Monica and Me

It seems that often the only times we truly share our feelings about someone is when it's too late. Be it an unexpected passing or a cataclysmic fight that one can't come back from, we never get a chance to say those last few words we wanted to. In keeping with the theme of 'friendship funeral' month then I'll do one last hyper dramatic faux eulogy of my friend Monica Morell as she passes from her life in Los Angeles to New York City. I realize this is wildly over the top, but trust me, she would want it this way.

***

"Tell them I'm an actress if anyone asks."

They won't, I assure her. But I agree to go along with her charade.

"Isn't this how people get discovered?"

Sure Monica. Something like that.

We're in an Uber to a swank wrap party for the Mindy Project, probably two bottles of wine deep already. I'm wearing a purple button down shirt and my date is looking downright intimidating in a red dress that would make every one of my female coworkers blush.

Her name is Monica Morell, recently 30 and living halfway in between reality and a dream. Everything that comes out of her mouth is equal parts absurd and charming making her the ideal person to bring to a swanky party. She oozes some sense of class, though it's unclear if she was brought up that way or if she just watched enough Audrey Hepburn movies to fake it. She is completely 100% an original, there will never be another like her.

I met Monica the day I moved to Venice, over six years ago. I was desperate to find an apartment as I was currently living in my car and my roommates Jack and Nick had been evicted from their Hollywood apartment a week before. The week prior we had signed a lease for an apartment on Pacific but a shiesty landlord had torn up our agreement when someone offered to pay more.

"Couldn't we sue you?" I asked in an email.

"I'm guessing you can't afford a lawyer." Was his response, well played sir.

As I wondered up to 627 Westminster to meet my future landlord, a spunky ball of energy comes tearing through.

"Is this an open house, mind if I join darling?"

She seemed like a character, like she was putting on some sort of act. She removed her oversized sunglasses to reveal a beaming smile. Despite the fact that it was 80 degrees, she was wearing a scarf and some sort of messenger hat to go along with striped leggings and a Parisian blouse.

Without waiting for an answer, she barged on in and joined the tour. After taking a cursory view of the place she exclaimed 'I'll take it!"

This caught both me and landlord off guard.

"Well, uh...this was actually Dave's appointment..."

"Here's a $2000 deposit."

She handed him a stack of hundreds like it was nothing. Who IS this girl I thought.

Before I had time to protest the landlord looked over to me. "Unit 2 is available too, and think about it, she probably has cute friends."

So goes the tale of how I became neighbors with Monica. The cute friends actually ended up being two fairly nice guys, but no one lasted more than a year with Monica. She cycled through roommates like she cycled through men, once she found someone to be uninteresting they were gone.

As we grew closer, the mystique around Monica grew even deeper. She was not the east coast socialite that she pretended to be, but just a middle class kid from Ohio, a sorority girl that bartended at Ohio State.

We would fight often but never longer than a few days. She would admonish me for refusing to grow up, while I would tear into her about her blatant social climbing. Monica of course wanted to be a star, and why wouldn't she? With a personality as strong as hers she was certainly capable of becoming famous which frustrated her even more as she wilted away as an executive assistant at Red Bull.

I think the majority of the tension between Monica and I ended up coming from the fact that we were so similar. We were both running from a mediocre existence in flyover country. By 30 I always assumed I would be writing for a hit tv show and I'm sure Monica assumed she would be hosting something on E.

And so when both of our careers kind of stalled it was often Monica who I could turn to for a shoulder to cry on. We would have dinners that would quickly turn into four bottles of red wine and us passed out on my couch. If I had a bad break up she would suggest we stay up all night and then go for a 6am swim in the ocean. She was kind of like the sister that I never had in a way, whereas no matter how frustrated we might make each other, she would always be there for me.

Over the years we would creatively collaborate a few times, eventually drunkenly writing a pilot on napkins at a bar in Newport Beach on Thanksgiving Day. We even came up with genius plan to exploit her Puerto Rican heritage to become diversity staff writers on a TV show.

We went on trips, attempted to sneak into concerts and more than a few times would come out of black outs in the Hollywood Hills with limited recollection of how or why we got there.

The complexity of 627 Westminster would always change but Monica was the constant.

She had always talked about New York, a veiled threat that she may not always be there for me, but I knew that she couldn't actually leave. In Venice, Monica was the star of her own show, in New York she would be just the next dough eyed victim to be chewed up and spit out before she knew what hit her. So when Monica started dating a guy in New York I thought very little of it.

I never thought much of her boyfriends because, well, I never thought any of them were good enough for her. To be fair, most of them didn't think much of me, especially when we were doing clavicle shots right in front of them. I guess they just didn't understand what we were. They, like her fake dietary restrictions, may be a flavor of the month but Monica was my ride or die, a free spirit that couldn't be contained.

When I finally got the email that Monica was leaving, my world slowed down for a minute. She couldn't actually leave, I hadn't known a life is Los Angeles without her.

I convinced myself that it was another threat, a cry for attention. But the closer the deadline came, the more I thought that it might be true. I started coming home and there were just things outside my door, a long board, a few cases of Red Bull, a sweater. You're taught from a young age that when someone starts giving away all their possessions it's a bad sign. Shit this might really happen.

Of course her exit wasn't without flair as Ms. Morell refuses to go quietly. There has been an event every night for the past two weeks with expected attendance. This will culminate with a going away party tomorrow, and then I'm sure 5 more next week and then we all go to Mexico where I fully expect her to hijack Alexia's 30th birthday party, but that's ok because that's the Monica we all know and love.

With less than 10 days before she's gone forever, I've taken some time to reflect on our time together and my oh my, what a run we had. I'll never forget the Polaroids, the hand written letters, the times she kept us out of jail. What a gem you are Mon, there will truly never again be someone like you.

So as she prepares to move her life 3000 miles away and start a new beginning with Jake (a good dude!) here are some things that I want to get off my chest before it's too late.

You will kill it in New York. You found your place in the sun out here and we'll keep it warm in case you ever want to come back. Your east coast adventure begins in a week and it's just a new exciting chapter in the novel that is your life. I understand I've been known to cut you down and make you feel small but that was always just a projection of my insecurities onto you. You are smart, creative and some day you will be a star. I know we're likely to get into at least one more quarrel before you go, but I hoped I could leave you a couple words of inspiration before that happens.

You can achieve anything you want and some day all your dreams will come true.

So everyone please raise a glass to Miss Monica Morell, the most interesting person in the world.

Man of the Woods

I like to hike.

Well that's not quite true. Hiking is something I do so I can have a hobby to discuss with rational adults at the office.

While in reality the majority of my weekends are spent listening to early oughts EDM and cracking beers before noon, it's important to occasionally have a tale of high adventure that is appropriate in a family setting. Alas, I set my sights for Mount San Antonio on Saturday morning thinking that if I could leave Los Angeles for even a day, I could at least avoid some of my vices.

The day couldn't have gotten off to a better start, we found the last camp site at Manker Flats campground and had a relatively quick three hour summit to the top of Mt. Baldy.

But that wouldn't be a story now would it...

DISCLAIMER: The following contains passages of heavy drug abuse, drinking, violence, poor decision making and a couple broken laws. 

I've never been one to plan in advance. I just kind of make up my mind and go. It's been a downfall of mine in many personal and professional endeavors. One or two strategic changes in my entertainment career and I would probably still be in a writer's room but alas I suppose my impulsiveness is part of my charm.

On Friday night instead of packing for a long and arduous journey I went to see a girl, then came home and proceeded to crush beers with my roommates until 3 in the morning. On four hours sleep I made the trek to Mt. Baldy with nothing but the clothes on my back and approximately 4 liters of water, water that I nearly finished on the way up the mountain, because theoretically walking down would be easier.

We were about three miles in when I realized none of the surrounding area looked familiar. I had done the Baldy loop a year prior but that day I had been more diligent, carrying a map, looking for landmarks. This day I was just trying to race to the bottom to get a beer. In the three miles of descent we had gone from an elevation of 10,000 feet to about 7,000. A little over half of a mile in elevation. I knew that there was no way I could make it back up.

Without a map or reliable cell service I started to understandably panic. I assumed that this unknown trail would eventually spit me out by some sort of road...but when? In a mile? In 5 miles? In 20? Mt. Baldy sits above the eastern LA County city of Claremont known for its five colleges, that produce half of the population of Echo Park and Burning Man. With the amount of food and water at my disposal I figured I was safe for another 5 miles max, but after that I was going to be royally fucked.

On the trail, my hiking partner Andrew tried to calm me down. As I started hyperventilating cursing the lack of signs, audibly pontificating about my impending death, he kept quietly walking ahead.
You never think you are going to die by getting lost in the woods. What a loser you would have to be, right? Two more miles down the path, I slipped into a thorn bush ripping open my hands and arms. I could see signs of civilization, a mile below me, possibly the most helpless feeling in the world. Another two miles down the road, I received a single bar of service.

With 4% battery life I called my mom and begged her to find the name of the trail I was on and if it was going to spit me out or I was going to die. The house's internet was down and my phone died. I started privately writing my obituary. "Here lies David Moeller, a guy who never quite figured it out."

Another mile down the path and on the edge of collapse we ran into a stream. Fresh water that could keep us alive for a couple more days perhaps. Still there was no trail exit in sight.

Finally, 2.5 hours and five miles after discovering we were lost, Andrew and I exited on a small neighborhood trail that led us to a small village.

We had survived, BUT...

Notice how the red and green pin are not close to one another.

Oh so that's what we were supposed to do.

Anyway...

We get into town and I head to a bar to inquire about a ride back to the campground which is 6 miles and 2,000 feet of elevation away. 

We're told that Uber and Taxis do not service the area so we will have to hitchhike. 

I have never done so before, but it's actually easier than it looks. (When you don't look homeless I guess) Some guy named Shane picked us up and told us about the towns most famous resident, Eddie Van Halen and some of the parties he threw in the 80's.

When he dropped us at the campground, I figured the excitement of the day was over. After being lost, pondering my death and committing a minor misdemeanor by hitchhiking, all I wanted was a cold Magic Hat #8, BUT NO...because waiting for me at my campsite WAS THIS FUCKING GUY.

Yes, that is a god damn bear at the Manker Flats campground. And let me tell you what, that bear sucks.

We were able to briefly chase him away and make dinner, it would not be the last we saw of him.

Our neighbors at the campground appeared to be celebrating a birthday and they seemed friendly enough. We wandered over and enjoyed a few beers with them. Turns out they were a large group of Burners so we had something in common.

We lost track of time and soon enough it was approaching 10 o clock and the woman sitting next to me (who was wearing a Stormtrooper outfit) said "Did I take too much acid or is that a bear?"

I turned around and the bear was now not 8 feet from me. In between Coors Lights and the pumping Deep House, we hadn't noticed that he snuck into the party. I immediately charge at him trying to scare him away, but only succeeded in chasing him up a tree where he would stare at me for the next three hours.

It's hard to relax when you are at a party but you know there is a creature stalking you from above, trying to make you you the next drop bear victim.

Eventually I decided that I couldn't wait the bear out all night and retired to the campsite hoping he would lose interest in me. Anyway the Burning Man kids were going to stay up all night smoking DMT so I assumed if the bear made a move for me they would chase him off with their acoustic guitars and hula hoops.

I don't often have nightmares but it was probably around 3 o clock in the morning that I woke up screaming, believing the bear to be in the tent. I kicked my tent mate in the face and started thrashing around like a psychopath. Now I know what night terrors are!

But it wasn't quite a false alarm because upon awaking I heard the burners whispering, "He's going for Drew and Dave's tent." I heard some pots and pans clanking and then someone set off a car alarm.

I heard his snort, probably mere inches from my face. Only a thin layer of nylon separated me from the powerful jaws of a California Black Bear. I don't know if I was more nervous of his teeth or his claws, but I knew he wasn't happy. I waited for the inevitable, but he seemed to have felt something else to chew on. It sounded like plastic bottles? I sat paralyzed in fear for what seemed like hours until he was gone.

I awoke at 8am, the Burning Man party still going strong. They offered me a beer and told me 'they stayed up all night to make sure the bear didn't get me.' Certainly they were a friendly bunch, but what was most alarming were the tattered remains of my backpack a mere two feet from where my head had been laying. I had forgotten a banana inside my pack and the bear had eaten essentially the whole bag looking for it.

My body sore, my gout acting up, I wanted nothing more than to get back to Los Angeles and take a two hour shower. Maybe I'm not the outdoorsy type. Maybe it is safer for me to just live like a rock star than pretend to be Indiana Jones. I've never been attacked by a bear while day drinking. I've never gotten lost on my way home from an after party! And while I do feel less than 100% most Sundays, a Gatorade usually fixes that...I don't know who the hell is going to extract all these thorns that are still embedded in my hands.

Check out the pod in the upper right corner for more details of my incredible survival story I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the Lifetime Movie Network reaches out to dramatize this tale of bravery.

The Big Chill

We begin this tale in medias res...

"Ya, I friend zoned him for YEARS. But he was so persistent and now we're dating."

"Every Incel's dream," I quip.

The 21 year old intern flashes me a smile. She can't believe I know the term "incel" internet slang for 'Involuntarily celibate.'

It's a Tuesday night and I'm standing in line at the Wurstkuche on Lincoln. I'm at a going away party, my second this week. I'm speaking to someone 10 years younger than me as I attempt to gain valuable insights from the Generation Z demographic.

I wrote about these 'friendship funerals' in my last post. They're an interesting snapshot from your past, because like an actual funeral, people that you haven't seen in years show up to send this person into their next life.

Among the crowd there is likely a person or two you dated, someone you wanted to, a person you had a falling out with and maybe someone who you can't quite remember if you kissed at that party that one time. Of course some of your current friends are there too, but it's much more interesting to check in on those who have faded from your life.

The scene is full of Hollywood stock characters: the one that is still partying too much, the serial dater, the hot mess, the one who can't quite figure things out. And of course the same conversations always come about. How's work? (Spoiler: No one cares) Still living in the same place? (Spoiler: No one cares) and eventually it always comes down to dating...

Are you seeing someone? Is it serious? What is his worst quality?

The dating question is probably the most interesting because it gives you a window into someone's relative happiness. There is something about a person talking about their partner that they just can't quite fake. One can be on top of the world professionally, living in a swank bungalow in Hermosa Beach but if they're not quite sure about the guy/girl they're dating, you can tell almost immediately.

And so when the 21 year old intern told me that she was now dating this drummer that she follows on tour and she was really happy I absolutely believed her. Though she was adamant that she was not a groupie. I told her that Penny Lane also didn't believe herself to be a groupie and she completely missed the reference because she was born in 1997. (But she's totally a groupie, she's driving with him to Las Vegas tomorrow to photograph his show...for free)

Other times when you're talking to someone you can tell that when they talk about a person they're dating they aren't just trying to sell you on him or her, they are also still trying to sell themselves.

So why is dating so hard especially at this age? Is it LA? Is it like this everywhere?

Actually I think it probably comes down to stakes.

When you're young dating is fun. You get to get dressed up and go to dinner together, attend fun parties, spend entire days in bed, hook up in public. It's almost like you're role playing the life of an adult. But then the minute things become a little stale you can pull the rip cord and there are absolutely no consequences. No wallowing in misery bedridden for weeks eating nothing but ice cream and watching nothing but mid-90's romcoms.

Conversely, at 30 shit gets real. Every time one of your friends brings out a date, this could be it. This person could be coming on your ski trips the rest of your life. This person could pull a Pete Davidson and propose after three weeks. SOUND THE ALARM! I've often said, that you don't marry your soul mate, you marry the person you were dating when you were ready to get married. And maybe this is a doomsday philosophy, but it's one that is hard to argue with when the divorce rate hovers around 50%.

Dating doesn't get harder when you're older because there are fewer fish in the see, it gets harder because there is more on the line. This is ironic of course because it seems that people are more willing to look past flaws when they are older, even though they are flaws you may have to live with the rest of your life. I had break ups for the most benign reasons in the past; Didn't like their laugh, hated that they snored, couldn't believe they would yell at me for starting to drink at 9am on a Saturday (ok that last one may be legit) but I would look past all that and more now.

I'm sure there is some formula we could invent to predict when someone is ready to take that dive and get engaged.

In fact let's try it...It's probably something like...

I + F = D + P

I = Independence. How much do you value doing your own thing? Sleeping until noon, eating whatever you want, ripping it with the boys, pursuing women at thirst trap bars, traveling by yourself?

F = Fear. How worried are you that you are going to make a mistake in picking a partner? Are you going to marry Glenn Close from Fatal Attraction? Is your partner's little brother going to come to you for money the rest of your lives? Is her mom already dropping hints that she may want to move in? Will your partner cheat on you and eventually give you herpes?

These are the NOT ready factors. Assign these a normalized value of 1-10. You are never going to have 0 need to be independent nor will you ever have an absolute lack of fear.

On the other side we have...

D= Desire How much do you enjoy your partner and want to be married to them? How much do you want to be married in general and start floating the idea of an honest to goodness family with kids, a dog and a house?

P= Pressure How much pressure is there on you both externally and internally to make this happen? Is your partner pushing it? Do your parents want grandkids? Is there some sort of biological clock at play? Or maybe all of your friends got married so there is nothing better to do. These are all pressures that influence your decision.

So at the end of the day you will have four numbers added together to create a tipping point...

Right now I'm probably about...

9 + 8 = 2 + 3

18 > 5

As you can see I'm still a far way off. I value my independence and even if I didn't I'm fairly sure I would fuck up any serious kind of relationship.

However many people could be more of a

4 + 3 = 8 + 7

7 < 15

This paints the picture of someone who is ready to take the plunge and probably abandon the life of staying in hostels and chasing foreign tail. Not for me but I respect it.

And of course there are the people who are probably like...

6 + 4 = 6 + 4

10 = 10

This is the crowd that is truly wavering, losing sleep at night because they aren't quite sure what to do.

But I think it's important to remember that in the grand scheme of things no one really knows what they are doing. You could date a thousand people, read books, talk to your parents, but life is all one long improvisation.

Hell my parents probably had no idea what they were doing when they raised me, but I turned out (somewhat) ok. And that's what we need to remember when we navigate modern romance. Everyone is just flying by the seat of their pants, and that is what can make it feel so hard.

***

As the intern was walking out, I attempted to give her some truly abhorrent advice for her Senior year at Ole Miss. Go out every night, get arrested, make terrible decisions, don't worry about your school work, date ten guys at the same time, try to get it out of your system.

"Wow, it sounds like you didn't...I kind of wish I didn't have to go back. I think I'm ready to just be out here now."

A single tear came to my eye.

You won't always feel that way.

"Ok I'll try to have fun."

You better.

Leaving Los Angeles

No, I'm not leaving.

But it seems like everyone else in my life is.

My neighbor who I've been best frenemies with since March 1, 2012. A ride or die who I've traveled around the world with. People are leaving for NY, SF, Connecticut, Boston. People have already gone back to Indy, Florida, DC, Texas and Chicago. I have attended more going away parties in the last five years than weddings. It's weird, it's sad. it's confusing.

Often times a going away party can feel like a funeral for your friendship. Sure social media makes it easier to keep in touch, but moving forward your relationship will change. Your friend is now the visitor, all the time is spent catching up. No more random pop ins on a Tuesday evening to complain about a bad date and just crush two bottles of wine. No more late nights on the patio talking about the future. Because the future is now.

I've spent a lot of time wondering how LA fails people. What exactly were people expecting from this place? To get rich and famous, party with Kendall Jenner at a Lisa Vanderpump owned restaurant in Beverly Hills? (Lol JK only a tacky tourist would be caught at SUR) Or maybe LA was always a short term rental. A bad boy that you could leave when you were ready to get serious about life. One can find stability here, but it's much easier in the land of strip malls and reasonably priced real estate.

Others may feel the need for a jolt in the arm, a hard reset. Five years ago I would have called this a quarter life crisis, but at the age of 31, do I really think I'm going to make it to 120? It's shocking how quarter life can turn into midlife in the blink of an eye. If you feel like you're just treading water here, maybe the only prudent thing to do is rip off the band-aid and get a fresh start.

To be honest, I've fantasized about it, running far away to where no one knows my name. I could reinvent myself and be David, the soft spoken gardener in Tucson. I could date a nice woman that I met at the library. Maybe we would get married and have kids that would grow up to play golf at Arizona State.

Because in LA I'll always be the homie you know. I've tried to change before, but I always slide back into my old habits. It's really freeing thinking about a fresh start. I'd like to see those Santa Monica parking tickets follow me to Vancouver, where I could get a job at a cycling shop and maybe stop drinking so much. I could drop a beard and go vegan, get into CrossFit. No one there would know that for 10 years I didn't make my bed, ate Taco Bell seven times a week and pissed away all of my romantic opportunities because I was too much of a coward to say how I feel.

But then I see the sunset and I realize that this is where I belong. It doesn't matter if I never make it as a writer, it doesn't matter if I live in a three bedroom apartment the rest of my life. I had a dream, and that dream was to escape the land of Outback Steakhouses and Applebees (no offense to either obviously) and plant a flag in the sand.

And that's what helped me realize why others are leaving. Maybe living by the beach just wasn't enough for them, maybe they had other goals and leaving was the best way for them to attain those. As the star in my own (sometimes pathetic) story I need to take a step back once in a while and realize that just because I feel a certain way doesn't make it the truth.

Often times I think Los Angeles is objectively the greatest place in the world. But to be honest, it probably isn't. There are pros and cons to every city. Accumulating wealth and starting families are likely important to a lot of my peers. Perhaps pursuing a love interest, or maybe just shaking shit up for a change. And while moving is never permanent, I need to learn how to let people go and stop taking it as a personal failure by me that I couldn't make them happy enough to stay.

So with that I say, all my friends that have left, are leaving or will some day, I wish you the absolute best. I hope you make it back west of Lincoln some day, but if you don't that's ok too. You have your own journey and I hope it brings you happiness. I'll be keeping an eye on you from afar, and if you ever need anything, feel free to let me know.

In the mean time, there are some people that I have been actively recruiting to (attempt to) fill your spots, and the push is about to intensify.

Why All Your Relationships Fail

I can now predict if your relationship will fail.

After doing countless hours of research, I have realized that most people have essentially three basic character motivations. 

1. They want something that will make them happy.

2. They want to be with someone that will make them happy.

3. They want to be somewhere that will make them happy.

It's that easy, your life is essentially boiled down to a person, a place or a thing.

Let's start with category one. Something to make you happy.

This is usually going to be a job or some form of asset. Maybe you really want to be a writer, maybe you really want to be rich. Maybe you want to be a writer that sells a ton of shows to get rich, or maybe you will blog for $5 an article out of a love of the game. It doesn't really matter. If  the most important thing in the world to you is an item or real or abstract (glory? respect?) this is where you will find yourself. A slave to your passions or the pursuit of that cheddar. A person in this camp will likely always do anything to get themselves ahead professionally, they will move across the country, work absurd hours, sacrifice relationships to get ahead. This person may end up alone, and honestly they might not care.

On to category two, these are the people that want to be around a person or persons that make them happy.

These people could be family members, friends, a significant other or a future child. Nothing matters more than these pursuits. Many of my friends that have left LA have done so to get closer to family or moved to amore sensible place to find a partner and start their own family. A person in this camp might be over the hustle and bustle of a city, they're all set on that hectic lifestyle. Achieving professional success might be important to them, but certainly not the MOST important. Family first!

And category three, the people that want to be somewhere that makes them happy.

These people aren't necessarily concerned about what they're doing or who they're doing it with, but WHERE they are doing it. Hell I can write anywhere, and I like my friends, but if they all left I would stay right where I am. Some people feel this way about their hometowns, some people feel it about New York (gross) and others spent there life fantasizing about some place exotic.

I am squarely in category three. At the moment, the most important thing in the world for me is to stay right in LA. I don't necessarily have a phenomenal career trajectory but LA has a beach and I like it. I also enjoy that I can be single without anyone raising eyebrows, people visit me and there is always something exciting going on.

And what that means, is it's never going to work out for me with anyone from category one or category two...UNLESS the things that they actively seek happen to be part of Los Angeles. But if I met a 26 year old girl who figures she'll have some fun and eventually move back to Texas to be with her nieces and nephews, that's a non-starter. If I were to meet an up and coming television anchor who might get transferred to Raleigh, I'm not getting on that plane.

Furthermore if I meet someone from my own category but they want to be somewhere else? It also isn't happening.

So this is how you know if your relationship will inevitably succeed or fail. Actually it's not a proven metric for success. Two people that valued living in Venice Beach above all else could certainly find something else to fight about, but if the two of you truly don't have the same goal you will never get there.

And of course if you think 'well that's why couples compromise.' If you were willing to compromise you were never a true category one or a category three. You chose your partner, and that's great. But I think everyone could save themselves quite a bit of time when they asked in the early stages of a relationship. What's your end game?

You could certainly save quite a bit of time that way. So there you go, I hope I haven't ruined your day. Maybe I'm just a cynic and when I meet my dream girl I'll decide to throw everything away from her. But until then it's much more likely I'll eventually just throw in the towel and marry one of my friends at say 36, provided we are both committed to staying west of Lincoln for the rest of our lives.

Cheer yourself up by listening to my podcast. This week we talked about Renaissance Faires, Tiger Woods and our favorite horse occupations.

What is your walk up song in life?

This year for the first time, the PGA Tour, the thing your Republican uncle follows religiously, is introducing walk up music to one of its events. The results were…interesting to say the least.

It’s shocking how much your opinion of a player can change by what type of music they like. For example, I kind of though Justin Thomas, last year’s PGA champion, was a twatbucket 48 hours ago. This guy kicks fans out of events, posts pictures of his blacked out friends (see above) and has a general air of snobbery around him.

But then I saw his choice of walk up song. The Circle of Life from the Lion King, a certified banger. Now I can view all of his life choices in a different light.

He posts pictures of his friends blacked out because it’s hilarious. He rocks enormous Polo horses because he’s rich and fuck you. Guy is essentially a certified frat legend. Hell, he probably only has fans kicked out of events because he’s irritated that the PGA Tour won’t let him drink on the course.

Similarly, unknown golfers have become instant legends because of their choice of track.

 

This is Byeong-Hun An. Look at that fucking guy. This dude is 26, is South Korean and his walk-up song is MASTER P MAKE EM SAY UGHHHHHHHHHHH.

 What. A. Legend.

Let’s get another photo of Byeong.

 

OH MY GOD.

Do you think he prefers the angry Silkk the Shocker verse or is he more of a Mystikal guy. Perhaps he will use the winnings from his first PGA Tour win to buy the tank that P drove in the video. This dude is my new favorite golfer.

The entire list is right here. There are some old school bangers and a bunch of vanilla dorks that just picked Drake, but this begs the question right now: What would your walk up song be? Do you go current or classic? Are you serious or is this a bit of a joke.

I’m on record as having my walk up song be “Baby” by Justin Bieber, a timeless choice, but I have recently switched to “Just Can’t Wait to be King” because Disney releases nothing but bangers.

That said, I have recently put together a guide for selecting the perfect walk-up song. As always, you are welcome in advance.

Step 1: Pick a song that is at least five years old.

This ensures that you don’t get caught chasing trends and your choice doesn’t age poorly. All the jamokes that picked a Drake song this week are going to feel really dumb when everyone wakes up in 2023 and realizes that Drake’s entire discography was a prolonged wet fart.

Step 2: Don’t take yourself too seriously.

There is no doubt that ‘Enter Sandman’ by Metallica is a bitchin’ song, and it does make me kinda want to run through a wall, but as a walk up song? You’re trying too hard man. The same hard rock edge can be attained with a more self-aware choice like ‘Sister Christian’ by Night Ranger. It fucks, but it was also in Rock of Ages and seems like a song your dad would put on after one too many 7 and 7s.

Step 3: But also make sure it actually pumps you up

This was the problem I ran into with Baby. It made me laugh at home plate, not make me want to mash a dinger to Culver City. Your walk up music should elevate your heart rate comparably to a baby bump of cocaine. This is why when baseball players walk up to N Sync it’s hilarious but rarely effective.

Step 4: Always consider cross branding opportunities.

Do you like rap? Pick a guy who is alive, because guess what? Tupac can’t rap you a live entrance should things come to that! Conversely, a guy named Shaggy would be more than happy to perform ‘It Wasn’t Me’ mostly because he needs the money.

Step 5: Be somewhat original.

On one hand, you want a song that everyone knows. You will not be awarded bonus points for cranking out some B side of an unreleased Diplomats mix-tape. However, as we learned in the movie Bring It On, no one likes a repeat performance. Pick something that everyone in the crowd will know that absolutely no one else would pick.

Let’s run my choice through the list.

“Just Can’t Wait to be King” – Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

1.       Over five years old? Yes. Lion King came out in 1994.

2.       Don’t take yourself too seriously. Yes. It’s a fucking Disney movie.

3.       Pumps you up? Yes. The song absolutely bangs.

4.       Cross branding? Yes. I could get the whole Broadway cast out there with me or in an ABC promotion, Donald Glover star of the 2019 reboot performs the whole song as Childish Gambino.

5.       Somewhat original? Yes. Justin Thomas went Circle of Life, but different songs from the same artist (soundtrack?) are acceptable. Congrats to me for picking an acceptable walk up song. Let me know what your walk up song is if you want and make sure to check out my podcast Beer a Hole where we spend an hour talking about this bullshit.

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The Los Angeles Flake Index

Welcome friends to the Los Angeles Flake Index aka the LAFI (not to be confused with my friend Lapi) a tool that can be used to decipher the likelihood of your scheduled plans falling apart due to unforeseen circumstances such as work, illness or more likely ‘general disinterest.’

As millennials we have rejected our once social behavior and now it is universally accepted that most of us would rather sit on the couch watching Netflix in pajamas whilst devouring an entire pepperoni pizza than hang out with essentially anyone. There are varying degrees of course, for example a Tinder date is much more likely to be cancelled than dinner with a visiting friend. You’ll bail on someone you’re trying to fuck much quicker than a family member that needs a tour.

Allow me to be your guide through the cesspool that is human interaction in Los Angeles, a never ending web of lies and disappointment.

Category 1: A first date.

Likelihood of cancellation: 80 percent

If you make plans with a stranger on a dating app the likelihood is that these plans will fall through. The reason for this is because when you are texting it up on a Thursday you can smell the weekend. The idea of going to a bar with a member of the opposite sex sounds exciting. The following Monday/Tuesday this seems like much more of a chore. Common excuses would be things like “I have to work late” or “I forgot I’m playing in this charity Softball game.” But what you’re really saying is, it just seems so much easier to go home and masturbate before watching the latest Netflix Documentary (or after if you are aroused by that sort of thing)

Also in this category would be ‘work drinks’ with a member of the opposite sex, because this is just a thinly veiled excuse for a date. Any time I met an assistant that I was even vaguely interested in I would trojan horse her into going out with me under the guise of talking shop. It worked like 12% of the time.

Category 2: Plans with a friend across town

Likelihood of cancellation: 60%

LA is incredibly tribal when it comes to neighborhoods. Sometimes I will make plans with a friend that lives in Santa Monica, a mere mile away from me but when it comes time to make the trek I render it an insurmountable journey and make up an elaborate excuse to free me from the burden. If that person lives east of the 405 or even God forbid east of La Cienega? That trip becomes virtually impossible. This is why good friends that live in Los Angeles can go years without seeing each other. I don’t think I’ve seen my friend Eric since Christmas, but he’ll still probably be in my wedding party! That’s just the way this town rolls. The one redeeming factor about this type of event that keeps the cancellation rate under 100% is that both parties understand the magnitude of this event and will plan well in advance for something bigger than just a standard ‘dinner.’ Think a concert or something similar. Matt and Kim got me to Hollywood last week for the first time in 2018.

Category 3: Plans with a friend in the neighborhood

Likelihood of cancellation: 40%

This is a bit of a double-edged sword because making plans with someone that lives down the street can feel trivial. Sure, it’s convenient. You could potentially just walk and meet them at a local bar, but this also lowers the stakes considerably. If you don’t feel like going, hell, you’ll see them in a few days, maybe even tomorrow. What is most likely in this scenario however is the ever crafty pivot. A last minute change of plans to a more amenable location. Like instead of meeting for dinner, you text your friend that you don’t feel like changing out of your pajamas but you just ordered a 12 pack for Drizzly and 30 dollars of Chinese take-out and there is 5 episodes of The Terror on your DVR. Now that’s a night that anyone can get behind.

Category 4: A visitor from out of town

Likelihood of cancellation: 10-35%

4A: A platonic friend of the opposite sex – 35%

I will often try to accommodate any and all visitors that come to LA for a couple reasons…

Reason 1: People from my past understand how fucking cool I used to be.

Reason 2: I want everyone that visits to return home with positive reviews about me.  However, I am more likely to cancel on a female friend that a male because if they are visiting with a boyfriend or staying with other friends I feel less of an obligation to show them a good time. Also it is much less likely they are sleeping on my couch.

4B: A homie – 20%

I mean they are probably staying on my couch, but if they aren’t and they are in a fancy hotel downtown or something and want me to come out on a Tuesday (I’m looking at you Jake) I just can’t get up for that. A lot of New Yorkers have a really hard time understanding that LA is DEAD Monday-Wednesday. Any time someone asks me what the popping bar is on Tuesday I want to respond THE XANNY BAR that I take at 8pm so I can go to sleep. I apologize for disappointing but LA doesn’t have a strong social culture on school nights.

4C: An old fling – 15%

I don’t want to go to far into Always Sunny territory here, but if an old fling hits you up when she’s in town it is implied that shit is about to go down, with minimal effort too. While going on a date may sound difficult, it is relatively painless to invite your ex-girlfriend over for two bottles of wine and some no strings sex. Still…depending on how hard I raged the weekend before, I might turn down the offer for sole possession of my bed.

4D: A family member – 10%

This is obviously a terrible look, but like it’s your mom…if you REALLY have to get out of it, she’ll probably understand.

Category 5: A girl you are dating 

Likelihood of cancellation: 5%

Of course you WANT to flake on your girlfriend all the time, but she also has a good indicator for your bullshit. If you blow her off once, maybe you can survive it. But once that thing becomes a habit? It’s the beginning of the end. Spin zone: If your girlfriend dumps you for being a flake, you will have substantially more time to disappoint everyone else in your life. God LA is the worst, we should all just learn to say no to plans because we would rather be watching cat videos on Instagram than doing literally anything else.