sucks. No matter when. Even dragging myself out of bed at 2pm on Sunday is sometimes difficult. I'm just not a morning person.
FIFTH ALARM ~ 30 minutes before work
This is definitely the OH SHIT alarm. The last line of defense. This involves me jumping out of bed, no shower, wear what I wore yesterday, spray some cologne and go. I have precisely 90 seconds to get in my car and be driving before I enter the totally fucked zone. It takes me about 40 minutes to get to work, but people usually don't say anything until I'm more than 10 minutes late.
The thing about the 5th alarm is often times I'm in traffic, so I have this system where I take screenshots of my phone to show horrible accidents on google maps to prove that there is NO WAY it's my fault that I'm late.
And I know what you're thinking, what if you're just running really late and there is no bad traffic with which to screenshot and send to supervisor? I thought of that! So I have recently started just screenshotting bad traffic at all times and stashing them for emergencies. A car exploded 2 weeks ago on the 101, I was at home but I heard about it on the news, so I found that section of freeway and took a picture, saving it for later. There was a wildfire earlier this year that completely closed the freeway, I've got that ace in the hole waiting too. Because if you're going to lie, you have to just fully commit to that story and roll with it.
So ya, what's the takeaway from this? That I am a piece of shit? Probably. But upon further review it is just an indictment on my motivation.
All these articles have been floating around the internet lately about why gen Y is as a whole such a whiny little bitch. The thesis statement is that we are unhappy because we were spoon fed all this bullshit growing up about how we were so special and how great our life was going to be...and it hasn't worked out necessarily the way we had planned, leaving us all a tad unfulfilled.
I was told that I would have wealth and happiness beyond my wildest dreams, yet I'm still flying Spirit Airlines back to Chicago for a wedding.
However, along the way, I experienced a paradigm shift in my point of view. Whereas when I was 22 I expected everything was going to be great because I was David Moeller and everyone loves me, the cocky confidence and peachy optimism eroded as I grew older. Now I kind of just expect things to suck. I am 26 and jaded, reality won...my flame...extinguished.
But recently something strange happened. I realized just how shitty everyone else's life was as well.
When you live in LA, you get used to disappointment, it happens every day. Older people dehumanize you as you climb the corporate ladder but it stings worse because you know what it's like on top. That may sound childish but when you walk on water throughout your college career and then a bunch of people in middle management constantly knock you down it can be demoralizing.
But...just like college, high school, any social organization with some social/professional heirarchy, you realize that the people who give you shit are the ones who are unfulfilled themselves. In the world of entertainment I am essentially a pawn, a plebian, a peasant, a pledge. Something to be sacrificed for the good of those in power. But while the king is busy getting his dick sucked and couldn't give two shits about me, it's the unhappy sophomore whose girlfriend cheated on him or the unmarried 50 year old production supervisor that never quite made it as a writer, these are the people that spew their bitterness on the people below them in an attempt to drag them down to a certain level of spite.
Once you realize this, you wield all the power. The same people that used to drag me down have unintentionally given me this strange sense of hope. While I am on the ground floor and subservent to middle management...I still have a chance. They lost, they came up short of their dream. I'm still in the first quarter.
I was starting to think that maybe I really wasn't talented, I was just some dough eyed kid from the midwest addicted to partying and writing scripts about a lost generation doing a bunch of drugs and trying to figure it all out. But at least we won't wake up in 20 years and be bitter and alone, getting our rocks off dragging our subordinates down. The coolest people I know in LA are the people on the top, they're not envious of talent or threatened by charisma. And that's probably what makes them successful, they keep their eye on the prize.
A really smart guy I know told me three things that I think of every day. When you're ready to stop partying, call it quits. Don't jump off of high shit. Be nice to people. Maybe that's all there is to it. Maybe my crusade of anger that I AM GOING TO SUCCEED in spite of you, is not the best way to go about things. Instead of fantasizing about telling all the people who wronged me on the way up to suck it; perhaps I should fantasize about inviting all the people that helped me along to an amazing party where I say thank you.
And look, I know I suck still. My writing is not great. My work ethic is meh. But you know what? Everyone else's writing fucking sucks too. There are only a few Charlie Kaufmans out there, and a thousand other writers thats are just good enough to get shit made. And maybe that's all I need to be. Maybe I would get to where I'm trying to be quicker if I was more of that first alarm guy. Or maybe the fact that I go out drinking on Tuesday nights with my buddies and quote shitty 90s movies at a pub (BODHI THIS IS YOUR FUCKING WAKE UP CALL MAN, I AM AN F B I AGENT) leading me to be an hour late and 2 days hungover, will allow me to not take myself too seriously and make a career out of this some day. But until then best believe I'm hitting snooze.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
5 misconceptions about LA
I just discovered Candy Crush. I realize that I am about a year late on this, but rest assured my work productivity has plummeted. I am now taking an average of 3 shits per day with an average length of 20 minutes. The design.ers of this game are raging cunts. Every level past 30 is nearly impossible without power-ups. And of course these power ups can only be attained by the old in-app purchase.
I have never made an in-app purchase, I feel like the people that pour money into that business model are just the scum of the Earth. I think about some overweight lower middle class girl named Takwanda buying a bunch of extra lives on her hand me down 3Gs and then getting yelled at by her dad...er her mom (dad isn't around) for spending 20 bucks in the iTunes store. Anyway, for days, I was using up all my free lives on this insanely difficult level. After I would use up all my free lives, I would stare at the countdown for 10 minutes until I was granted another free life...only to fail again. Eventually I cracked. I purchased an extra life for .99 cents because I was so so so close to beating this level. As you can imagine, I failed even with my paid life and I felt the most reprehensible shame of my life (and I have done some fairly fucked up shit) this feeling was exacerbated when I fell over leaving the stall due to the fact that my legs had fallen asleep due to the extended length I had spent in the restroom. I deserved it.
Anyway, while I was waiting for my candy crush lives to regenerate I had this idea, so on with the list of 5 misconceptions about Los Angeles.
5. Actresses/models are a big deal
Last week at work some actress left her iPad on stage and called the production office looking for help finding it. I answered, I went to stage, I attempted to find said iPad and failed. Somehow though I established a dialogue with this girl and she assured me her iPad was still on the premises, forwarding me screenshots of her find my iPhone and what not. I eventually invited her onto the lot so we could look together. She found it within 5 minutes and was so overjoyed that she offered to take ME out for drinks.
I should mention at this point that this chick was fucking hot. She's a struggling actress who is going to get to pay rent this month because she was paid the SAG minimum $859 (plus 10% agency fee) for her portrayal as Girl #2.
But of course I never called her because I am a huge fucking coward and I felt intimidated by her. It turns out she is also a model and her tits can be seen all over the internet, and she's playing a hooker in Sons of Anarchy all week. But also she's probably a little sad that the Ironside PA that helped her find her iPad never called. Because that's the thing about actresses and models. They really aren't shit. They are just struggling 20somethings like the rest of us, they just have more upside. This chick is a bartender on the side and probably lives in a shitty studio apartment in Hollywood with 3 other girls. She probably won't make it, but she might blow up and become the next Jennifer Lawrence. And had I called her there is like a 2% chance that I would have eventually banged her, and then when she became the next Jennifer Lawrence, the REST of my life I would wear that on my sleeve.
I guarantee you Jennifer Lawrence banged a PA when she was on the Bill Engvall show. And you know what? No one can ever take that away from that dude. He probably rolls around LA telling anyone who will listen that he fucked Katniss when she was 19, and even if the rest of his life turns out shitty he can close his eyes and jerk off to that memory every night before he goes to bed.
Main takeaway, don't be afraid to date a struggling actress, the story could pay dividends later.
4. People in LA are beautiful.
This is simply a fallacy. People in Los Angeles are no more attractive than anywhere else in the world. Hollywood is dominated by short, balding, old men. Do you know why the stereotype of a Hollywood agent is an angry man running around screaming? Pent up aggression from years of getting teased by Jason Segal and a then hetero Jason Collins at Harvard Westlake. Money can't buy you a career and popularity at 15 no matter where you live...but in the end Jason Collins is now a free agent and the bald angry man is a partner at UTA with a 19 year old Brazilian girlfriend.
The people you see on TV are attractive, the beach attracts a photogenic crowd but that's any beach in the world. You know who doesn't go to the beach? Fat people. Fat people are embarrassed about their weight, they do not want to voluntarily go to a location where people are encouraged to wear as little clothing as possible. The beach is for tourists, west siders and poor families from East LA that bus there because it is a free event for the whole family. Ever seen Dockweiler on a Saturday? It looks like a fucking Rodney King rally.
The thing is, I wish everyone in LA was ridiculously good looking, but I am legit the most eligible bachelor at my workplace. I feel bad for al the girls, I am like a 6 at best, and I am their best option. I wasn't even top 50% in my frat...in Bloomington, IN. I would argue that 47401 is one of the nations most beautiful zip codes.
3. Living in LA is sooooo expensive.
It's really not that bad. I live in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in LA, 4 blocks from the beach, have my own bedroom and pay $850 a month in rent. Pretty much any large city in the country is standard on $6 a beer at a bar, 4 dollars a gallon in gas, $50 a gram for blow...except the pot is way cheaper here, because it's legal.
That's how normal people define cost of living right? Gas, rent and vices? I suppose if you factor in your guaranteed DUI your first 3 years living here, you can add a quick 10 grand in legal fees onto that. But seriously, compared to New York, LA is pennies. Sure if you live in West Hollywood and have hardwood floors and granite countertops you pay more in rent than my parents do on their mortgage, but West Hollywood is fucking gay (both literally and figuratively) move to Santa Monica, get some cool roommates and sustain a lifestyle where 1000 in rent is a reasonable expectation.
I meet people my age who live in the valley because it is "affordable." I just want to fucking shake them. YOU ARE WASTING YOUR LIFE. "Ya, but I'm saving so much money."
For what? What the fuck do you have to save money for when you are 25? Looking into buying a house? Good fucking luck. A million dollars will get you a 2 bedroom cottage in Burbank and a lifetime full of jeers because you live in fucking Burbank. Just move to Venice and rent until you sell a few scripts. Then you can buy a condo on the beach...straight cash homey.
2. Hollywood is so cool, it's where all the famous people hang out.
I give the East side of LA a ton of shit. I think the people there look funny, they smell bad, they have facial hair. It's entirely not for me. Why the fuck would you move from the midwest and make it all the way to a coastal mecca and decide to still live an hour away from the beach...where you can see blondies in bikinis rollerblade all day? Oh because of Silverlake's emerging underground ska scene? Cool story bro.
That said, even my east side counterparts would agree that Hollywood is a terrible place where dreams go to die. Hollywood was probably very cool in the late 1930's. The sign was there, all the studios were there. Movie stars, the hustle and bustle of the entertainment industry...such a great post depression era town.
But now it's home to meth heads and Japanese tourists. It's literally a fucking hell hole. There is one square block with a couple movie theatres and a mall that is probably safe for a single white woman to walk between the hours of noon and 4pm, aside from that, it is the physical embodiment of AIDS.
Literally I would treat it like a goddamn demilitarized zone, if it didn't have a Chick Fil-a and a B dubbs.
Attractive actor types hang out in West Hollywood, every cool production company is in Santa Monica. The studios and networks are in the valley. And I don't even need to go to Hollywood anymore for Chick Fil-a, they opened one in Westwood...and I would literally rather drive to fucking South Central to get my bdubbs on. At least black people don't mess with white people, they keep their violence inside the race. Crack heads though, they're wild cards.
While it may have been cool once upon a time, I would advise against ever entering the box that is Franklin, La Brea, Melrose and Vermont.
1. Everyone in Los Angeles has a drug problem.
When I got to LA, I couldn't wait to go to a fancy night club and watch Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan throw down an 8ball on their table and just start going to town, NOT GIVING A FUCK. I also waited patiently for one of those crazy nights that I ended up in Leonardo DiCaprio's villa in the Hollywood Hills, naked in an olympic sized hot tub with 40 people while Tobey Maguire was dishing out hits up whip its.
It didn't happen. The problem is. As stated earlier, most famous folk are generally fairly normal. They might be married with kids or perhaps hang out at places where they don't get mobbed by paparazzi and adoring starfucking fans. I have ended up at "crazy houses in the hills" but it's usually at like some trust fund kid's house and it's pretty lame. A bunch of losers sitting around talking about all their "projects in development."
The problem is, as much money as their is in LA, it's not controlled exclusively by the Biebers of the world. It's controlled by real estate moguls and 60 year old writer/producers that you've never heard of. And while celebrities can be sighted at a local watering hole once in a while, in an age of camera phones, they usually aren't acting a fool.
Maybe I'm not running in the proper circles yet, everyone seems to have a story about how they smoked pot with Snoop Dogg or had a Molly induced non committal make out with the hot daughter on Modern Family at Coachella...I know a guy who banged the cheerleader from Heroes...that's about it. As much as I would love to tell you I went on a coke bender with Zac Efron that would be just as much a lie as saying I banged the next Jennifer Lawrence.
I have never made an in-app purchase, I feel like the people that pour money into that business model are just the scum of the Earth. I think about some overweight lower middle class girl named Takwanda buying a bunch of extra lives on her hand me down 3Gs and then getting yelled at by her dad...er her mom (dad isn't around) for spending 20 bucks in the iTunes store. Anyway, for days, I was using up all my free lives on this insanely difficult level. After I would use up all my free lives, I would stare at the countdown for 10 minutes until I was granted another free life...only to fail again. Eventually I cracked. I purchased an extra life for .99 cents because I was so so so close to beating this level. As you can imagine, I failed even with my paid life and I felt the most reprehensible shame of my life (and I have done some fairly fucked up shit) this feeling was exacerbated when I fell over leaving the stall due to the fact that my legs had fallen asleep due to the extended length I had spent in the restroom. I deserved it.
Anyway, while I was waiting for my candy crush lives to regenerate I had this idea, so on with the list of 5 misconceptions about Los Angeles.
5. Actresses/models are a big deal
Last week at work some actress left her iPad on stage and called the production office looking for help finding it. I answered, I went to stage, I attempted to find said iPad and failed. Somehow though I established a dialogue with this girl and she assured me her iPad was still on the premises, forwarding me screenshots of her find my iPhone and what not. I eventually invited her onto the lot so we could look together. She found it within 5 minutes and was so overjoyed that she offered to take ME out for drinks.
I should mention at this point that this chick was fucking hot. She's a struggling actress who is going to get to pay rent this month because she was paid the SAG minimum $859 (plus 10% agency fee) for her portrayal as Girl #2.
But of course I never called her because I am a huge fucking coward and I felt intimidated by her. It turns out she is also a model and her tits can be seen all over the internet, and she's playing a hooker in Sons of Anarchy all week. But also she's probably a little sad that the Ironside PA that helped her find her iPad never called. Because that's the thing about actresses and models. They really aren't shit. They are just struggling 20somethings like the rest of us, they just have more upside. This chick is a bartender on the side and probably lives in a shitty studio apartment in Hollywood with 3 other girls. She probably won't make it, but she might blow up and become the next Jennifer Lawrence. And had I called her there is like a 2% chance that I would have eventually banged her, and then when she became the next Jennifer Lawrence, the REST of my life I would wear that on my sleeve.
I guarantee you Jennifer Lawrence banged a PA when she was on the Bill Engvall show. And you know what? No one can ever take that away from that dude. He probably rolls around LA telling anyone who will listen that he fucked Katniss when she was 19, and even if the rest of his life turns out shitty he can close his eyes and jerk off to that memory every night before he goes to bed.
Main takeaway, don't be afraid to date a struggling actress, the story could pay dividends later.
4. People in LA are beautiful.
This is simply a fallacy. People in Los Angeles are no more attractive than anywhere else in the world. Hollywood is dominated by short, balding, old men. Do you know why the stereotype of a Hollywood agent is an angry man running around screaming? Pent up aggression from years of getting teased by Jason Segal and a then hetero Jason Collins at Harvard Westlake. Money can't buy you a career and popularity at 15 no matter where you live...but in the end Jason Collins is now a free agent and the bald angry man is a partner at UTA with a 19 year old Brazilian girlfriend.
The people you see on TV are attractive, the beach attracts a photogenic crowd but that's any beach in the world. You know who doesn't go to the beach? Fat people. Fat people are embarrassed about their weight, they do not want to voluntarily go to a location where people are encouraged to wear as little clothing as possible. The beach is for tourists, west siders and poor families from East LA that bus there because it is a free event for the whole family. Ever seen Dockweiler on a Saturday? It looks like a fucking Rodney King rally.
The thing is, I wish everyone in LA was ridiculously good looking, but I am legit the most eligible bachelor at my workplace. I feel bad for al the girls, I am like a 6 at best, and I am their best option. I wasn't even top 50% in my frat...in Bloomington, IN. I would argue that 47401 is one of the nations most beautiful zip codes.
3. Living in LA is sooooo expensive.
It's really not that bad. I live in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in LA, 4 blocks from the beach, have my own bedroom and pay $850 a month in rent. Pretty much any large city in the country is standard on $6 a beer at a bar, 4 dollars a gallon in gas, $50 a gram for blow...except the pot is way cheaper here, because it's legal.
That's how normal people define cost of living right? Gas, rent and vices? I suppose if you factor in your guaranteed DUI your first 3 years living here, you can add a quick 10 grand in legal fees onto that. But seriously, compared to New York, LA is pennies. Sure if you live in West Hollywood and have hardwood floors and granite countertops you pay more in rent than my parents do on their mortgage, but West Hollywood is fucking gay (both literally and figuratively) move to Santa Monica, get some cool roommates and sustain a lifestyle where 1000 in rent is a reasonable expectation.
I meet people my age who live in the valley because it is "affordable." I just want to fucking shake them. YOU ARE WASTING YOUR LIFE. "Ya, but I'm saving so much money."
For what? What the fuck do you have to save money for when you are 25? Looking into buying a house? Good fucking luck. A million dollars will get you a 2 bedroom cottage in Burbank and a lifetime full of jeers because you live in fucking Burbank. Just move to Venice and rent until you sell a few scripts. Then you can buy a condo on the beach...straight cash homey.
2. Hollywood is so cool, it's where all the famous people hang out.
I give the East side of LA a ton of shit. I think the people there look funny, they smell bad, they have facial hair. It's entirely not for me. Why the fuck would you move from the midwest and make it all the way to a coastal mecca and decide to still live an hour away from the beach...where you can see blondies in bikinis rollerblade all day? Oh because of Silverlake's emerging underground ska scene? Cool story bro.
That said, even my east side counterparts would agree that Hollywood is a terrible place where dreams go to die. Hollywood was probably very cool in the late 1930's. The sign was there, all the studios were there. Movie stars, the hustle and bustle of the entertainment industry...such a great post depression era town.
But now it's home to meth heads and Japanese tourists. It's literally a fucking hell hole. There is one square block with a couple movie theatres and a mall that is probably safe for a single white woman to walk between the hours of noon and 4pm, aside from that, it is the physical embodiment of AIDS.
Literally I would treat it like a goddamn demilitarized zone, if it didn't have a Chick Fil-a and a B dubbs.
Attractive actor types hang out in West Hollywood, every cool production company is in Santa Monica. The studios and networks are in the valley. And I don't even need to go to Hollywood anymore for Chick Fil-a, they opened one in Westwood...and I would literally rather drive to fucking South Central to get my bdubbs on. At least black people don't mess with white people, they keep their violence inside the race. Crack heads though, they're wild cards.
While it may have been cool once upon a time, I would advise against ever entering the box that is Franklin, La Brea, Melrose and Vermont.
1. Everyone in Los Angeles has a drug problem.
When I got to LA, I couldn't wait to go to a fancy night club and watch Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan throw down an 8ball on their table and just start going to town, NOT GIVING A FUCK. I also waited patiently for one of those crazy nights that I ended up in Leonardo DiCaprio's villa in the Hollywood Hills, naked in an olympic sized hot tub with 40 people while Tobey Maguire was dishing out hits up whip its.
It didn't happen. The problem is. As stated earlier, most famous folk are generally fairly normal. They might be married with kids or perhaps hang out at places where they don't get mobbed by paparazzi and adoring starfucking fans. I have ended up at "crazy houses in the hills" but it's usually at like some trust fund kid's house and it's pretty lame. A bunch of losers sitting around talking about all their "projects in development."
The problem is, as much money as their is in LA, it's not controlled exclusively by the Biebers of the world. It's controlled by real estate moguls and 60 year old writer/producers that you've never heard of. And while celebrities can be sighted at a local watering hole once in a while, in an age of camera phones, they usually aren't acting a fool.
Maybe I'm not running in the proper circles yet, everyone seems to have a story about how they smoked pot with Snoop Dogg or had a Molly induced non committal make out with the hot daughter on Modern Family at Coachella...I know a guy who banged the cheerleader from Heroes...that's about it. As much as I would love to tell you I went on a coke bender with Zac Efron that would be just as much a lie as saying I banged the next Jennifer Lawrence.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Blowjobs or cheese
Hearing about someone else's vacation is like having your buddy describe in detail what sex is like with his girlfriend. No one wants to hear about that shit. Now I'll listen to stories about your sex with some slutty coworker or an infidelity with a married woman, but don't tell me you lasted 20 sober minutes missionary with your girlfriend.
It's the same with other people's kids. I assume one day I will have children of my own and I will love them very much and buy them tiny polo shirts and tiny Sperry's and I will be the "cool dad." But FUCK other people's kids. Kids are the fucking worst. They are annoying, they're ugly, they're expensive. I used to get super shitty when my dad wouldn't let me have friends over. But now I totally get it. He had worked all week and just wanted to watch a Western and go to sleep...not listen to five 12 year olds hopped up on caffeine have a Goldeneye tournament in the basement.
So yes, this is what I think about when I see your fucking vacation photos and your babies blasted all over Facebook. I think about how my dad was right. Like I imagine if someone tried to tell me about their labor day vacation it would go like this.
Bro: Bro, Hawaii was so sick! I hiked an active volcano, swam with dolphins and went surfing every day! How was your weekend?
Me: It was great, I jerked off 3 times during one shower while thinking about your mom. (Simulated masturbation with a mimed cumshot at his face)
I am just incapable of being happy for others I guess. But I am also fair! Thus, I shall save you the boring details of my vacation and get to the most important revelation that came of it. (Aside from a member of our crew failing to put down a finger at "Never have I ever masturbated more than once in a day" that's either a miracle or a fucking lie...even when I have a girlfriend I occasionally fuck around with a multi-dayer for sport)
A few weeks ago I was asked, "would you rather give up blowjobs or cheese for life?" Apparently this is an age old question that guys have been asking each other for years over a few casual pints. And every time it has ever happened the immediate answer is "FUUUUUUCK cheese, getting your dick sucked is awesome bro!" And everyone kind of nods in agreement.
However, for the first time in my life, I bit my tongue. I chose instead to ponder this for a very long time. See, I fucking love cheese. I love all types of cheese. My favorite food in the world is cottage cheese, but I also have fond memories of growing up and banging out about 8-12 boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, weekly. I like cheese pizza, I get two meatball subs with pepperjack cheese from my local Subway every Sunday. And I don't think I have gone a full 72 hours in the last 10 years without getting a Double Cheeseburger from McDonalds. I do fucking cheese power rankings/drafts with my friends for fun (Sharp cheddar always goes first, but somehow I always snag provolone in the later rounds)
You see it is one of the most important things in my life. I frequently tell people who are lactose intollerant that they should just straight up kill themselves. Send yourself to Belize because a life without cheese is not worth living.
Now on the other side...and if you don't want a visual of me receiving oral sex that's fine...skip the next 4 paragraphs.
I am quite well versed in the blowjob as well. I got my first at 16 giving a girl a ride home. My buddy showed her his dick and somehow I ended up getting a bj while said buddy had to sit in the back seat and shamefully watch. She later joined a top tier sorority at IU and I counted it on my sorority hook up list. The whole thing was just a big win for me.
In the years after I got many many more, partly because I skewed towards the one night stand types, and partly because I primarily sought them out during college. Three things stopped me from having sex with 100 people in college: 1. Fear of std's 2. Fear of pregnancy 3. A stage 5 case of whiskey dick. I would usually say to girls some bullshit like "I don't have a condom, or sex causes too many strings in feelings." The truth was I just didn't want to, or I had been drinking and I didn't want you to run back to your sorority and tell everyone my dick didn't work. If I did have sex with you, congratulations. That means I was fairly sure you didn't have AIDS...and had I knocked you up I was either fairly certain you would pay for the abortion yourself or that we would get married and your rich parents would buy us a house and get me a job.
I know. I'm a terrible person.
But moving on. Blowjobs are great, no one disputes this. No one will tell you that blowjobs are fucking terrible, no one is trying to ban them. But this is the dirty little secret. Blowjobs are severely overrated.
I'm going to draw a little metaphor here, now stay with me. When I was 11 years old, I was on this baseball team that had a very primitive reward based system, pieces of gum. When you got an at-bat you would get a piece of gum for every base you touched and every run you drove in. Example: a double = 2 pieces of gum, a 2 run home run would be 6. I was a hitting GOD at 11 so I always had the biggest fucking mouthful of gum. But here's the thing. The gum we got were those little white gumballs that were engineered to look like baseballs and they had little baseball terms on them. "Grand slam" and "Strike" I LOVED getting those baseballs. I would argue with the team mom whether I should get an extra piece of gum because a run scored during a wild pitch on my at bat. (THATS ANOTHER RBI MOTHERFUCKER GIVE ME THAT GUM)
But the gum itself of course was the worst fucking thing on the planet. It had this faux peppermint flavoring that would go away quicker than fucking Fruit Stripes. It was worse than Bazooka Joe or Double Bubble...but I LIVED for those fucking gumballs. It was like whoever had the biggest wad of gum in their mouth at the end of the game, was the biggest man.
Which takes us back to the blowjob. The idea is great. 10 minutes of effortless pleasure looking at the top of some girls dome whilst she services you. But in practice, after it's over I just can't help but worry about whether she is going to try to kiss me with my own semen. I just want to rush out the door and high five the first guy I see...and of course I'll know that if one of my buddies/enemies ever kisses her I can throw out a "How's my dick taste!?!?!"
But that's really it. And also think about this. I am 26, most of my blowjob days are over. I would like to think that my future girlfriends/wife and I will be sexually active well into our 40's...but come on, I've got like 5 years of bjs left MAX and thats IF I roll with a younger crowd. Once you get wifed up, the party is over. Once a year on your birthday, if you're lucky.
Unless you married a slut that loves sucking dick. But if that's the case she's probably a slut and will suck other dicks, that's a whole different issue.
And you would be giving up a LIFETIME of cheese? For your annual blowjob?
Want that bagel w/ cream cheese to help kill a hangover? NOPE
Like to sample the brie at a fancy dinner party? FUCKED
Cheesecake? RRRRRNT
Going back to IU for a football game and can't wait to get some Uncle D's? Try the new vegan place dickhead.
No cheez its, no goldfish, no queso dip.
Life really wouldn't be worth living.
There is a scene in the movie Garden State where Braff's psychiatrist says after he caught his wife in bed with another man he didn't get an erection for 5 years.
Try sporting some wood knowing that you will never have nachos again! Ponder that while you're delivering your annual flaccid throat fuck.
Guys, upon further review...it's not even close. Blowjobs can take a hike. You are still more than welcome to explore every other orifice of a woman's body. Lube it up and hit the back door, titty fuck it up and give some pearl necklaces. Try bagpiping! Or maybe, just maybe experience the old school joy of good old fashioned vaginal sex. And then have yourself a cigarette and a nice grilled havarti sandwhich, because you have fucking earned it.
A knockout win for cheese in the middle of the 3rd. And this was the case I made to my friends while on vacation in the desert.
So for those of you thinking TL;DR let me sum it up for you cheese > blowjobs.
Now dairy vs. sex...
That's a debate I'm just not ready for.
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