Blogga, please.

2005-09-08T13:19:00.000-07:00

HEY, YOU! QUIT SHAKING YOUR FIST HEAVENWARD AND COME LAUGH!

Looking for a cure for the constant-CNN blues? Sure, you are. You just don't know it yet.

So come spend Saturday night at the Un-Cabaret! See your favorite comedians go off-script and meander hilariously maybe!

Un-Cabaret
Featuring Beth Lapides, Dave Holmes, Paul F. Tompkins and Greg Fitzsimmons
M-Bar- Fountain/Vine
Saturday, September 10, 8pm sharpish
10 clams, full bar.

Seriously, you can only stay pissed for so long.

2005-09-01T17:45:00.000-07:00

"This isn't the time for politics or finger-pointing." Sen. Mary Landrieu (D-LA)

True enough.

So I guess it's a lousy time to point out how many times over the last five years someone has had to go on TV and say those words.

Ugh, what an inappropriate time to remind yourself that one almost never calls for a stop to politics and finger-pointing in reference to a situation that was handled well. It's rarely "Wow, that cake was moist and delicious. This is not the time for politics or finger-pointing."

And you know what? This is absolutely the wrong time to acknowledge that when you hear an endless, deafening, Polyphonic Spree-esque chorus of "This isn't the time for politics or finger-pointing," it's because someone's trying to keep you from doing what you're supposed to do: hold someone accountable when goods and services you paid for- with half your fucking paycheck, in some cases- are inadequate. And possibly start thinking about taking your business elsewhere.

No, indeed- this is the time for lots and lots of this. But when it is time for politics and finger-pointing- and people, the time is coming- let's all clear our schedules.

2005-09-01T11:20:00.000-07:00

For lo, I bring to you this day spooky rantings from a total douche:

"Although the loss of lives is deeply saddening, this act of God destroyed a wicked city," stated Repent America director Michael Marcavage. "From 'Girls Gone Wild' to 'Southern Decadence,' New Orleans was a city that had its doors wide open to the public celebration of sin. From the devastation may a city full of righteousness emerge," he continued.

New Orleans is also known for its Mardi Gras parties where thousands of drunken men revel in the streets to exchange plastic jewelry for drunken women to expose their breasts. This annual event sparked the creation of the "Girls Gone Wild" video series.

"We must help and pray for those ravaged by this disaster, but let us not forget that the citizens of New Orleans tolerated and welcomed the wickedness in their city for so long," Marcavage said. "May this act of God cause us all to think about what we tolerate in our city limits, and bring us trembling before the throne of Almighty God," Marcavage concluded.

"[God] sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." (Matthew 5:45)

Hold on: God punishes wickedness and perversity with bad weather? Then how come it's 76 degrees and sunny in Los Angeles every single day?

2005-08-31T16:19:00.000-07:00

New Fall Season!

I'm out of school about 11 years now, and though I occasionally complete sample GMATs after bad auditions, I'm probably not going back. Networks don't roll out new shows exclusively in autumn the way they used to. Plus I live in Los Angeles, where the weather never changes.

Yet still, as August swoons to a close and Jerry Lewis gets his great big face ready for another telethon, my mind conjures thoughts of recommencement and renewal. Fresh notebooks. Locker reassignment. New challenges, new subjects, new roles to master. Corduroy and shit.

Hence Blogga, Please. Had so much fuckin' fun doing the odd post on my Friendster Blog that I decided to move it to a new host, where I can add more pics, more mp3s, more posts. Change up the look a little. Make it official. Classy. That's who I am this school year.

2005-08-19T23:38:00.000-07:00

Oh, I'd love to write a nice long entry about Courtney & Eminem, or Cindy Sheehan, or how Death Cab is about to become the Christian Laettner of indie rock, but I just got Comcast On Demand and a LoveSac, so we'll get to all that another time.

Let's all watch TV! Here are some of my current favorite videos:

The NY Attorney General fined Hot-97 $240,000 for putting this on the radio, and I think it's worth every penny. By the way, the first thing we hear is that Kemeisha needs this fy-hunnit for textbooks; what does Eliot Spitzer need $240,000 for?
Courtesy of The Malcontent, an advance look at Brokeback Mountain. It comes out in early December; I'll be lining up outside Graumann's Chinese around Halloween. Who's with me?
The inside story of the acrimonious future break-up of King Ten.

Enjoy! If you need me, I'll be ass-deep in The Facts of Life. The Piekarski year!

2005-08-16T23:37:00.000-07:00

THE GREATEST BUMPER STICKER I HAVE EVER SEEN.

I pass this one on my bike just about every day, and even given the gnarly neurological subject matter, it never fails to put a smile on my face. No, For Better or For Worse family, I Never Heard of DYSTONIA, and you're right: that's pretty funny.

It does the heart good to see the Patersons in a simpler time. Especially this week, when we're all recovering from Elizabeth's near-rape. I mean, look at them. Michael's smile is utterly effortless- no Deanna, no children to ruin his sleep and cloud his beautiful mind. April's still a toddler, wide-eyed and blissfully unaware of the fall from grace that awaits her as guitarist for 4-Evah. Farley's still alive. God DAMMIT, we miss you, Farley. Sometimes it's too much to bear.

I love these people. They remind us of the beauty, the fragility, the unpredictability of life. The fact that change is the only constant. The possibility that the person you least expect will make a quip that teaches you a valuable lesson and makes your face go like this:

These here are crazy times. Tomorrow's not a promise. Sometimes the best thing to do is huddle up with your family and have a good laugh at the knucklehead who never heard of dystonia.

By the way, it's a neurological movement disorder, you ignorant prick.

2005-08-08T23:36:00.000-07:00

Ain't That Peculiar?

"P.S.: We were hoping for a more recent picture of Mr. Gaye, but unfortunately, in 1984, his father got drunk and shot him in the face. Bottoms up!"

2005-08-06T23:37:00.000-07:00

If you've ever wondered what it would be like to be stuck in an elevator with Leeza Gibbons and an 8-ball of weak blow, get to a newsstand! OK Magazine has finally made its American debut, and I'm one small but decisive step closer to joining a militia.

In between features on the New Man in Mischa Barton's Life (it's a PUPPY!) and the A-List's secret getaway (it's SANTA MONICA! Seriously, they give you directions and everything) is my favorite: an intimate conversation and fashion layout with Tara Reid.

Now, on shoots like this, there are stylists and lighting guys and make-up artists and publicists and managers and photoshoppers and airbrushers and on and on. Yet:

We must assume that the intended effect is "sexy, mysterious and alluring", but the result is more "drunk, startled and digesting hot wings." My artist's rendering:

In the Q&A, Tara is asked about her infamous red-carpet exposed-boob incident:
OK!: There was a lot of comment in the press last year about your wardrobe malfunction at P. Diddy's party...
Tara: I think it's the dumbest thing in the world. I mean in Europe, people don't have a top on, and they just hang out at the beach. Who cares? It just shows people's ignorance.

Good call. Going in front of dozens of photographers and having your dress fall clean off your body without you so much as twitching? Totally, intimidatingly classy. Let's you and me have a motherfucking General Foods International Coffee one of these days. On me. Pinkies all out and everything.

I am reminded of Tara's interview with the New York Post, in which she lamented her party-girl image thusly: "I'm known as this retard." Oh, Tara. I don't think you're a retard. See, my cousin Mike has Down's Syndrome, and he knows when his shirt is on.

And this is just the tip of the shit-berg. OK Magazine is on newsstands now. Or you could watch the Style Channel and slap yourself over and over. Your call.

2005-07-25T23:35:00.000-07:00

I'm in NYC. If that thought makes you jealous, just get into an oven with a big bucket of bum urine, and smoke.

Last night marked the end of the Upright Citizens Brigade's 7th Annual Del Close Improv Marathon, to which hundreds of comics came from all over the country to creep me out a little. Honestly, I'm so tired of improv I'm not even going to make up things to say conversationally in real life for a couple of weeks.

Also, I need everyone's help with some slang issues. I'm getting a little sick of the overuse and subsequent cheapening of the word LITERALLY. As in, "I met this guy last night who was LITERALLY thirty feet tall," "Lance Armstrong is LITERALLY setting the cycling world on fire," or "I have been a fan of The Arcade Fire LITERALLY forever." No you didn't, no he isn't, and nobody really likes The Arcade Fire.

Instead, I want us all to start using FIGURATIVELY, and with the same gusto. As in, "I slept for FIGURATIVELY 25 hours last night," "It is so hot in New York I FIGURATIVELY turned into clam chowder," or "If one more person tells me about how they get The Arcade Fire like nobody else does, I will FIGURATIVELY implode from boredom."

Thank you for your quick attention to this matter. And while we're at it, "your" and "you're" are different words.

2005-07-09T23:35:00.000-07:00

We will begin with two quick but important statistics:

Number of times I’ve referred to the all-black barbershop where I now get my hair cut as “EXACTLY like the movie ‘Barbershop!’”: approx. 45

Number of times I’ve seen the movie “Barbershop”: 0

But it was in this place (LEGENDS, Detroit & Wilshire), during my last haircut (clippers, #5), where one of the barbers’ birthdays was being celebrated with loud K-DAY, a bottle of Hennessy and a stack of Styrofoam cups. (See? They do something EXACTLY like that in the movie probably!) And it was during this celebration, while I tried to figure out the etiquette for asking strangers for a midday cup of cognac, that I learned something truly weird:

On commercial radio, when they play Common’s “Go!”, the censors drop the word “ass,” but leave in the entire phrase “…like rain, when she came, it poured.”

So, evidently:

A word commonly used to refer to buttocks, which in the world of the song are a woman’s and for all we know fully covered (though we do learn that Common “got to pause, when [he] think[s] about her in them draws,” [first verse, ibid] so they’re most likely in underwear, but still): UNACCEPTABLE!

A phrase describing a torrent of female ejaculate so intense it soaks right through Common’s flimsy London Fog and tears his umbrella to ribbons: FINE. IN FACT, GO AHEAD AND PLAY IT IN THE DAYTIME.

Freaky like the daughter of a pastor. It got me thinking about “Sixteen Candles” and its catch phrase (which someone in a Hooters restaurant is repeating right this second) “No more yankee my wankee. The Donger need food!” If you happen to catch this movie on commercial television, you will notice that the line has become “No more Yankee rum drinkee. The Donger need food!”

So, evidently:

Dialogue indicating a consensual handjob between a naïve Chinese exchange student and a gruff but gentle track & field star- a handy whose completion he considers secondary to a first-date meal: FILTH!

Dialogue which changes the entire context of the relationship and which, since consent cannot be granted by an intoxicated person, indicates date rape: SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

Only one person can see us through the darkness in times like this, and that's Michael Schoeffling. Knowing what we know now, wouldn't we all rather things had gone a little better for him? Think HE'D be embarrassing himself on Oprah's sofa, or debating neurochemistry with Matt Lauer? Aw, hell to the no.

Where have you gone, Jake Ryan? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

2005-07-08T23:34:00.000-07:00

ROCK STAR CATCH PHRASE!!!

"I'm sorry, but you're just not right for our band, INXS. Sorry, God bless."

Awesome! I'm writing it on my beer coolie right now, and I can't fuckin' wait to use it colloquially. Like, next time I'm facing off against some mark at a red light, when the light turns green and I leave him in a cloud of toxic tire smoke I'm gonna be all "I'm sorry, but you're just not right for our band, INXS. Sorry, God bless!" FACE!

No winner on the parlor game. But TLC's "R U The Girl" starts on the 27th, and you KNOW T-Boz and Chilli won't let us down.

By the way, my money's on Wil. For obvious reasons.

2005-07-08T23:33:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes...very talented.

But is anyone else as sick of their smug little faces as I am?

2005-07-08T23:32:00.000-07:00

PARLOR GAME: "ROCK STAR"

Remember summer reruns? Those long, post-Ghost In The Graveyard Friday nights spent eating handfuls of Jiffy-Pop on the family-room floor in your footies, in front of a "Benson" you'd already seen at least once? They reflected and amplified the summer languor. They provided the familiarity and repetition we secretly missed from school. But most importantly, they provided a second chance to learn the lines we'd spend the early 1990s quoting in bars, through neon-tinted clouds of Camel Light smoke. (Particularly if we were Ethan Hawke and Steve Zahn in "Reality Bites," and face it: for at least 5 minutes, you were.)

Yeah, well, I don't know what my kids will talk about in the rugged, post-apocalyptic bars of the future. In the 21st century, it's all about the summer rehash. Take whatever show entered the vernacular in the last year, alter one detail, instant new product. 2005's template? "The Apprentice." Every new unscripted show can be traced back to it, in .25 degrees: Agent Apprentice. Fancy Apprentice. Black Apprentice.

(I call it the Kaoma Effect. Remember Kaoma? The flamenco band whose 1989 song "Lambada" triggered a dance craze that was at once tedious and forbidden? My freshman year roommate at Holy Cross had the CD, and the track listing went something like this: Lambada. Disco Lambada. Lambareggae. Lambada On Your Head. Lambada de Amor. Mother May I Lambada With Danger? Etc.)

Since nobody seems to be sweating conceptual originality, the producers of these shows have all the time in the world to focus on the kiss-off line. Donald Trump hit a merchandising homer with "You're Fired," which is interesting given that people had been saying it pretty regularly for generations. So now every knock-off comes complete with its own slogan- germane to the show's setting, snippy enough to get the rejection across, pithy enough to fit on a mug should the market demand it. For example, Tommy Hilfiger spurns designers on Fashion Apprentice "The Cut" by telling them, "You're out of style." Faye Dunaway dashed the hopes of wannabe starlets on Acting Apprentice "The Starlet" with "Don't call us, we'll call you." Get it?

Which brings us to the parlor game of Summer '05: predicting the contestant-cutting line before the show premieres.

A couple of weeks ago, just before "I Want To Be A Hilton"-mania swept dozens, my friend Scott and I tried to call it. Scott's pick: "You are excused." Mine was more abstract: Kathy Hilton dismisses everyone from the room except the eliminated hopeful, then takes an Ambien and slowly dozes off. The actual line ended up being "You're not on the list," which is actually pretty fucking great. And I got the part about Kathy dismissing everyone else correct, which really got my hopes up.

Why is this important right now? Because on Monday July 11, CBS premieres ROCK STAR, which can be subtitled INXS Apprentice: 15 rock-stars-in-waiting vie to replace Michael Hutchence as lead singer of INXS. (You could also subtitle this show State Fair Apprentice.)

So I put it to you, readers: what's your prediction for ROCK STAR's climactic rejection line? Will it incorporate an INXS song title? Will it refer to the rock & roll lifestyle, or to Michael himself? Will it be on a T-shirt at Spencer Gifts in August?

Post your answers in the COMMENTS section. Winner gets Jiffy-Pop. Offer void in California.

By the way, you've got your work cut out for you. I explained this game to Ben, and his answer, given with only a moment's thought, illustrates why I think he'll be around for a long time.

Ben's pick: "You choked."

2005-07-07T23:31:00.000-07:00

If this doesn't brighten your day, fuck off.

Got hipped to this by the redoubtable Tommy Himself, whose insights at The Sticking Point are worth checking out.

2005-07-07T23:24:00.000-07:00

Hanging in the window of the AM/PM on Sunset at San Vicente, from the inside, behind the counter, in the area only employees can access. Remember this detail. It's important.

What? Can't read it? Okay, there are limits to what a camera-phone can do. Allow me to summarize.

The official letter is from the Tasty Products Corporation, and it says (I'm paraphrasing):

"Dear Proprietor:

On a recent visit to your establishment, a representative of Tasty Products observed that your Tasty Frozen Beverage Machine (tm) was in need of cleaning. We have enclosed a copy of the owner's manual, which you received at the time of the machine's delivery, and which clearly states that THE TASTY FROZEN BEVERAGE MACHINE MUST BE CLEANED AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK. Please see to it that your employees comply with this simple rule, to avoid Health Department penalties and to ENHANCE SALES!

Thank you for your quick attention to this matter,

Betty McWhatever
Tasty Products, LLC"

And now, the kicker. Written underneath the text, in an angry scrawl, is the proprietor's reply:

"YOU PUT ME DOWN. SHAME ON YOU!!!"

Don't bother passing by to visit the letter; like everything I love, it went away.

But STILL.

2005-07-06T23:22:00.000-07:00

Because this blog, like my bedroom, should sometimes resemble the locker of a 14-year-old girl, please allow me to present the first in an ongoing series wherein we expose, explore and celebrate the men I dig from afar.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Chris Evans.

Those lips. Those eyes. That acting technique which seems entirely stolen from that Buffy guy who stole his acting technique entirely from Matthew Perry. Those mysterious and deep-down-probably-already-regretted tattoos. I long to don an old pair of long-johns and spar a few rounds with this one while we sweatily, perhaps even tearily discuss the state of our nation. "537 votes, for real, Chris? Fuck!"

You: Don't even think about it, Dave.
Me: Never do.

His name is Chris Evans, and I loh heem.

2005-07-06T23:18:00.000-07:00

At the gym. Early afternoon. During a 3-second iPod song gap, I hear a woman in her early 40s says these exact words to her brightly-dressed trainer:

"Having as many cute outfits as I do? Seriously? Can sometimes be a SUFFOCATING feeling."

And there you have it. A 3-second summary of Los Angeles more on-point than Entourage has offered in a season and a half. Remind me to listen to longer songs.

Related this immediately afterwards to my father. "You know what I would have done in that situation," he said, "I would have suffocated her." God bless you, Daddy-O.