Merry mmmmmmm....

I opened mail yesterday, and there were a lot of Christmas cards. But most importantly, I got a christmas card from Domino's pizza.

I don't know what that means, but I'm thinking it means:

a. time to go on a diet.
b. time to go to the grocery store.
c. time to get some non-automated friends.

But upon further reflection, I noticed there was a coupon inside for a free pizza. My Dominos christmas present ROCKS!

Opening more cards, I got a SECOND card from Dominos. Also with coupon.

I don't get two cards from my parents, but Dominos adopts me as one of their own. I'm FAMILY. Say it in a Don Corleone Godfather voice...family. "Leave the gun, take the pizzas"

I decided they're trying to make me super fat before the new year's resolutions kick in, and I stop ordering. I got all tearful at the thought they might MISS me. Especially since their 'gift' to me of 2 free pizzas costs more than most presents I got from real non-pizza-oriented friends. The local pizza joint wants me to have a happy warm full sausage and olive-d christmas. And that's something. Not sure what...but something.

So have a Merry Christmas, and remember this: if you cross the Domino family, we'll bake you into a stuffed-crust Hawaiian so nobody will find your body. Happy Holidays!

Christmas in L.A.

-By Ansel Adams

Obits

From here, my obituary.




It doesn't say I'm schtooping Chuck Norris, but it implies.

Commuting

A funny thing happens when you spend 73 minutes in very very slow parking-style traffic in the morning. In general, it seems the world is hurrying by so fast; we’re all in a time crunch to get somewhere…that the simple still scenery you pass is enthralling. With almost no movement, looking at something out a car window takes on a whole new dimension.

There is always the car in front of you, of course…but there are only so many minutes you can stare straight ahead, and ponder the meaning behind the Porsche license plate frame that says ‘I’d rather be at sea on Crystal Harmony’. 47 minutes, exactly. By then, all versions of visualizing ‘Crystal Harmony’ have been exhausted.

From work, I take the surface streets in Beverly Hills. So there’s always the odd Bentley or Rolls Royce. I keep thinking they’re only in the movies, but there they are…toodling up the palm-tree lined street.

Trader Vic’s leers at the Hilton. The super-cool 60’s tiki restaurant beckons and I still refuse to dash the imagined moments of yesteryear with a visit to what is, most likely…just a dumb bar.

Traffic is always stuck at Rodeo. Always. There’s no reason to be going to Tiffany’s at 6 pm, and yet, people are.

The surface streets of the hills pass the time playing ‘would you rather’ between 2 houses on opposite sides of the street. A 3 story columned white mansion reminiscent of Will Smith’s younger days…or a blue Ranch style with a 20-foot marble Lady Liberty smack in the middle of the front yard. Clearly the choice is obvious. Give me Liberty or give me death.

And there’s always the few nagging realty ‘For Sale’ signs on those behemoth mansions. They leer ‘If you lived here you’d be home by now.’ But I also hear them whisper ‘If you lived here you’d be so rich you probably wouldn’t work at all.’

Coldwater Canyon Road snakes over the no-cold-water canyon. White guard rails jump out, reminding me of movie style car-crashes, where the blonde girl in the convertible swerves off the edge of the road, and her car bursts into flames. I picture my car at the base of the canyon. But not in flames. That only happens in movies, not in reality.

As the road winds over Mulholland, the glittery grid that is ‘the valley’ appears in the not-so far away.

The houses get crappier. No Lady Liberty. No white ionic columns. No tiki bars, only Toni’s Pizza. But the same old ‘For Sale’ signs. But now I’m glad I don’t live there. After all, the Valley is the porn capital of the world.

The driving gets faster, the people get angrier…the Bentleys and Porsches have all parked away in the canyon, and just us lonely Hondas and Toyotas battle the white fences out of the canyon into the valley…and disappear.

But not without thinking one last thing…

…Crystal Harmony is a stupid name for a boat.

Gleaming the Cube

My day was really exciting today. Mainly because on my lunch hour (on my own time), I went to staples and bought those clippy cube pins so that I could hang up papers. And I hung them up. They look good. Yeah clippys.

'Bucks stops here

I’m already a slave to the bean. 8am, 3pm, like clockwork, I must purchase a bean-y caffeinated drink to sustain me. I used to have friends that understood this need – then some switched to tea…some gave it up…some just stopped needing it twice a day. But I never wavered in my addiction. Coffee, strong, black, simple.

I sort of liked waiting in line at Starbucks. Looking at posters with coffee names that sound like foreign diseases…like Simtrachina, or Kenyan Rivan. Always perusing mugs and travel thermoses that I’d never buy. I mean…they require washing. That’s a deal breaker. I liked the banter of the barista. I liked them knowing me. Even if they didn’t know my name, they’ve give me that fake look that says “I think I know your name, but I’ll wait for you to tell me, and then nod knowingly.”

The familiar aproned starbucks people, like subversive racism, they all look the same. Green with a forced smile. The drinks are always too strong, too sweet, but I’m too lazy to order them correctly adjusted to my palate. I can’t stand those half-caf soy 3 pump no foam latte people. Just get a latte and deal. Suck it up. And really, who doesn’t like foam? If you have an aversion to foam, I just lost all respect for you.

However, despite my Starbucks tirade…this morning…I went to Peet’s.

Peet’s is an old lover, left behind from younger, prettier San Francisco days, when a Peets was on every corner, and Starbucks was on of those ‘new fangled Seattle’ places. But in getting the gingerbread latte, I realized that it not only was a rip off of Starbucks (they also had pumpkin spice) but it wasn’t as good. Or maybe it wasn’t the SAME. Conformity, consistency, normalcy…things I normally don’t consider in my coffee buying decisions, but apparently are important subliminally. There was a nice Peets man supplying my foam, and he even made a big flirty deal about how most men can’t do that AND sprinkle cinnamon on top…sort of a innuendo as well...and however much that might normally make me laugh, he wasn’t in a green apron and yelling my name knowingly while throwing a cardboard cup holder at me from afar…and that made all the difference.

I’m a slave to the ‘bucks. Slave to the 5 dollar coffee. Slave to conformity.

At least nobody gets a regular plain latte anymore – so I guess that makes me an original.

J.O.B.

I know you've all been waking in the middle of the night crying out sobbing... 'Why, oh why God, is Schrodinger's Kitten not blogging as much as she used to?' or 'Please save me from the horrible emptiness of wit!' or 'Excuse me Christian Slater, Could I get a bologna on rye, please?' or some combination of the above. Personally, I prefer my dream sandwiches to come from Christian Slater.

Drumroll please....

I got a J.O.B.! It comes complete with the nifty periods. Word to you slackers!

Less of this:


More of this:


Gimme a week or so to know everyone's name, and learn to take a lunch instead of working through it, and I assume something funny will have happened by then to blog about. Because you know what happens when you assume....

Bond Review

Daniel Craig is so hot, I burned the roof of my mouth.

Really...need I say more?

Bond 6.0

"Shaken or stirred?" inquires a barman.

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Bond shoots back.

Thank god Daniel Craig has already signed on for two more films. Casino Royale, opening today, looks to be a huge hit. This is back-to-basics Bond, a "blunt instrument," as M and Ian himself have put it. This is Bond stripped of the knowing wink. Although, he does have his wit intact. Thank god.

I predict The Man With The Golden Hair will blast open the box office this weekend...
Sadly, I won’t be seeing it until Sunday – WOE IS ME! It’s driving me nuts, but I promised a pal I’d wait 2 whole days. 12:00 on Sunday I’m at the theater with or without him.

Until then, how can you placate me? Buy me this.

As a screenwriter, I have to comment on the writers - Veterans of the last two Bonds are complimented with the addition of seemingly odd man out Paul Haggis ("Crash," "Million Dollar Baby"). I hear the old-school romantic sparring between Vesper and Bond has the double Oscar winner's fingerprints all over it. He earnestly attempts to invest these fantasy figures with psychological depth. I hope he succeeds. Regardless, I love me that killer boy.

But despite the real moments, there is some sappy bond in Casino Royale the novel, so I hope it stays out of the film - Bond falls in *GASP*... Love. I can’t even tell you how many manly men I know that turn into lumpy mush at their sudden realization that they can FEEL something with their hearts in addition to their pants.

I hope it's pure recklessness and lovin'. Because really, only Bond gets away with that. And only Moneypenny tolerates it.

I'm...

...Excited, Very Excited.

Maybe Baby

I found myself looking at online baby bedding today. Why? I don't know. I just WAS.

And in those moments, those brief moments where I selected a really nice mod pattern for my crib bedding...it hit me.

A. I don't have a child.
B. I don't want a child.
C. I don't like other people's children.

So why was I picking out baby bedding? The novelty? The really neat fabric? My inner seamstress?

No...I think it was this mental thought:

"Everyone should have a baby."

GASP...GAG! What happened to my inner Feminist? It appears she was hog-tied S&M style by my inner Soccer Mom. Despite the fact that I myself don't want a child, why on earth would I ever think that everyone else should? Eggads, people - we're so overcrowded that my inner Socialist tells me we should be rationing babies like the Chinese. 2 per couple, for a lifetime. If you re-marry - too bad. If you screw up and have a baby with some guy you met on prom night, too bad. You lost your option.

But my bigger concern is that I was drawn to this baby site. I actually moved my mouse and clicked on the link, and perused the crib options. It's bizarro world. It's superman stabbing himself with kryptonite. It's serious Jerry Seinfeld. It's someone not 'getting' The Office because there's no laugh track.

You get my point - it's something that should not happen! Me, baby. Not happening.

So I freaked out.

Is it something to do with being in my 30s? Is this that cliche baby moment that all women have? Plaster a ticking clock on my forehead - it's here! Or is it more that I feel I should be married now...that I should be considering this option with a nice middle-aged, boring, pedantic man? Or an abusive adulterous man-whore. I should be having a vasectomy conversation with one of these men? Or I should be hearing that 'when are you going to have a baby' question from mothers, only to reply 'Mr. Pedantic and I have decided to not have children.' Is it the need for a backup? That I need said significant other to pat me on the back and say 'yep, no kids - good decision honey' to validate? Then why the perusal of baby stuff? Just to consider the options?

And then it hit me. I knew what it was.

It was preparation.

It was the inner real me saying to myself...'well, if you end up changing your mind, or get knocked up, then you need options for your baby bedding'.

And the inner me is right. I should be prepared for life to change. It's the reason I think about where I might want to move when I'm 40. It's the reason I remember where the good senior discounts are. It's the reason I save architectural designs for homes I'd like to build for myself. It's the reason I have a file on a wedding to someone I haven't met yet. And it's the reason I have clippings from hotels in Sri Lanka should I ever need to hide from the CIA.

I do feel a tad better knowing that should I ever need it, I've already picked out a nice 1950's modern pattern crib set.

Let's just hope it doesn't come to that.

Fry's Trek

Fry's Electronics in Burbank is a Sci-fi themed geeky warehouse store...or so we thought.



What happens when you shoot a Star Trek episode in a superstore? You get thrown out! (Also, check out their short 'The Jogger' - a whole movie 'on the run.')

...and oddly, I got this from Wil Wheaton.
Seriously.

Cat the vote!

I'm forwarding on this story because it amuses me, there's a cat in it, and it tends to reflect my current idea of the voting process:

A man who reportedly believed Republicans were conspiring to steal today's election entered an Allentown polling site, signed in and proceeded to smash the screen of one of the electronic voting machines with a metal cat paperweight, poll volunteers said. (Broken machine pictured above) Police gave no motive, but a source said Young, a registered Independent, believed Republicans had conspired to win the election by using electronic ballots. Young, who brought the paperweight with him, then sat down, hung his head and waited for police, who arrested him without incident. "He came in here very peaceably and showed his ID," said volunteer Gladys Pezoldt, "then he got on the machine and just snapped…He was immediately remorseful. When the police came, he got up, turned around and put his hands behind his back."

Really...the part I love best is that he signed in, started to vote, and then lost it. And with a premeditated metal cat. You can't beat that story with a paperweight, kids.

Your vs You're...it's not that hard.

Here we are again with the second incarnation of "Men: Are They Really Worth it?"

In this segment, I again went to yahoo personals and within 5 short minutes, I compiled this nifty list of the best (worst) headers for online dating. These are all real headlines of men my age in the L.A. area.

I thank God every day that I'm single.


I'm worth a million in prizes... - I'll take cash value, thanks.

Comedian - Needs Motorcycle companion - Dammit Jay Leno, get off the internet!

Are you really ready??????? - I'm going to have to go with...No.

Ok, Now What? - Now, I'm walking away.

Together We Can Make A Difference! - scream it with me - "G.I. Joe!!!"

My Basset Hound loves me - She's your type.

Are your no-wax floors REALLY clean? - If you're suggesting we 'wax them'...then, yes.

Oooh! Pick me! Pick Meeee!! - Last in dodgeball, last in life.

leave the g__, take the c______ - why the blanks? Gun, cannoli, we all know this.

"I could drink a case of you" - I don't need a me-drunk, thanks.

dOWNTOWN mAN lOOKING 4 uPTOWN gIRL - Billy Joel is back on the market- yippee!

I know your out there!! - Yes, some girl who doesn't know grammar is out there.

Searching for the 3rd partner - Not sure what this means, but...Kinky.

Ugly but Interesting??? - After the third question mark, I'm going to say...not interesting.

HELLO THERE TO ALL THE SEXY LADY - ....um, Hi Borat.

One Day At A Time - This is it. This is it. This is life, the one you get
So go and have a ball.

Few Good Man - You can't handle the truth!

travel gal needs a pal - Gal? I think you're confused, sir...

dork of all dorks - This might be cute if he wasn't holding a lightsaber.

My Biological Clock is Ticking Loudly - Clearly a real man's man.

I'm Jus D - Jus Go Away.

Play ball! - Let's save the sex specifics for after date 4.

Blink and you'll miss it... - Once again...let's save the sex specifics...

Joe is looking for his 'shortie' - Once again...

All Man with a Big Hart. - Yes, Robert Wagner is pretty hot.

Geez, I should put something witty here - Yes, you should have.

STOP THE CAR!I'VE GOT GREAT CURB APPEAL - But I hear there are termites.

Do nice guys really finish last? - If they want a happy girlfriend they do.

I know you are, but what am I? Infinity! - It's great to know there are mature men out there.

OOga Booga!!!!! - I'm scared already.

Looking but not really looking..... - Emailing but not really emailing you.

"JESUS FREAK" - Are jesus freaks really that self-aware?

Try to set the night on Fiii-eeeer! - What's Fier?

what is your brand of vodka??? - Is this indicative of our type of evening?

goodlooking,fun,honest,actor,no games - actor + no games = oxymoron.

I could put strychnine in the guacamole. - Is death a turn on for a lot of girls? Really...I'm asking.

PERSONALITY GOES ALONG WAY! - But not as far as correct spelling.

long hair, laid back, luv dogs, brain - I love my brain too, but I dont advertise it.

Allow me to introduct myself - into?

You like Garry Cooper? - No..but I love Gary Cooper. You?

Adventurous and ? - Incontinent? Covered in Boils? Nasal?

Waiting for Godot - Hate to ruin the ending for you..but he never shows.

Ow. It just makes my heart hurt.
Really. Thank God I'm single. Thank frickin' God.

Tag, I'm it.

Books books books...Tracy tagged me, and boy is she going to regret it. Books are my life, so every question has multiple answers. Much like life.

1) One book that changed your life.

There isn't only one, sister...

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress and Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert Heinlein (Ideal Sci-fi)

Death of a Beekeeper,Lars Gustaffson (Ideal book structure)

Interview with a Vampire, Anne Rice (me, and gay men everywhere)

Sherlock Holmes series,Arthur Conan Doyle (finally, I had a hero)

Crime and Punishment, Dostoyevsky (just a brilliant damn book)

2) One book that you'd read more than once.

The James Bond series by Ian Fleming. I've read them each 3-4 times, and every time, they're new. I never see the sharks in the pool coming...but they do, and James always escapes. I dream of James and Moneypenny. Actually, I dream *I'm* Moneypenny.

Also the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series. Brilliant.

3) One book you'd want on a deserted island.

Gorky Park by Martin Cruz Smith. Because there's lots of snow in it. Lots.

4) One book that made you laugh.

Every freaking book from the Spenser series by Robert B Parker has made me laugh. My biggest wish is that I could have the poetic wit he does, and the propensity to use it on really tough guys with guns aimed at my head. That, and I'd like a big black man named Hawk to follow me around and protect me. Sweet.

Anything by David Sedaris, Douglas Adams. Oscar Wilde makes me giddy - flippant SOB.


5) One book that made you cry.

The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion. It's all about the death of her husband, analyzed moment by moment, broken down like math. It's how I think, and how I live life...and it paralleled something I felt for someone that destroyed me.

In the Matter of J. Robert Oppenheimer' - A travesty of 'patriotism'.

6) One book you wish you'd written.

The commuters by Cheryl Klein. Because a real person I know wrote a whole book. And it's good. You have no idea how odd that is to know a real writer!

Really, I have to say I'm impressed with Austen's Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice. Also, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Anything by James Ellroy. Brilliant prose. I'm impressed with things that there's no possibility I could have ever written, or come close. Through no calculated structure of words or random monkey typing could I ever compare with those. Things like Waiting for Godot blow my mind, and it's something I could never write. I'm an optimist, so I would have changed the ending. Godot shows up. With candy.

7) One book you wish had never been written.

Any book written phonetically. Or in Medieval English. Or about God. I hate Boethius' the Consolation of Philosophy because it's all three of those. Stupid Middle english phonetic religious poets. Where's Chaucer when you need him?

Also I really cant stand Uta Hagen's 'Respect for Acting'. Sorry to all the actors out there, but I have no respect.

8) One book you're currently reading.

Just finished 'I feel bad about my Neck' By Nora Ephron

Just started the Sherlock Holmes series again with Study in Scarlet.

Have Hunt for Red October by Clancy on my nightstand to re-read.

9) One book you've been meaning to read.

I still haven't read Dumas, and I need to get off my butt and do it. Didn't finish L'Morte de Arthur by Sir Thomas Mallory...need to do that too. I also have some Basic Writings of Nietzsche, but it sits there staring at me...and I'm afraid.

So many books, so little time.

I Got Lazy

So, over the past month, I've massively slowed down on the blogging. It used to be daily, yes...and then...it stopped! I entered a hitherto unknown portion of my life now known as 'nothing cool happened, and nobody said anything funny and I'm too lazy to make it all up'.

So...regarding said absence and lack of putting any effort into blogging, I have this to say: I'm not laughing at you, I'm just laughing and not typing it down.

Here are my top 15 excuses (pick which best suits your needs):

1. Stargate was canceled. I went into a deep depression. (Time for a MacGyver movie?)
2. I went to Disneyland every day for a week.
3. I was counseling the priest that molested Mark Foley.
4. Katrina
5. 9/11
6. Went on set to a Ciara video shoot for a 5 hour interview and didn't even get a job out of it. Got depressed.
7. Underwear gnomes stole my computer. Got depressed.
8. LOST jumped the shark, and again... got depressed.
9. Arson
10. Madonna adopted me.
11. I got overly concerned that I needed to 'save the cheerleader, save the world'.
12. Hot pocket burns
13. Found out Anderson Cooper is gay, committed hari kuri.
14. Found out all men I like are gay - just gave up...got depressed.
15. Interviewing like nuts, not getting hired.


I posted lots of funny youtube videos for you to be entertained...sort of like an old school 'Take it...1,2,3' moment, and I figured that would make you all laugh, but no...I got harassed at my absence. I can't even take a week off? Jeez...I AM looking for a job here.

Seriously. I am looking. Stop laughing.

Happy Halloween!

itunes Betrays Me

ok, GET OFF MY BACK! I admit it! I like disco.

There will be a brief pause for you to gasp or slit your throats.

I discovered this horror upon horrors when reviewing my itunes 'most played' and was shocked and dismayed to discover "Mandolay" by La Flavour was top at 69. Note that number. It disturbed me.

Second on the list was "Hot Shot" by Karen Young...at a measley 35 plays.
I wont even go into the others, but they included 70's hits of James Taylor, 10cc, and Andy Gibb.

Really, looking at my playlist, you'd assume I was in my mid-50's.

How is it possible that in my 2 months of having itunes, I've listened to one song 69 times! That breaks down to 1.15 plays a day! And the only lyric is MANDOLAY! (Say Hey) MANDOLAY! I don't even know what it means! Is it supposed to mean anything? I'm a sick, sick person. Sick, I tell you!

Yes, there's the occasional "Sexyback" or Arcade Fire. There's also a lot of 80's as well, but it tends to focus on an absurd amount of Adam Ant. I mean, who doesn't love Adam Ant, but I was a tad obsessed. It was the jacket, I swear.

But what I have most of is: Jack Benny
I am proud to admit I have over 45 episodes of the Jack Benny Show from 1933-1955.

That puts me in my late 70's. I'll trade you my Lucky Strikes for your Betty Grable poster.

1.15 plays a day. Sick, sick puppy. MANDOLAY!

And Then I Kicked A Hobo

"...and then I kicked a hobo"

Def: A more lively phrase to be used to ridicule one's self at the end of a poorly told story, instead of "and then I found 20 dollars"

Person 1: "So I was walking down the street and saw Sara's dog being walked by someone else, and I couldn't figure it out for the life of me"

Person 2: "..."

Person 1: "And then I kicked a hobo"


Use: Extensively by me today during interviews. Sotto voice, of course.

To the tune of "The Letter" By the Box Tops

Gimme a ticket for an SC game
Ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home
'Cause George Lucas just-a wrote me a letter

He doesn't care how much money he's gotta spend
Got to get SC back to glory again
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home
'Cause George Lucas just a-wrote me a letter

Well, he wrote me a letter
Said USC needed new buildings now, yeah
175 mil for all new kids
but nothing for us unemployed graduates, wow...

anyway...

How much money did the paper cost
to send me a note telling me I've completely lost
out on all the fun, all the money won,
'Cause George Lucas just a-wrote me a letter.
'Cause George Lucas just a-wrote me a letter.

Rock n Roll Rules!

Can I tell you how happy I am that Jeffrey won Project Runway!? I'm doing the happy dance!

That man has some serious talent in his little finger. I'd have worn his yellow couture dress every day. And that zipper work on the runway finale dress? Genius.

We just need to work on his personal wardrobe now. Scary.

But screw Miami...L.A. Rocks. Carry on.

Slight Chance of Afternoon Showers

Now that I'm not working, the days have shifted into stressful mornings and lazy afternoons. Somehow all the job-searching, emailing, blogging, new reading, commenting and caffeine-ating takes place in the morning, and I'm left with an afternoon of anxious pacing, phone-calling people who are not home from work yet, and...if I'm feeling ambitious, watering the lawn. But almost every day in the afternoon, I do take a shower.

I had no idea the depth of this watertastic invention of the afternoon shower! It's more relaxing, more productive, and there's no end to the things I can accomplish! Why just yesterday I shaved everything that needed to be shaved, and then thought...hey, I have the time...so shaved things that didn't need to be shaved! I even allowed that 30 seconds that seems important for the shaving cream to 'activate' my prickly leg hair before shaving it off. It's an old wives tale, but...hey, I have the time!

Nose buffers, masks, pore minimizers, moisturizers, hair protoplasm treatments - all things that can be done in the shower, but only an afternoon 15 minute shower!

Also, the time it takes to correctly mix and match shower gels and shampoo smells cannot be overrated. Caramel Cafe conditioner should not be mixed with Chanel No 5 gel, but Philosophy and Dove seem to be just right. There's nothing worse than having your boyfriend sniff the cupcake yummy that is your arm, followed by musky night-out sexy hair. Major nasal faux pas.

And that old buffer for my feet that hangs from the water spout that I never have time to use? I used it! I think I received it as a gift in 1989 from my grandmother. It works well when you have the time to balance on one foot while holding the curtain rod with one hand, and shower-head with the other. Like water Yoga.

Don't forget Hot Oil treatments. They take 5 minutes...and they're worth it, but who has the time in a 5:45am shower? So now I can do one weekly, and have that shine-happy hair that celebrities have. I'm sure those celebs often take afternoon showers. They may even have people HELP them with their afternoon showers.

And the best part? I'm so clean! It's amazing to be clean every afternoon, smell clean, and not have to rush through hair prep, clothes prep, to head off to work where 'work' smells like smoke and donuts get in your pores and ruin your 'clean' smelling prettiness. If only we all could be clean and not leave the house. The world would be a better place.

I just wish I had time for a bath sometimes. But really, when it comes down to it...baths are for losers that have nothing better to do in their day.

Hmm...

Strangers on a Plantain

Sipping a nice glass (no shoddy plastic here peeps) of Grey Goose vodka (The shout out is due to the free bottle in my gift bag!) and raspberry lemonade at Los Angeles Magazine's World Cuisine event, I realized that LA really IS full of people my age. I tend to forget.

In bars I only see younger, at work I only see older. Plus bar peeps and mortgage peeps are not my type of intellectual social friends. I wish the old adage from my Grandmother about meeting nice men in libraries was true. I'll bet you Albert Einstein hung out in the library. He was also a philanderer, but you can't be perfect. Honestly, I'd choose a philandering physicist genius over a loving slightly dim waiter any day. Perhaps that's why I'm still single. It's hard to find philandering physicist geniuses. Alive ones, anyway.

But this Food Event was jam-packed full of 30-40 something smart-loooking guys and gals gulping down vodka tonics, red snapper and mango truffles. Some even struck up conversation with me about the food we were eating! I know - people talking to strangers in LA - It never happens! Amazing!

Matching girls in tight blue dresses with hair in pony tails reminiscent of Robert Palmer's Addicted to Love video walked around with trays of Vodka tonics, displaying that stone-faced look when serving. I found it robotic and strange, I'm sure the men found it 'hot'.

But here's the interesting part - the same robotic Vodka girls asked to take a photo of me and my gal-pal April holding our drinks. We said 'oh, ok...um...sure' and posed as if we knew we were the trendiest of trendy hollywood hipsters. Yes, I am a famous director, how did you know?

I was flattered, but then suddenly horrified that I might have spinach puffs in my teeth, and they'd forget to photoshop those out before I'm seen in the next Los Angeles Magazine 'HOT in LA' section. April and I teeth-checked for the rest of the event.

But despite the plethora of people my age, I left with the 3 peeps I came with. All of us struck out, so I guess I'm a little pacified by that. And leaving single yet full with veal, mini cupcakes and champagne? Well...almost better than leaving hungry with a hottie.

Oh, I forgot the plantains. Give me plantains or give me hotties! Patrick Henry would be proud.

I spent like three hours shading the upper lip. It's probably the best pumpkin I've ever done.

Carved pumpkins last night - flippin' sweet!

We'll have pocketknives as favors!

Ok, so 3 of my blogroll pals are having wedding anniversaries today:

Citizen of the Month
Kapgar
Avitable

Happy wedding happiness blah to you guys. It just bummed me out, so I thought I'd have a little pretend anniversary to me and MacGyver.


Yes, it's Amanda Tapping from Stargate with him in the photo, but she LOOKS like me. Me and MacGyver.

That's not a bit weird is it?

Yes.

Shut Up.

You asked.

Kitten, Schrodinger's Kitten.

I have been reading all the articles on the James Bond movie coming out next month on the 17th. They generally don't talk about the film, but just buzz incessantly on his blonde hair. Even Daniel Craig himself says "They hate me. They don't think I'm right for the role. It's as simple as that. They're passionate about it, which I understand, but I do wish they'd reserve judgment."

But then I watched the trailer, and was blown away. Blown freakin away. "Yes, considerably."

So I got mad and called up Ian Fleming on my dead-phone. It really comes in handy when you just need to call...say...Mother Teresa, or Jesus, or Ted Knight.

Ring Ring...

ME: Ian? It's me...just wanted to chat about the Daniel Craig blonde thing...

IF: Bloody hell. Those sons of bitches wouldn't know an aston martin from a shark-infested pool. So what that he's blonde! I don't care if he's tweed-colored...he's got to be a serious son of a bitch to play James Bond. And clearly he's better than that fop Moore. What a disaster.

ME: Right! Who the hell likes Roger Moore? I have no respect for those people. None at all.

IF: Really, I didn't like anyone after Connery. Brosnan did well, just not really good in the swim trunks. That Connery had pecks to kill for, and a die-hard man swagger.

ME: Um...ok, yeah. I have to agree there.

IF: Hell of a package.

ME: Yep. Well, hmm.

IF: A real man's man.

ME: I'm getting that.

IF: Mmmm...

ME: What about Timothy Dalton?

IF: (coughing sounds as if he's choking on a martini)

ME: Changing the topic to this movie...you know, as a woman, I love Casino Royale best of all the books for one main reason. It shows Bond at his weakest, and his strongest. He's let a woman into his heart, and suffers greatly for it. It showcases the hard burn that creates the double-o that we know and love. We all know how that works...how love makes fools of us all, but to see it with the ultimate man's man, and how it destroys and ultimately creates him...is genius. Torture of the body and of the soul is what Casino Royale is all about. To breath new life into the Bond franchise indeed. Really, Ian, I think Cubby would be proud.

IF: Jolly spot on, Moneypenny. You're on speakerphone and Cubby has given you the thumbs up from the bar.

And with that lovely image of Cubby and Ian drinking their martinis shaken, not stirred, I hung up.

Bottom line: Craig is more Bond than Connery. And that's saying a lot. A damn lot. He's debonair and can kick some ass without spilling his drink. And he kicks that ass better than Connery could on his best day. And thank god, he's without the Roger Moore version of the puns.

Watching that trailer made me want to go out and kick some ass. Serious ass. And have a drink. And then get me a man. That's what Bond is all about - ass kicking, martinis, and lovin'. Not necessarily in that order.

Hick Hop

Poet Fisticuffs

I was reading an article recently about A.N.Wilson and his biography of English poet John Betjeman. In his book, Wilson included a copy of a letter that he had received from an anonymous source. Although sketchy in it's origins, the apparently authentic historical letter revealed a lusty and scandalous extra-marital romance. So excited in the discovery of his poet's affair... he printed it in his book.

He failed to notice that the first letter of each sentence of the vintage letter spells out "A. N. Wilson is a shit".

Poet fans suggest that rival Betjeman biographer Bevis Hillier might have been responsible, reporting that the envelope came from a stationer in Winchester, the southern English town where Hillier lives. Hillier denied involvement, but told newspapers he thinks Wilson is "despicable."

Ahh...poet fisticuffs.

A British writer was duped into printing a fake love letter in his latest biography -- complete with a coded four-letter insult aimed at him. It really put into perspective petty arguments and feuds. Especially ones that aim cleverly hidden insults.

I've been having one of these so-called petty feuds with a pal of mine for years now. There are times of silence, times of anger, and times of close friendship. But they're all marred by the cleverly hidden insults that we each pass to one other. These insults are aimed to kill - very specific, and very knowing of each others faults, insecurities, and weaknesses.

I can be pretty pointed in my jabs. However, I don't dodge and weave like a butterfly as much as I used to. He tends to get in more accurate bee stings as we progress. The more your friends know your weaknesses, and trigger words...the more likely they are to use them. And the less likely that reality is the reasoning behind the argument. Some things recently brought up are the furthest stretch from the truth...and the result of all this arguing? A 'break up' where there was no real friendship to begin with - only an illusion.

What to do? Some arguing time, maybe. Or just some alone time. Or maybe nothing to be done?

I think poet biographers A. N. Wilson and Bevis Hillier need to get together and have some arguing time. They need to hash it out, complete with fisticuffs if necessary. I predict that in the midst of their argument...there will suddenly be some passionate throw-down lovemaking. Because that's what poetry is all about, right?

Not that I'm saying my pal and I need to do that to make up. Despite the potential entertainment value, that would do some serious damage.

And I'm denying I sent him the letter saying he's a 'shit'. I'd come up with a better colorful metaphor. Love ya, mean it.

ASK HAT (SAT): Who do we have to screw to get a drink around here?

OK, so this week the guest Hyperion is Me (Schro from Schrodinger's
Kitten). Since Tracy Lynn and I are buds, we decided to go out for a few
drinks and answer the questions. This is the transcript of the tape
recording we made at the bar. It may be a bit shorter than the average
column, but what can I say, we were a bit preoccupied. And if anyone
has any tylenol, send it over. Please, I'm begging you. Tylenol.

Dear Ask HAT,

Is Tracy Lynn real or just a super cool computer?

Signed,
Hoping For A Fembot


Schro: 42. Oh wait, that wasn't the question. I think she's
definitely got some sort of deep blue thing going on. I hear she
plays a lot of chess in her spare time. And thermonuclear war.

But...I have seen her riding around on the back of a motorcycle with
Andrew McCarthy, so that might give you a clue as to her true makeup.


Tracy Lynn: Ok, first of all, I do not play chess. Ever. Literally
hundreds of people have tried to teach me, only to give up in utter
failure and disgust.
Thermonuclear war, on the other hand, was my major.
As to whether or not I am a fembot, well, I COULD tell you, but then
I'd have to kill you. It's up to you, really. I'm ok either way.
And dude, sweet Kim Cattrall/ Mannequin reference! Well done!

Schro: Would you like to play a game? TL, we need to teach a class on
how to rule the world, you think? Because really, chess is a game for
people with inferiority complexes that don't have the balls to play
with real people. We will get your Napoleon ass, dear reader, off
the couch and declare war on Thailand. They would welcome the confusion.

Dude, any McCarthy reference is a good reference.


Tracy Lynn: Yeah, but we don't have inferiority complexes. We ROCK!
And so I suggest that we also declare war on Switzerland, those smug
fondue eating bastards.

Schro: Switzerland it is. Ricola-whores, all of them.

Tracy Lynn: Yeah, I hate that crap. NEXT QUESTION!


Dear Ask HAT,


What's on your bedroom floor?

Signed,
Curious


Tracy Lynn: What the hell kind of pervy question is that? That's just
creepy, man. Schro, why would anyone want to know what's on my
bedroom floor, for crissakes?

Schro: The audacity! The rudeness! They must have heard about that
dead body. Either that, or they're hoping you're going to tell them
something extremely pervy, like a massive collection of crude rude
sex toys. Not that it's what's on my bedroom floor. ahem.

Tracy Lynn: You know, Schro, that's the kind of thing that makes me
mad. Because everybody knows that you need to keep your sex toys in a
DRAWER. DUH.
Besides, we moved the body last week. Now it's just clothes and shit.
Oh, and Kato under the bed.

Schro: Who the hell keeps toys in the drawer? You're asking for trouble
since that's the first place people look when they come to your
house! You need to put them under your bed in a box. A leather box.

Then again, maybe it's only my freaky friends that look for toys
before they bother opening the medicine cabinet. Just hope the lights
don't go out, and your mother in law finds a big white chunky taper
candle, which isn't a candle.


Tracy Lynn: Dude, did you not just hear me say that Kato is under the
bed?! How big a bed do you think I have? And what kind of friend looks
for sex toys? THAT is freaky. In fact, I don't think I'd even want to know.
And what kind of mother in law is lurking in your bedroom?


Schro: Sure, sure...Kato is code for 'sex swing'. Give it up.

You know, a nice girl would let her mother in law stay in the bedroom
while you sleep on the couch. No wonder you're single.

Tracy Lynn: Dude, no kidding. And Kato is the cat, you pervert.

You know, I'm not even missing the asshattery of Hyperion.

Schro: Asshat! Asshat! George Washington Rule! Are we done? Thank god.

Tracy Lynn:You betcha! Who do we have to screw to get more drinks over here?
And some chips and salsa! We like chips and salsa.



And with that, dear readers, we shall end this weeks column, as
neither of us can clearly recall our undoubtedly excellent adventures
after this point, due to the crappiness of the batteries in the
recorder, the cuteness of the waiter and the potency of the beverages.
I seem to remember the chips and salsa being pretty right on, as well.
Anyway, we shall return next week, full of vim and vigour and quite
possibly tylenol. Keep those questions coming, because we definitely
have answers. If only we could remember where we put them.

Fudgy

I tried a new ice cream today, Hagen-Daz Vanilla Fudge. Why, you ask? Because it looked good, because a reputable ice-cream chef told me to try it? No... because Zach Braff said he liked it.

Why you may ask, did I listen to some random actor? IS he some expert on Hagen-daz? Is he an ice cream guru of the acting world? No, but he has an honest face, and no actor has steered me wrong when it's come to ice cream. No actor has ever steered me anywhere, but that's besides the point. He said in an article that his favorite ice cream was Vanilla Fudge. I've never tried it, and he seems like a happy kid, so why not, right?

In all honesty, it was more of a SAT response to him. Zach Braff is to cool, as vanilla fudge is to good ice cream. Ring a bell, and I buy ice cream.

In my deep sad psyche, deep down there, I think..."if I like it too, then we could meet at a trendy Hollywood party, and I could say 'Hey- Vanilla Fudge, right?' and he'd say 'Sweet dude!' and we'd become bestest friends forever and ever." Hey, it could happen.

But standing at the frosty freezer section, I was faced with the choice of Zach Braff's Vanilla Fudge, and the old standby, Creme Brulee. As the wispy fog poured from the door, two figures appeared. A little Zach Braff in white with wings on one shoulder, and a little Dr. Cox, red with horns on the other.

Zach Braff: Get the Vanilla Fudge, so we can hang out and be super cute ice cream buddies together!

Dr. Cox: He's an ACTOR for god's sake.

Zach Braff: You're an actor too!

Dr. Cox: Don't listen to Britney here...go with the Creme Brulee and get out of here.

Zach Braff: But if you don't try it, then how can we meet at the party, and how can we become bestest buds?

Sigh. He was right.

So, I brushed off the Scrubs Angel and Devil and got the Vanilla Fudge.

And the moral of this story is that I now hate Zach Braff because it sucked. Vanilla Fudge has got to be the WORST ice cream I've ever had.

Not that it's ALL Zach Braff's fault. The Hagen-daz peeps make a big deal about their labels accurately reflecting the product, I know know this because it was on a special about the making of ice cream. The things you learn from the Food Channel, right?

So imagine my confusion when the label had not only an orchid flower but also square chunks of CHOCOLATE fudge. Is it going to taste like vanilla flavored fudge? Probably not, since the fudge was chocolate - but the name misleads, and the presence of fudge cubes is totally irrelevant anyway. It's vanilla ice cream with chocolate ripple. No FUDGE by any traditional definition of the word. And it's even without vanilla beans. It was sucky vanilla ice cream. I mean, the gall of Zach Braff.

Now when we meet at the trendy Hollywood party, I'm going to have to grab his lapels and scream 'Vanilla Fudge sucks!' And he will have me forcibly removed, and call me a stalker.

Whatever. Stupid actor. He started it.

Luke's Cousin

Wait for it...Luke's cousin and a musical number....and the freakin Disneyland castle. Damn, that Henson was good.

Story of my Life

And my worlds collide...

Steven Hawking quotes Woody Allen.

At a seminar; "How can one describe the universe at the beginning of time. I now think I can show how the universe was spontaneously created out of nothing, according to the laws of science. The universe exists, because general relativity and quantum theory allow and require it to exist. If I'm right, the universe is self contained, and governed by science alone. In time, we can hope to understand it completely. We have long enough, as the universe should last for ever. Eternity is a very long time, especially towards the end, as Woody Allen said."

AND...

Martha Stewart wants Eminem to appear on her "Martha" TV show.

"We play his music during breaks to keep people very lively and they love him," Stewart told AP Radio in a recent interview. "I would really love to have Eminem on the show," the 65-year-old lifestyle guru said. "I don't think he knows that my demographic audience is so involved in Eminem music."

The edumacation continues

Things I learned today:

I like iced coffee more than Monster energy drinks.

I need a new blazer before I go on another interview, since the one I have looks shiny and lounge-lizard ish. Which is cool for clubs, but not for conservative financial recruiters.

True friends appear in the most unlikely of places, and they perform amazing feats of friendship in the most unlikely of times. (Thanks to Fernando)

Rhumba Shorts are cool.

Lindsay Lohan goes commando. (Thanks (?) to Avitable)

You apparently can 'break up' with someone you aren't dating and never had any intention of dating, and barely considered a friend in the first place. (More on that later)

The lyrics to 'the witch doctor' go "Ooo eee, ooo ah ah, ting tang, walla walla bing bang" not "Ching Chang, walla walla" as I originally suspected. (Thanks to Kapgar for making me look that one up.)

My cheese wrapper told me that "cows are able to float 20 miles in large floods".

The new song - 'I gotta stay fly' by Three 6 Mafia (featuring Young Buck, 8ball & MJG) is awesome. I don't know who any of those additional rappers are...but I have to give them props otherwise I'll be shived walking down the street.

Oh, and it's hard to be a pimp. Word.

Easily Amused

I swear. I laugh (nay, giggle-snort : a step up from laughter) at these Mac Commercials every time. And the unveiling of a new commercial is more exciting to me than doing the pee-pee dance running up stairs.

Is it the really simple jokes? Am I mentally ill? Or is it my MacMuffin, and his insufferable mop-haired cuteness?

Who knows.

But I have a Mac, so I guess it worked. I'm a slave to the advertising world.

Giggle-snort.

Cosby Bebop

Courtesy of Avitable, this has got to be the strangest, yet most hypnotic thing I've seen all day.

The Cosby Bebop.

It'll make you want Jello.

micro-derma-who-cares

Confronted with the obvious signs of aging: crows feet, wrinkles, laugh lines, sun damage and (gasp!) age spots...I decided it was time to go the way of all Los Angeleno women, and get me some spiffy micro-dermabrasion.

V and I went to the haute salon in San Elijo Hills (near Encinitas/San Diego) for our treatments. Having never been to a salon, let alone a haute one, we were both unprepared for the strangeness to follow.

Frauline Helga, my esthetician, was rough, abrupt, and yet complimentary. She told me I had beautiful skin, and when I told her my age, she had the kindness to fake a gasp in surprise. I also got a very positive thumbs up for staying out of the sun, something only my mother has complimented me on before. Sort of like chewing the colored pill at the dentists office and not having many spots you missed while brushing. Yay me!

Forced to get nekkid, shoeless and towel-wrapped was the first in the line of horrors - why a facial treatment needed to involve my feet - I'm not sure. V, rebellious, refused to take off her clothes. She put her wrap over her dress, and stomped off with her esthetician, indignant. We were separated - feeling like sisters at Birkenau, marching off to endure horrors, never to see each other again.

After laying alone in a sickly purple room the size of an optometrists' office, I was then treated to the explanation of the micro-dermabrasion machine. 'This is sand. It will come out this hole, and be sucked up by this hole'. That's it. She flipped on the human vacuum, and sandpapered and sucked my face. It felt much like being pet with sandpaper. It was soft. I expected more of a rough 'ow' kind of experience, as I'm paying good money for this pain. As V later said - "we know it's good only if it hurts."

After the sandpapering, she then slathered my face with creams smelling of roses, and gave me a foot massage. See - feet are important to the whole facial rejuvenation experience. Also, the creams were massaged into my neck and shoulders - thus explaining the clothes removing. It was very uncomfortable, and I clenched the table the whole time. Not that I feared Helga was going to violate me, but you never know. I AM young and cute.

V got the Glycolic mask instead, and I heard her screaming from my room. Of course, she looked better. Pain really does make a difference. But with her clothes on, she didn't get the massage or foot cream...so I at least had prettier feet for a few hours.

Helga told me that I did not need to come back again except for 'maintenance' which was monthly of course. If I continued to go, I'd have to live in a hovel and eat top ramen. The price we pay for beauty. We looked at some products...the best was a cream made of cow udder something...I believe it was cow secretions. I'm trying hard to block it out, since it was not only disturbing, but it also cost more than my car.

My face looked the same, but shinier, so I washed it as soon as I got home. With makeup on, I looked like I just went for a run - redder, shinier, but the same. Oh well.

Maybe when I start looking like Jessica Tandy, I'll head on out there again. And get the painful one.

God, I miss the 80s.

and the best for last...

I dare you not to sing along.

Ode on Banana Underwear

I hate the word 'panties'.

Ahem...

Thou unworn underwear still and quiet,
banana underwear of silence and slow time,
oh!, fruity rumba short how I rejoice in thee.
What trendy and fine bananas haunt your shape,
What mad meshy and sweet pursuit? What wild ecstasy?

A ruffled extravaganza unheard,
Bananas play on;
Bananas cannot fade, reflector of my soul and tushie
For ever will thou be false bananas, and forever young
yet, do not grieve, they be fair!

Ah, happy Urban Outfitters hath directed the world
in it's search for banana underwear.
To the dollar strewn altar, mysterious 20-something priest
takes my money and lows
'Once underwear is worn, can ne'er return.'

O ruffled shape! O bananas golden!
Thou, underwear shall not remain silent,
in midst of other woe, to whom thou say'st,
'Bananas are underwear, Underwear bananas, -
That is all you know on earth, and all you need to know.'


Take that, John Keats.

Top Ten Trivia Tips about Schrodinger's Kitten!

1. In Japan it is considered rude to talk with Schrodinger's Kitten in your mouth.

2. About one tenth of Schrodinger's Kitten is permanently covered in ice.

3. Schrodinger's Kitten has only one weakness - the colour yellow.

4. A Schrodinger's Kittenometer is used to measure Schrodinger's Kitten.

5. A cluster of bananas is called a hand and consists of 10 to 20 bananas, which are individually known as Schrodinger's Kitten.

6. The word 'samba' means 'to rub Schrodinger's Kitten'.

7. Baskin Robbins once made Schrodinger's Kitten flavoured ice cream!

8. Early Christians believed earthquakes were caused by Schrodinger's Kitten fighting underground.

9. Duelling is legal in Paraguay as long as both parties are Schrodinger's Kitten.

10. While sleeping, fifteen percent of men snore, and ten percent grind their Schrodinger's Kitten!

Let's forget 'Spock's Brain', shall we?

Captain's...Log
Stardate...Sep...tember 8...196...6
(read in Kirk rhythmic voice)

Star Trek premiered 40 years ago tomorrow on NBC.

However, the genesis of the show dates to March 11, 1964, when Roddenberry wrote a 16-page draft pilot for a show he told network executives would be a "Wagon train to the stars,'' Later that year, shooting began on the first "Star Trek" pilot episode, "The Cage.''

In interviews and memoirs written before he died, Roddenberry said NBC executives rejected the pilot as "too cerebral'' but were impressed enough to green-light a second pilot.

Despite its intensely loyal following (read: geeks), Star Trek was canceled by NBC after only 3 seasons, and the last first-run episode aired in June 1969, a little more than a month before the Apollo 11 crew landed on the moon. 40 years of spin-offs followed with good and bad moments. Good = "Resistance is Futile", Bad = Kirk meets God, Iffy = Whoopi as Dr. Phil.

Plans are under way for another "Trek" film in 2008, with J.J. Abrams at the helm. Lost fans rejoice! Matthew Fox as Kirk! Locke as Spock!

From CNN, Shatner has something to say about why we love the Trek:

"SHATNER: It's the characters, it's the uniqueness. [It's] Mr. Spock. It is the relationship between Spock and Kirk. It is the relationship that the three of us had, the compadres, the family. The levels of meaning of the show. The uniqueness of the science fiction at that time. It was all that and many other things, but the curious thing is, nobody really knows. So anything you say is as valid as anything we could say. 'Cause if we knew what it was --

NIMOY: We'd do it again.

SHATNER: And again. And to keep trying. And I haven't got it yet."

And here comes the cliche...you knew I had to say it. May Star Trek live long and prosper.

For Your Consideration: Best Treadmill Video

I've been holding onto this for days, for one of those special lulls, when you just need a pick-me-up. When a smile won't do it...you just need preppy boys dancing on treadmills.

And I know you're not tired of them yet...so, Here it is: Schrodinger's Kitten's offical blog band 'OK Go', performing their video for 'Here It Goes Again' at the MTV Video Music Awards.



These boys rock some serious treadmill.

Save the Date: June 1, 2021

Today, I decided I've had it with dating. Relationships with me and men are doomed, no matter the context or compatibility, due to one simple problem.

They're free to find someone else.

Fortunately I found this:
www.meet-an-inmate.com

These men are not only into working out all day long (hello buff abs), but they're aggressive, tough and 'men's men'. Possibly literally. I notice they don't indicate why they're incarcerated. Not that I'm going to be singling out the guys in for murder. I have other interests.

But I do like the posting of release dates. It's hard to plan a wedding that's 15 years out, but I can do it!

Notice their names end in numbers - very Jean Valjean. Hot!

They list them by age bracket - starting at 18....see me, I'm desperate in my old age. I'm an old maid, getting up there. But young girls aged 18 don't need to be starting out on convicted felons. I mean, start off with a nice young pot dealer, or your neighborhood petty thief. At least start with felons smart enough to get away with it. Then move on to the ones that got caught.

So I started chatting with John3623, who is interested in exercises, shivving, and getting his GED. We hit it off immediately, and I'm seeing him next month on his conjugal visit. Wish me luck!

My Two Party Non-Denominational A-sexual Possible Psychic Hypnotist Supposed Stylist...Maybe.

I wrote a blog a few weeks ago about a random hairstylist I had, and our interesting session together. The blog world is tight, but imagine my surprise when said hairstylist e-mailed me today telling me that he read my blog after another haircut client sent it to him. Said client was upset that I thought he was straight (he is not) and that he was a Republican (he has not denied this, but wrote a lengthy diatribe about how the two party system is bunk.) He at length described how long he's been gay, the last time he slept with a woman, and more details on his dual a party voting tendencies.

He also thoughtfully provided a complete copy of my blog entry, EDITED...with "corrections and suggestions".

Picture me sitting at my monitor, agog.

Now, far be it from me to assume this meant that he intended me to correct a personal blog entry. Far be it from me to assume that he wished the item to remain on my site edited because he said...and I quote..."I feel famous" with a nice smiley face. Far be it for me to assume he thinks that after our 45 minutes of human existence together, that I should know him extremely well, and get his 2-party political leanings and sexual college fraternity reminiscing correct. Clearly I wasn't paying enough attention to the minutiae of the guy that cut my hair once. Shame on me. I wasn't trying to ridicule Mr. Stylist then. NOW I am.

So, I'm taking this blog entry to make an announcement that apparently isn't clear:

This isn't the Washington Post.

And here's another disclaimer: This is a personal attempt at a humourous story-telling blog. All items are changed to be funnier and far more interesting than my actual life, and if you haven't realized that, then I feel sorry for you. I feel like James Frey!

I'm sure Neilochka doesn't have this problem with his talking penis blogs. His penis doesn't write back suggesting dialogue changes. Or maybe it does....Neil?

Now, I do feel that if someone is upset, then I am more than happy to delete the post in question. He was upset, or at least a client was. Apparently the rest of my commentary on his nice hands, cute hair and great haircutting skills has utterly DESTROYED his professional career by not outing him and his political beliefs. So said post is deleted.

I'd prefer people to read about themselves and think 'hey - cool' rather than spend an unprecedented amount of time cutting blogs when they should be out cutting hair. Hell, I don't even edit my blogs that much. And keep in mind that all my posts include no last names, and it's pretty odd that a female reader of mine happened to know this one random person in all of Los Angeles, AND got UPSET enough about my misinterpretation that he's a straight right-leaning gentleman to CALL him and discuss. What a freak! Whoever this girl is - here's an open suggestion that you stop reading my blog. As Steve Martin says to the audience in his stand up routine 'I don't NEED you. I can do this routine alone. I often do."

To everyone else I write about that I know personally - I love you. I write about you because I find you interesting. Please feel free to say 'hey - that's not what happened' in a funny way in the comments. But let me point this out : OF COURSE THATS NOT WHAT HAPPENED. DUH. Life is boring. Rarely do people say brilliant and hysterical things all day long. Rarely do things tie up with theme and a story arc in my daily life. But If I say Joe who I don't know other than that he cut my hair once is a straight Republican and he's a gay Democrat, for the love of Richard Dean Anderson don't get pissed about it. Just comment, send me a photo of Bush on a skewer and cock, or suck it up and realize it's all my interpretation of you. But for god's sake, don't edit me. I will not be edited.

Other bloggers - help me out on this! Have you ever been edited? What do you do? Do you research facts and resumes of your subjects and always have dual sources before you 'publish'?

I think from now on I'll refer to people only by code names, so if they get back to me, I can say, "It's not you...It's some other two party non-denominational gay psychic hypnotist stylist in West Hollywood." Clearly, I'm going to have to find another place to get haircuts, or start taping all my daily activities with hidden microphones.

As I looked at this e-mail from my hairstylist with corrections and deletions highlighted in RED font, I realized...sigh...the old adage is true:
Everyone's a critic.

"You know how to run"

The official band of 'Schrodinger's Kitten', OK Go, is performing tonight at the MTV Music Video Awards, 8pm ET.
Amazingly, they ARE going to do the Treadmill Routine. On Stage. Live.

Witness them hanging around the bathroom this morning asking JC from N'Sync for advice.


You gotta give it to these guys. Running is easy, running in front of millions - hard.

My current job search

Let's Kiss it out, Bitch!

SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A COMEDY SERIES
Jeremy Piven, Entourage

Who knew Hitler was so trendsetting?

Below are the real names of actual real bands-

BRADY BUNCH LAWNMOWER
BULIMIA BANQUET
CINDY BRADY'S LISP
HITLER'S BIKINI
KATHLEEN TURNER OVERDRIVE
NORMAN BATES AND THE SHOWERHEADS
PHENOBARBIDOLS
ROID ROGERS AND THE WHIRLING BUTT CHERRIES
SANDY DUNCAN'S EYE
THE WELL HUNGARIANS

...and my band that I intend to start once I learn an instrument other than flute, which is totally not rocking other than in Anchorman:

DEXTER RILEY

(See the old Disney movies with Kurt Russell if you don't get it)

Pastrami - Portman

I've decided that Pastrami on Rye is located at the center of the universe. It links us all in a karmic and cosmic beautiful way that can only be deciphered by a higher power named Yahweh, or possibly 100 typing monkeys that have already finished with Hamlet. Or me in this blog.

And the that elusive center of the universe where this Pastrami on Rye is located? : Canter's Deli.

Cheryl and I decided to gain 10 pounds so we moseyed on over in the evening to have our self declared 'Honorary-Jew' standby: Egg Cream, Pastrami on Rye, and a Black & White cookie.

I was going to swing by the Museum of Tolerance first to make it a 'Jewish' afternoon, but after seeing a special on the SS in the morning on the History Channel, I had had enough of the holocaust for one day. It's a downer. And probably not what the Jews would hope you'd remember most about their culture. I personally remember them for Pastrami on Ryes...so I'm not very tolerant, obviously. I told Cheryl it really wasn't worth blogging about this day unless I had the whole 'theme' thing going...but she reminded me the night is young, and a theme might still arise.

So we noshed on our sandwiches, and tried really hard not to stare at Natalie Portman at the table next to us.

Cheryl's new haircut looks good, so we spent a good 30 minutes dissecting why she still didn't like it, followed by more non-staring at Natalie Portman. As always at Canters, the wait staff is neglectful and snobby without reason...that new Burger King Pastrami Burger commercial filmed there is pretty accurate. Snobby waitresses don't make for good theme either.

Afterwards, we walked down Melrose, sat in chipped old chairs to read The Onion, and sip Coffee Bean frappucinno-esque beverages. The highlight of the walk was the searching for bathrooms like Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Bidet. Who ever heard of a coffee shop with no restroom? And dagummit - no theme yet.

Next came the drinks portion of the evening (here she is...the drinks portion of the evening (to the tune of miss america)) at the Formosa. We spoke of a 'sheet cycle'...meaning how long your sheets are good for...like is it ok to sleep on dirty sheets, and can you invite your significant other to sleep on your dirty sheets, and what if you've been having 'fun' by yourself on those sheets...is that gross, or since the fluids are the same, does it really matter? We've created a detailed manifesto on sheet manners if you care to read it. Alas, no theme there either. Is it possible these random events are truly random?

Dirty sheets are the kind of things we talk about when the waitress serves gin and tonics with the consistency of lighter fluid. And my maitai was straight rum with a cherry. Not my typical mai tai...then again, this isn't the typical joint. I believe the Formosa was cool at one point. It is no longer. There are no actual celebrities inside. Canter's already had it beat with Miss Portman.

So, there you go. That's the end of the evening... and I have no theme, but I do have the six degrees of Pastrami on Rye.

Pastrami, Canters, Tolerance, Fappucinnos, Dirty Sheets, Natalie Portman. Eat your heart out Mel Gibson.

Steve Guttenberg ROCKS

Your date of conception was on or about 1 December 1973 which was a Saturday.

You were born on a Saturday
under the astrological sign Virgo.
Your Life path number is 8.

The Julian calendar date of your birth is 2442283.5.
The golden number for 1974 is 18.
The epact number for 1974 is 6.
The year 1974 was not a leap year.

Your birthday falls into the Chinese year beginning 1/23/1974 and ending 2/10/1975.
You were born in the Chinese year of the Tiger.

Your Native American Zodiac sign is Bear; your plant is Violets.

You were born in the Egyptian month of Paopy, the second month of the season of Poret (Emergence - Fertile soil).

Your date of birth on the Hebrew calendar is 6 Elul 5734.

The date of Mardi Gras on your birth year was Tuesday 26 February 1974.

You are 32 years old.
You are 384 months old.
You are 1,671 weeks old.
You are 11,690 days old.

Celebrities who share your birthday:
Rupert Grint (1988) Chad Michael Murray (1981) Dave Chappelle (1973)
Marlee Matlin (1965) Craig Kilborn (1962) Cal Ripken, Jr. (1960)
Steve Guttenberg (1958) Yasser Arafat (1929) Durward Kirby (1912)
Duke Kahanamoku (1890)

Schrodinger overload

Just an add-on for today -

I have a nifty little mention here for the Carnival of the Mundane being held at Random Yak...and I even get honored with the 'theme' award...

AND I have a nice little interview over here at Monkey Barn full of physics and totally useless information about me. Like my PJ pattern.

Enjoy!

Who are the planets in your neighborhood...in your neighborhood....

Next week, the International Astronomical Union (the godfather of planets) is voting to see if hyped-up Pluto should remain a planet, and if 2003 UB313, the farthest-known object in the solar system and nicknamed Xena; Pluto's largest moon, Charon; and the asteroid Ceres, which was a planet in the 1800s before it was demoted; should be bumped back up.

They're taking a vote on August 24, my birthday, so I feel very tied into this event. It's not often that our universe expands like this. Oh wait...our universe is expanding all the time. Damn my physics education! It makes a mockery of non-universal events like this.

Right now, in Prague...the union is hammering out a definition of a planet...that's expected to take a until next week. then there's also a discussion of a new category: "plutons," referring to Pluto-like objects that reside in the Kuiper Belt, a mysterious, disc-shaped zone beyond Neptune containing thousands of comets and planetary objects. Pluto itself and two of the potential newcomers -- Charon and 2003 UB313 -- would be plutons under this scenario.

If the resolution is approved, and all are classified planets: the 12 planets in our solar system listed in order of their proximity to the sun would be Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Ceres, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, Charon, and the provisionally named 2003 UB313. Per CNN, "Its discoverer, Michael Brown of the California Institute of Technology, nicknamed it Xena after the warrior princess of TV fame, but it likely would be re-christened something else later, the panel said." Really, I don't see why Xena: Warrior planet is a terrible name. It's gay, but not too bad. She's not a wuss. And symbolic as the first lesbian planet in space. Aren't we progressive enough for that? Who says astronomers have no sense of humor?

Mike Brown (discoverer) actually opposes the new definition—even though it would make his discovery officially a planet. He calls the proposed definition "leave no ice ball behind," an approach that's flawed, he said, because it will include far too many objects—53 and counting, he figures. "I'd be sad to miss the chance to have discovered the tenth planet," Brown wrote in a statement. "But I'd get over it." A lovely sentiment by a true warrior prince.

In my old age I don't think I'll be able to remember the new planets. Maybe...Xena is hard to forget, Ceres is juice, and Charon is my mom...so perhaps I can make this work. I don't know what the hell the rest of you are going to do to remember it. But all in all, I'd prefer we don't change them. I spent a lot of time on that styrofoam mobile of the solar system, and if I have to paint 3 more balls, I'm going to be mighty pissed. Even if I get to glue photos of Lucy Lawless to one.

When we find the next planet, I propose we name it Jean-Luc Picard. Someone's got to keep Xena in check.

Yippie-Ki-Yay, Macmuffin!

As Tracy so happily informed me last night..."Hey your little Mac muffin is in a movie."

Yes, Justin Long...henceforth known as 'my little Mac muffin' from the Macintosh commercials, is in 'Accepted', which came out last week. I have not seen it yet. I'm waiting for the audiences to lessen. I think my matinee moaning would disturb the kiddies.

In the meantime, I get to report that Mac Muffin is joining Bruce Willis for the fourth film in the 'Die Hard' series, 'Die Hard: Reset' starting shooting next month. The storyline for the fourth film finds John McClane (Willis) coming out of retirement to battle an internet terrorist group that plans to demolish the world's technological infrastructure. My Mac Muffin will be playing a recently paroled computer expert who helps John McClane (Willis) take down cyber terrorists. In one version of the script, Mac Muffin was supposed to be McClane’s grown-up son, John Jr, but it’s unclear whether he still is, in the latest incarnation of the script.

Off to see Accepted. I'll try not to fall asleep right after, in case he wants to cuddle.

Schrodinger's Brain

I have a confession to make. I've been to Star Trek Conventions. Plural. Meaning more than one. Don't judge me.