Tell me it's not true!

According to the description on the steering wheel, the cereal will be “Naturally Sweetened Chocolate Pearl Shaped Cereal with Pirate Shaped Marshmallows”. The marshmallow shapes include hearts, hats, and treasure chests.

Avast ya scurvy scum!

So, in a quick note, I'm off on vacation today. It's one of those 'I'm still around, I'm just boycotting actual work or writing or computers because I have visitors in town, and I'm going to Disneyland!" LA is such the hub for visiting people...it's almost as if I live in an actual tourist destination. Almost.

Really, I AM going to Disneyland. When I get back, prepare yourselves for the best review of the new Depp-a-licious Pirates of the Caribbean ride! (I mean Depp-a-licious in a facetious way.)

Plus, I hear from ride operators that the Pirate employees can't ever refer to him as 'Johnny Depp'...so we'll see about that. BWA ha ha ha ha....

Yo ho, Yo ho, a vacation is the life for me! (Apologies to Walt) Here's a really crappy yet interesting video of Depp interacting with his animatronic Depp. We all should be so lucky.

No Go

The saddest phrase I can think of is 'No Go.'

Watched shuttle prep for hours this morning, and Weather kept saying no-go due to bad conditions 20 miles away (re-entry landing site should shuttle launching at the Cape not reach orbit and need to land.) They kept holding countdown at T minus 9:00, just hoping, and hoping that conditions would clear. You could hear it in their voices...the 'I so wish I could change the weather' desire. The sky in Florida was crystal clear, and yet it made no real difference. Anvil clouds within 20 miles of the landing site were refusing to leave, and there was nothing they could do about it. Anvils are the tops of thunderheads that could possibly trigger lightning as the shuttle enters, knocking out all it's electronics. The final go/no-go callout arrived, and Flight called out for Houston command and Weather, and an extremely disappointed 'No-go' was given. They even said "Listen Steve, I'm so sorry, but it's not looking good - no-go." Flight gave kudos to everyone, adding some extra pep into his voice to rally the disappointed troops. "Launch is scrubbed, good job, we'll do it tomorrow folks."

People in mission control got up, went and got coffee at this point. Bathroom breaks. Comments about the sucky weather too far away to see.

After all the buildup and excitement, to just get stalled on the pad, with nowhere to go, and such a minor fallback position compromised, it seemed as if these folks just get teased for their commitment. Much like the current NASA budget, they get taunted with all the wonderful visions of the future, and yet they're out of reach. And yet somewhere someone still says 'why don't they replace that old shuttle fleet - they're death traps!' and the NASA people just give a bitter laugh, look into their laps and wish. They wont play the blame game. They won't draw attention to the fact that NASA's budget is cut every year. Not once have they been able to do what they wanted. They'll just wish that somehow their budget would get approved with no cutbacks, no compromises, and no interrogation. And yet they know that somehow, someday, we will get there. We will do all they planned, all they wanted, it's just going to take a little more time than they hoped.

The clouds in the distance may stop them today, but 'we'll do it tomorrow, folks'.

Yves Saint Laurent

I met Yves in 1976. Oddly, we met in a gay bar. He could switch from one sex to the other, almost religious-like. Instead of a date, he asked me to tea the following day. I was so intrigued, and the irony of meeting someone in a gay bar was too much, so I said yes.

When we had tea the next afternoon, he wasn't feeling well. He was depressed about his Russian collection, and could not produce ideas fast enough. He began to stare at me in my black turtleneck. I remember he said I seemed Russian to him as well, everything took on a tone of his collection, regardless of the actuality. Eventually, I had to drag the designs out of him. That was years later. Pick up a pencil, and the miracle of the moment makes him study my face, and a dress follows. Suddenly, without plan, pure creation, a surge of thought. Finished, he lights a smoke, and reviews. No one is more surprised than he, no more amazed, the happiest I've ever seen him. Giddy, almost. Then immediately he must stop drawing and do something else.

In those days everything was a time of crisis. He is less scared now that we're together, but he was always afraid about his own fears. Afraid that his fear was unjustified, and the overwhelming aspect of it just tortured him. Day after day, his fear overflows. He's very self-critical, and he hurts himself. He tortures his own mind over those unjustified worries, and he always has.

We were at ease with the tradition, and yet bucked it. We were in love with everything that was a little bizarre, dangerous, black leather-like...we were players in our own minds. Seducers. Passionate, intellectually sophisticated, but also telling big common jokes, the punch-lines of which everyone knew.

He always used to quote, "I prefer honor to honors" and it really is true. He's the most honorable man I've ever met. That's why we're still together.

"The style is what counts" he says. "Fashion fades, style remains". His style will always remain. The classics: the bow in the back, the color connections, the check patterns. The classic safari coat, and the color hued ruffled blouses. The trousers. Always the trousers. He will be remembered forever for that simple act of making women's trousers fashionable again. That's because his style originated in the early 60's with men's clothes. He always used to say that men's clothes gave them earthly confidence, but women did not have such confidence. So he transferred this self-confidence to women in the form of figure, in the form of trousers and suits, and an air of equality. I've worn his pants almost every day since.

To him, fashion is a change in attitude. His favorite attribute of men and women is confidence. He idolized Coco Chanel. Marilyn Monroe. Rita Hayworth. I think that's why he was drawn to me. I attempted to be all three rolled into one for him, and I added in my own weary fearful outlook on life. He saw himself as a woman, in me. Perhaps he saw through the outside, into my inner Marilyn? He could always lean on my arm, looking back at me. Observing the way I stood, the way I moved. The fact that he enjoyed it made me so very happy. I've never had a man just look at me and take it all in. Not sexually, not with any agenda, just pleasing to the eye and palette. That was Yves. He was the only one who could look at me like that.

He once told me "to reach light, you have to go through the clouds", and when he started Saint Laurent, there were so many harsh years of difficulty. Burgeoning couturiers are in high supply. He stood out as a man who truly understood women, inside and out. And now, we've moved on, and we've found each other and success. It's been such a short time that we've been together, but I've loved every second of it.

Mission: Realistic...

...to meet George Clooney.

Ok. Less to meet him, and more to just marry him. We can actually skip the meet alltogether, and go straight to the marrying part.

While attempting to keep up with the world of movies that I'm no longer in (ha! - although I do now know a lot about Brad Grey thanks to LA Magazine) I just read that Ocean's Thirteen will be filming next month on 5 stages here by my house at Warner Brothers. That's within walking distance. In fact, that's 1 minute walking distance.

I really think Mr. Clooney and his gang (Brad, Matt etc...) will probably go to the local Taco Bell for lunch. I mean, they seem like that type, right? I totally think if I hang out there every day for the next 2 months, I'll run into them.

I mean, if I can run into Matthew Fox (married) at the grocery store, then I should fully deserve to run into George Clooney (unmarried) at Taco Bell. And he'll be so smitten with me, we'll immediately retire to his Italian Villa where we'll engage in non-stop physical activities not appropriate for this blog which is read by my mother.

I am so hotter than Krista Allen. Stop laughing. I'm serious.

Et Tu, Starbucks?

Stopped in at a new Starbucks this morning, one I hadn't been to before, just to cross it off my list of 'Continental US Starbucks', since I'm attempting to see them all.

And in honor of this new 'bucks, I decided to get a new drink. Since I've become addicted to the 'bucks in 1993, I've had every drink on their menu. And I still know how to order ones that aren't on their menu. So I tried the new Banana Coconut Frappucino. And I just about died.

From their official website, here are the contents : The Banana Coconut Frappuccino blended coffee starts with real banana puree and the finest Latin American coffees, which are blended with premium coconut syrup, milk and ice. Each Banana Coconut Frappuccino drink can then be topped with whipped cream and real toasted coconut flakes for an authentic taste of the tropics.

Sounds good, right? It's AWFUL ! It not only tasted bad, but also tasted nothing like bananas or coconut! It was far too sweet, so much so that I had to add plain milk to it to make it drinkable, and even then, it was sickly sweet!

If you know me, you know that my favorite candy is this see's thing which is brown sugar coated in chocolate. So I have a VERY high sugar tolerance. Or addiction, depending on your point of view. And to say that this drink is TOO sweet? That's like saying...I was going to come up with some big illustrating analogy, but I'm too lazy.

To be betrayed by my beloved bucks is the last straw. Who are these freaks coming up with drinks? Did they actually go to 'drink school' to come up with this bastard version of a crappy Banana Julius?

What ever happened to just a simple half-caf nonfat soy sugar-free double-shot cafe americano?

They got me. Go on. Just leave me. Save yourself.

Got another email from that company looking for reviewers. This time at least, they asked me to review a documentary on independant filmmakers.

Why you ask? Because they read my info and realized I AM an indie filmmaker? No.

Because I wrote a blog mentioning Robert Redford. And he's kind of known for creating this tiny film festival called Sundance. It's little. Barely even worth bringing up.

At least it's better than being known for poop. I AM reputable when it comes to indie filmmaking. Poop? Well, let's just say I only have time for one hobby.

What my taxes pay for.

This morning I drove to another town for an appointment with the government for my continued unemployment. I thought it was an actual appointment, but I should clarify what exactly happened.

8:45, I arrive for said appointment, and see the first person there. He's an old man. Like 80. He asks for my passport, he jots the number into a computer, looks at me, and he says 'That's it, you're done'. I sort of look askew, thinking he means I'm checked in for my appointment, but he says "No, that's all we needed, just proof of your identity - that's what the appointment was for."

I exit at 8:46.

I am not W. Mark Felt, I swear! How dare Bob Woodward imply such a thing.

I thought the US Government could locate people with a satellite and vaporize them from space. Really. I saw it in Real Genius, and if it was imagined in the 80's, it's got to be real by now. And can't the CIA clone people from their DNA acquired by used kleenex, and then replace us with our clone? What about voice identification, or internet protocols, or just pulling my FBI file. Whoops. I shouldn't have admitted I have an FBI file.

What about my coffee I drank at starbucks yesterday? Didn't they pull my prints off the cup, and then also swab my saliva off the rim for analysis? What about a retinal scan while I'm at the grocery store? I swear that bagger looked at me just a tad too long. Hair in my garbage? How about fingernail clippings? You could also interview all my friends, to confirm I'm me, or just give me a call and say 'is this you? Do you live here?'...and we'd be done.

Seriously. They require that I drive myself to another town, and provide photo identification? 2 types of photo ID? (good thing I had a passport otherwise we'd have a problem.) With an appointment to do so? Am I that sketchy that they need to prove I'm me, like I said I did? Don't I pay taxes from this address? Don't you have my complete life on a file somewhere that you can just compare my license to that satellite photo you took when I went out in my pink robe to get my newspaper on sunday?

And since I'm being logical, isn't my passport a government-issued document? Can't they just pull the info? Why does my physical presence at this office at 8:45 make any difference whatsoever? Couldn't I just GIVE them my passport number online or over the phone? Why do I need to hand it in person to someone?

Can you tell I'm belligerent? Mainly because this involved me getting up early, and spending about 5$ on gas. 5$ that unemployment wont reimburse me for. Although, I could really put in a claim, and get them all riled up about it, and get my $5 back. But I'm too lazy for that. The value of my 3 hours missed sleep is more important.

Oooh..maybe they took my prints off the passport. That might be it. And he did look at me long enough to get a retinal scan with his glasses. In that case, I'll forgive them. Thank god I got those fake latex prints and retinal contact lenses from the CIA just in case. Otherwise, they might have discovered I am G. Gordon Liddy, and then there's no way I'd have gotten my $5. Whew!

Shall We Play A Game?

Angelina Jolie was interviewed by Anderson Cooper on CNN to talk about babies and her political agenda. I'm sure you all knew that. It was top story on CNN this morning. Also, Anderson Cooper is hot.
BUT...
Did you also hear that the US activated it's ground-based interceptor missile defense system early to combat a North Korean missile that's on the pad ready to launch? Me neither. Baby Brangelina got more air-time. I think I'm concerned that the #2 story is imminent war, whereas #1 is Angelina. I think. Possibly I'm ok with that.

Peter Beck, defense analyst for International Crisis Group says of North Korea, "If they are really playing a finesse game they will back away but ... they are not known for their finesse game."

Paging Matthew Broderick. Matthew Broderick to NORAD.

Amongst the confusion of Defcon 1 warmongers, I am visualizing that Broderick (age 20, but with SJP at his side) uses his computer genius to hack into Angelina's baby photo stash to spread the wealth of the photo sale amongst the people. Very Robin Hood. In the download time, he also manages to return us to Defcon 5 by talking the North Koreans down from their ivory tower of holier-than-thou. Do we still use the term Defcon, or is it now "Code Red"? Personally I prefer little red lights on the 'offending country'..so it would be "Code North Korea" or on lesser occasions, "Code Monaco."

The word the Pentagon uses to describe the situation? "Provocative." Boy those government peeps have a way with words. Also, in terms of the activation of its missile defense system, which has been in the developmental stage for years...they quote "It's good to be ready."

Although in the same breath, they do clarify that North Korea does not have the ability to miniaturize a nuclear weapon for attachment to said missile. Really? Good. Because I was worried the missile was going to do some damage. I see now that it's just a really large rock. Sticks and Stones North Korea! Sticks and Stones.

Say it with me: "The only winning move, is not to play."

Oh, and here's that Jolie/Cooper interview, courtesy of CNN:

Anderson Cooper: Angelina, you're hot.

Angelina Jolie: Anderson, you're hot too.

Anderson Cooper: Thanks. You have the baby?

Angelina Jolie: Yes.

Camera focuses on Baby Brangelina for the next 59 minutes of interview, while Angelina and Anderson smile. The world applauds.

....

How about a nice game of chess?

You've got mail

"Oh, here's the mail it never fails it makes me wanna wag my tail, when it comes I wanna wail, MAIL!!!!"

Today I got emails from:

1. Howard Dean - Jeez. You'd think he'd have better things to do than email me. You'd think I had better things to do than to let him.

2. Nine West Shoes - ok, yes I like shoes, No I don't want to review your new catalog before it's published. I can await 2 weeks before my shoes jones start crying out for manolos or really cool spectator pumps. Plus, with no job, there's no need for shoes. I've never been this barefoot since I was 8 and it was summertime.

3. Jazz night reminder from my friend - to be sure I have my cell phone on in the land of cell phones, since lord knows I cant show up somewhere at an appointed time without it. Whatever happened to people saying "I'll see you at 4:00 at starbucks"? No..it's got to be:
3:30 when you've left your parking garage,
3:50 while driving looking for that elusive parking space,
4:01 when you find parking place,
4:09 to have me order you a latte while you're walking there.
Plus 6:05 to tell me we should do it again tomorrow.

4. A possible 'peep' from my 'where are my peeps?' blog about posting names and finding missing persons from my life! He MIGHT be Scot Frazier. Well, he is Scot, but he might be my Scot that I went to school with. But he doesn't remember my name, and I would hope that one of my high school crushes would know my name. It's sort of a 'I'm the only person with this name' thing. I'm not Jane Smith.

In the Snail Mail I got:

1. A sports trading card of ME, specially created by Gatorade. Really. I'm going to scan and post it for you. It's got my photo as a matador on the front, and my stats on the back. My team is 'Los Guajolotes' and it has some of my career highlights. Basically before I was gored in the side and forced to retire. My starting position: Matador. Are there short-stop matadors?

2. Smashbox stuff from QVC. I am oddly now one of those 'I order things off the TV' people. That's very disturbing to admit, and realize...but it was a deal, I tell you! Smashbox powder foundation in the BIG size for the price I paid for the little one. With a FREE brush. FREE! I have no free will when the word FREE is involved. I immediately put it on, so now I look beach bronzed and ready to go out, when in reality I'll just watch TV with cats on my lap. Such an LA life.
The powder came crushed (damaged case) so I called to get them to send me a replacement, and they told me to just keep the damaged one. Yippee! It's not THAT damaged! It's makeup for god's sake. I can put it in another container and it's just fine. Is that bad of me? Yes. Do I care? No. Unemployed writers deserve things like extra damaged makeup. And the free brush came with that, so maybe I'll get another FREE brush! 2 x FREE = SUPER FREE! I have no morals, clearly.

So there you go. That's what I have to blog about. Mail.
Hopefully tomorrow I'll bump into Matthew Fox again, that'll spice things up.