I've made no secret of my disdain for Sarah Palin. I didn't like her when she was tapped to be our Vice President, I laughed at her countless screw ups during interviews, and I applauded her high-schooler-lost-the-homecoming-crown-to-more-popular-girl attitude after John McCain lost the presidency to Barack Obama. These days, I don't really pay attention to her antics if I can help it, but she's been in the news a lot lately: Her daughter ("Teen-Activist, Bristol Palin!") was just on Dancing With the Stars, Sarah is on a book tour, and the whole Palin clan landed themselves a Mark Burnett produced reality show. Also, her incessant tweeting and Palin jargon leak through the cracks of the anti-conservative wall I haphazardly slapped together. (It's similar to my anti-Jersey Shore and anti-Jay Leno walls.)
Recently, however, there have been two "newsworthy" Sarah Palin moments that I could not ignore. First would obviously be the "refudiate" fiasco. (Funnily enough, my MacBook just underlined that word when I typed it. Yeah, I don't recognize it either, MacBook.) Back in July, Palin took to her Twitter account to express her opinion about the proposed mosque at Ground Zero. Her tweet read:
@SarahPalinUSA: Ground Zero Mosque supporters: doesn't it stab you in the heart, as it does ours throughout the heartland? Peaceful Muslims, pls refudiate
Bypassing my thoughts on her statement, I was one of many who were confused about what she meant. Did she mean repudiate (to reject with condemnation)? Or perhaps refute (to prove to be false)? Obviously, she wrote the wrong word. No big deal, right? Admit your mistake, correct it, and move on. But not Sarah Palin. She decided that she MEANT to write "refudiate," comparing herself to Shakespeare by tweeting:
@SarahPalinUSA: Shakespeare liked to coin new words too. Got to celebrate it!
Sigh. First of all, poor William Shakespeare. Second, why is Sarah Palin unable to admit it when she makes a mistake? She should pre-order a tombstone with "I Meant To Do That!!" on it. Showing weakness is human. People make mistakes. But refusing to admit it is egotistical and immature. The fact that the New Oxford American Dictionary decided to name "refudiate" as the Word of The Year just saddens me. They've made it ok for this woman to live in a fantasy word in which she and her family can do no wrong, even celebrate their mistakes. Like when Palin's daughters went on a homophobic rant on Facebook, attacking a young man who commented about their reality show's ratings. No one said the girls were wrong, Palin never denounced their diatribe - in a time where teens are committing suicide over homophobic bullying, her daughters can call someone a "faggot" for expressing their opinion, and nothing is done about it? Why is this not an issue?
Beyond the wordsmith's Twitter account, a recent interview with Fox News caught my attention. When asked if she would grant an interview to Katie Couric, Palin's response was as follows (all grammar mistakes are her own):
"I want to help clean up the state that is so sorry today of journalism. And I have a communications degree. I studied journalism, who, what, where, when, and why of reporting...I wouldn't waste...time with (Couric), who is so biased and will, no doubt, spin and gin up whatever it is that I have to say to create controversy."
Ok, let's examine this statement, shall we? First off, if you remember the now infamous Couric/Palin interview, it was Palin herself who dug her own grave. It was from this interview that the ever hilarious, "I can see Russia from my house" statement came about. What Palin seems to be referring to here, though, is the question Couric asked her about what newspapers and magazines she regularly read before being chosen to run with John McCain. Palin's answer was, "All of 'em." When gently pressed by Couric, Palin said, "Any of 'em that have been put in front of me. A vast variety of sources."
Now you're going to tell me that this woman, during the time it took to formulate that articulate response, could not think of ONE news source that she regularly turned to for information? Newsweek? Washington Post? NY Times? Alaska Daily? US Weekly? Nothing?? But beyond that, using that specific part of the interview to call Couric biased is just ridiculous. Palin sounds like a petulant child, and certainly not anyone I'd want representing me in any sort of political office. She went so far as to use the term "Lamestream Media" when talking about journalism today. This offends me greatly, as a lover of all things journalism. I implore someone (Couric? Please??) to sit her down and ask her to give very specific examples of biased media sources. I bet she'd hem and haw and circle the question four or five times before acting disgusted and above it all.
Also - "spin and gin?" Seriously? I know she's proud of her "folksy" vernacular, but she's just beginning to sound like white trash. (Tonight, she trashily tweeted a preemptive defense to PETA about her upcoming hunting episode of "Sarah Palin's Alaska," saying "PETA: Yes, that is responsible hunting you see in Sarah Palin's Alaska video tease for Sunday night. Remember: we eat, therefore we hunt." Right, because Alaska doesn't have grocery stores or butchers, right? Take out a few more deer and bears! We've got plenty! You betcha!) I also want to point out this sentence: "I want to help clean up the state that is so sorry today of journalism." I won't even comment of the sentence structure - it's just too cringeworthy.
In doing a bit of research for this blog, I looked up her degree information. I knew she had been a sportscaster out of college, but what I didn't realize was that she changed colleges SIX times in four years. Maybe you already knew that, but I was unaware. I'm not saying her degree isn't valid - of course it is. But for her to sit there and act like she is so much better than Katie Couric - a woman who has been in broadcast journalism for over 26 years - is pathetic and disrespectful. Also, as a former communications major, I know that it's one of those all encompassing, lazy majors that pretty much works for anything. Sure, Sarah Palin reported sports at a local station for a few years after graduation. But she's also a former beauty queen, and relaying scores isn't exactly hard hitting journalism. (Nor does it cover the "who, what, where, when, and why of reporting" that Palin holds so dear to her heart.) It isn't Katie Couric's fault that Palin can't think on her feet. Perhaps if she had been interviewed by a fellow Hockey Mom, she would have been coddled and asked only easy questions.
Fun Fact: Katie Couric received the Walter Cronkite for Journalism Excellence Award for the Sarah Palin interview. I've heard they only pick the most biased reporters for this honor.
Let us not forget that Sarah Palin signed on as a contributor at Fox News in January, 2010. Fox News, onetime home of Rush Limbaugh and current employers of such people as Bill O'Reilly, Tony Snow, and Ann Coulter. No bias in those offices, right? Nah. I'm sure if Sarah Palin was asked how many sides Fox News reports from, her response would be, "All of 'em."
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Cukoo for Coco
I got my first visitor this week, which happened much faster than I expected. I figured it would take my friends months to miss me enough to make the trek out here, let alone have the money to do so. But my friend Moe is one responsible chick, so she made it out before I even hit the three month mark. We packed a lot into the 2 days she was here. I'm so happy that she came out - not only did I miss her, I got to do a bunch of touristy things that I'm not sure I would have gotten to otherwise.
She arrived late Tuesday night, and I took her to one of my favorite local bars for some drinks. On Wednesday, we went up to the hills so we could see the city and the Hollywood sign - something Moe had on her must-see list. After getting completely lost, BRO finally found an awesome scenic overlook. To get there, we had to drive on those really winding roads with no guardrails that you see in movies. BRO did a great job, but I was still in the backseat scratching nail marks into his seat.
After that near-death experience, we headed out to Santa Monica Pier. We spent a few hours there, frolicking in the ice cold ocean and walking around the pier. BRO and Moe rode the Ferris wheel and got ice cream, while I followed them around, holding purses and snapping photos like their mother.
We decided to head home and freshen up before going to downtown Hollywood. BRO opted out of coming to dinner, so Moe and I went alone. The Garmin only got us slightly lost (only 20 minutes of driving around aimlessly - thanks, Garmin). We parked in a random parking lot and started walking around Hollywood Boulevard, checking out the Walk of Fame along the way. We found a huge Irish Pub called Dillon's to have dinner at. The place looked cool, but we were unable to fully experience it, because we were sat on the 2nd floor, off to the side, in an alcove, in a dark corner. Whatever, bitches. Sorry I was wearing a hoodie, ok? For obvious reasons (being that this is LA, after all), the waitresses were all dressed like variations of Gothic/Slutty Schoolgirls. I always love it when restaurants allow their servers to wear their ass-length hair down. I can't tell you how excited I was to inspect each forkful of fettuccine to see if a foot-long bleached strand was hanging off of it.
After our reasonably priced but underwhelming dinner, we decided to hoof it down to Grauman's Chinese Theater. It took us about a half hour, but it was a nice walk. We saw some famous restaurants and clubs along the way, and 3 different Scientology centers. (We only got offered one "stress test," though, so that's good.) I was embarrassed when I expressed my desire to live in this really cool looking building, only to pass by and see the word "Scientology" in offensively large green letters down the side. Once we reached the theater, however, the entire area was closed off for a film festival. We hung around across the street for a few minutes, staring at the building in hopes a celebrity would come out. No one did, so we headed home.
The next morning, I had to work really early. When I got home, we started getting ready to go see Conan's show. (!!) BRO dropped us off in a parking garage outside Warner Brothers Studios around 1:45pm. Once we got there, we had to check in and sit around for a while. They had airport style security go through our bags, checking for various weaponry and cameras. (Although with the way they were acting, I'm pretty sure finding a camera would have drawn a harsher response than if they had found a grenade). Then, they took away our cell phones, which I was not cool with at first. They gave us coat check style tickets and vaguely stated that we should come find them when the show was over.
After waiting in the parking garage for about an hour, they lined us up and we headed across the street to the actual WB lot. Once there, we had to get in line again - this time, it felt like forever because they stuffed us in there, gut-to-butt. Panic began to set in, but didn't stick around for long. I was going to see Conan, for God's sake. No panic attack could quell my excitement. We stood there for about 20 minutes (felt like 2 hours) - then they finally took us to the actual studio. I'm not sure what I thought it would be like, but I always pictured it to be...I don't know, a big room? This was literally a fancy warehouse. The minute you enter, you go through red curtains (Moe and I insist that they are the very same ones that Conan made in his new Amex commercial) and up a short flight of stairs. At the top, you're there - the audience seats and the "stage" are right in front of you. Along the "ceiling" are rows and rows of lights, cameras, and flat screen TVs. This may all sound obvious to some of you, but it was my first time on any type of set or studio, so it was pretty cool for me.
They sat us in what I thought to be great seats - we were 2 rows from the back, but the audience section isn't all that big, so we could see perfectly. (Except for Moe, who was right next to a guy controlling a massive spotlight, but she could still see Conan's desk.) Within 10 minutes, the warm up guy came out to address the crowd. He told some jokes, talked to a few audience members, and gave us some tips on how to be a great studio audience. (ie: Don't yell anything out - it's annoying; Pay attention to the applause sign.) He was in the middle of talking to another audience member when a production guy came out and said they were ready. Andy Richter came out, bantered a bit with warm up guy, and introduced the band. The band played a few songs, interacting with the audience by making them sing a few lyrics. (Moe and I were squirming - we did NOT want to participate. Thankfully, they didn't come to us.)
Then, moments later, the studio went silent. The theme music began. The applause sign started blinking. Andy announced the guests, and then Conan. And there he was. I've seen him live 3 times now, and I'm still like a 10 year old at a Bieber concert every time. I'm sure 70% of the "woos" and screams you heard if you watched were from me. My hands literally still hurt from clapping so much.
I thought that the taping would take more time - I assumed they would have to pause a few times for editing, or maybe Conan and/or Andy would crack up and have to start a joke over. That was not the case - what you saw on TBS last night was EXACTLY what happened in front of us. No editing. They run a really tight ship there. During the "commercial breaks," the band would keep playing the same song and Conan would wander around, talking to Andy or his long-time producer, Jeff. When the guests came out, he chatted with them during the "breaks." He never left the stage, not even for a second to go backstage.
Julie Bowen was one awkward asshole, though. I'm not sure if you caught the show, but she would not stop moving her legs around (because she obviously wanted people to keep noticing them), and during the breaks, she stared at herself in the monitor constantly. But her story about her kids was pretty funny - I just wish she would have calmed down a little. I almost thought she was on something.
After the taping finished, the guests, Andy, and Conan stood around talking for a few minutes. As they all turned to walk backstage together, Conan turned around and thanked us for being a great audience. I like to think he meant it and that he doesn't say that every night. I'm delusional, I know - but hey, at least this time, I'm not insisting that we had copious amounts of eye contact! (IT DID HAPPEN AT HIS NYC SHOW.)
I took Moe to the airport this morning - a short but busy trip. It was great to see a familiar face, and I hope to see more in the future. (Hint hint.) And I plan to go back to Conan as soon and as often as possible. If that gives my friends some incentive to come visit, then so be it. I'm hoping to go to the show so often, the security guards and show runners start to know me by name. And then one day, one of them will joke, "you should just work here." And I'll scream and beg and carry on and offer favors (of the errand and sexual variety).
And that is how I will eventually be banned from attending future tapings of Conan.
She arrived late Tuesday night, and I took her to one of my favorite local bars for some drinks. On Wednesday, we went up to the hills so we could see the city and the Hollywood sign - something Moe had on her must-see list. After getting completely lost, BRO finally found an awesome scenic overlook. To get there, we had to drive on those really winding roads with no guardrails that you see in movies. BRO did a great job, but I was still in the backseat scratching nail marks into his seat.
After that near-death experience, we headed out to Santa Monica Pier. We spent a few hours there, frolicking in the ice cold ocean and walking around the pier. BRO and Moe rode the Ferris wheel and got ice cream, while I followed them around, holding purses and snapping photos like their mother.
We decided to head home and freshen up before going to downtown Hollywood. BRO opted out of coming to dinner, so Moe and I went alone. The Garmin only got us slightly lost (only 20 minutes of driving around aimlessly - thanks, Garmin). We parked in a random parking lot and started walking around Hollywood Boulevard, checking out the Walk of Fame along the way. We found a huge Irish Pub called Dillon's to have dinner at. The place looked cool, but we were unable to fully experience it, because we were sat on the 2nd floor, off to the side, in an alcove, in a dark corner. Whatever, bitches. Sorry I was wearing a hoodie, ok? For obvious reasons (being that this is LA, after all), the waitresses were all dressed like variations of Gothic/Slutty Schoolgirls. I always love it when restaurants allow their servers to wear their ass-length hair down. I can't tell you how excited I was to inspect each forkful of fettuccine to see if a foot-long bleached strand was hanging off of it.
After our reasonably priced but underwhelming dinner, we decided to hoof it down to Grauman's Chinese Theater. It took us about a half hour, but it was a nice walk. We saw some famous restaurants and clubs along the way, and 3 different Scientology centers. (We only got offered one "stress test," though, so that's good.) I was embarrassed when I expressed my desire to live in this really cool looking building, only to pass by and see the word "Scientology" in offensively large green letters down the side. Once we reached the theater, however, the entire area was closed off for a film festival. We hung around across the street for a few minutes, staring at the building in hopes a celebrity would come out. No one did, so we headed home.
The next morning, I had to work really early. When I got home, we started getting ready to go see Conan's show. (!!) BRO dropped us off in a parking garage outside Warner Brothers Studios around 1:45pm. Once we got there, we had to check in and sit around for a while. They had airport style security go through our bags, checking for various weaponry and cameras. (Although with the way they were acting, I'm pretty sure finding a camera would have drawn a harsher response than if they had found a grenade). Then, they took away our cell phones, which I was not cool with at first. They gave us coat check style tickets and vaguely stated that we should come find them when the show was over.
After waiting in the parking garage for about an hour, they lined us up and we headed across the street to the actual WB lot. Once there, we had to get in line again - this time, it felt like forever because they stuffed us in there, gut-to-butt. Panic began to set in, but didn't stick around for long. I was going to see Conan, for God's sake. No panic attack could quell my excitement. We stood there for about 20 minutes (felt like 2 hours) - then they finally took us to the actual studio. I'm not sure what I thought it would be like, but I always pictured it to be...I don't know, a big room? This was literally a fancy warehouse. The minute you enter, you go through red curtains (Moe and I insist that they are the very same ones that Conan made in his new Amex commercial) and up a short flight of stairs. At the top, you're there - the audience seats and the "stage" are right in front of you. Along the "ceiling" are rows and rows of lights, cameras, and flat screen TVs. This may all sound obvious to some of you, but it was my first time on any type of set or studio, so it was pretty cool for me.
They sat us in what I thought to be great seats - we were 2 rows from the back, but the audience section isn't all that big, so we could see perfectly. (Except for Moe, who was right next to a guy controlling a massive spotlight, but she could still see Conan's desk.) Within 10 minutes, the warm up guy came out to address the crowd. He told some jokes, talked to a few audience members, and gave us some tips on how to be a great studio audience. (ie: Don't yell anything out - it's annoying; Pay attention to the applause sign.) He was in the middle of talking to another audience member when a production guy came out and said they were ready. Andy Richter came out, bantered a bit with warm up guy, and introduced the band. The band played a few songs, interacting with the audience by making them sing a few lyrics. (Moe and I were squirming - we did NOT want to participate. Thankfully, they didn't come to us.)
Then, moments later, the studio went silent. The theme music began. The applause sign started blinking. Andy announced the guests, and then Conan. And there he was. I've seen him live 3 times now, and I'm still like a 10 year old at a Bieber concert every time. I'm sure 70% of the "woos" and screams you heard if you watched were from me. My hands literally still hurt from clapping so much.
I thought that the taping would take more time - I assumed they would have to pause a few times for editing, or maybe Conan and/or Andy would crack up and have to start a joke over. That was not the case - what you saw on TBS last night was EXACTLY what happened in front of us. No editing. They run a really tight ship there. During the "commercial breaks," the band would keep playing the same song and Conan would wander around, talking to Andy or his long-time producer, Jeff. When the guests came out, he chatted with them during the "breaks." He never left the stage, not even for a second to go backstage.
Julie Bowen was one awkward asshole, though. I'm not sure if you caught the show, but she would not stop moving her legs around (because she obviously wanted people to keep noticing them), and during the breaks, she stared at herself in the monitor constantly. But her story about her kids was pretty funny - I just wish she would have calmed down a little. I almost thought she was on something.
After the taping finished, the guests, Andy, and Conan stood around talking for a few minutes. As they all turned to walk backstage together, Conan turned around and thanked us for being a great audience. I like to think he meant it and that he doesn't say that every night. I'm delusional, I know - but hey, at least this time, I'm not insisting that we had copious amounts of eye contact! (IT DID HAPPEN AT HIS NYC SHOW.)
I took Moe to the airport this morning - a short but busy trip. It was great to see a familiar face, and I hope to see more in the future. (Hint hint.) And I plan to go back to Conan as soon and as often as possible. If that gives my friends some incentive to come visit, then so be it. I'm hoping to go to the show so often, the security guards and show runners start to know me by name. And then one day, one of them will joke, "you should just work here." And I'll scream and beg and carry on and offer favors (of the errand and sexual variety).
And that is how I will eventually be banned from attending future tapings of Conan.
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Almighty Buck
It's really funny how everyone uses the same joke to make themselves feel better in a nudge-nudge kind of way. It may start differently, but it always ends the same: "Well, maybe I'll win the lottery! Har dee har har!" What's sad is, obviously we're not joking. Everyone's lives would be different with money. Whoever said "money can't buy happiness" is a complete idiot. If I had money, I'd be the happiest person on the planet, because I wouldn't have to worry. Worrying is what gets me down. Worrying leads to stress, which leads to anxiety, which leads to emotional breakdowns.
Imagine, if you will, that you were a celebrity. Not a crazy celebrity, like Britney Spears. Just a normal, Liam Neeson-like celebrity. One who is famous, but not for having emotional meltdowns. Rich enough to be set for life, but not in rehab for the 6th time. Imagine being able to buy whatever car you wanted, whether it be a BMW (are those the really expensive ones?) or a Ford Escape. Think of how amazing it would be to scoff at your electric bill. Going out to dinner with friends 3 times a week? No problem - drinks on me!
Now imagine a normal person. Think of how they scrape together pennies every week to be able to pay for groceries. Imagine not knowing how you're going to make it through the cold months when you can't afford the gas bill. What would happen should you get sick, or you got laid off, or your car broke down? I don't mean people who are drains to the system - I mean honest, hard working people who can barely make ends meet and can't afford the decent things in life, let alone the finer ones. I mean the people who have the best intentions, but whose luck just isn't as good as others.
What those people wouldn't give to have money. And I'm not talking about Tom Hanks money. $5000 would change these people's lives. They could stretch two grand for months. They know the true meaning of budgeting - unlike Lindsay Lohan, who can go on a day-trip to Forever 21 and blow $250 on socks. Seriously. Can you imagine? It's sad, really.
I've always wished for a world where money wouldn't make you or break you. I've longed for a life where I wouldn't have to worry about my next electric bill payment or the upcoming rent. I can't imagine what it must be like to go to a mall and spend blindly until you have an entire new wardrobe. Is it jealousy? Hell yes, it's jealousy. I'm as green-eyed as they come. Snooki charges $20,000 for an appearance at a nightclub, but I've basically lived off of Campbell's Soup for three months? How is this right?
I don't want to throw myself a pity party. My mother has been absolutely wonderful to us since we've moved to LA. She moved us out here, paid for our airfare, and outfitted our apartment with whatever we needed. She's paid our rent, sent us cash, cosigned our lease, and wired us deposits. She bought my brother a car. She's sending my step-father out to move us 1.7 miles away from our current apartment, because we can't afford to move ourselves. Does that sound like a joke? Sadly, it's not.
LA is a tough town. I felt like I was on the usual path - Girl moves across the country with a few hundred dollars. Girl is average looking with awesome customer service skills. Someone will see girl's potential eventually. 2 1/2 months later, girl has 2 jobs. That's the norm - even better than the norm, from what I've heard. But things just keep popping up. And as positive as I try to be, I can't deny the fact that this is all about money. 20 minutes of Julia Roberts' salary would set me up for 5 years. It's sickening.
But I am still grateful. I'm grateful for my wonderful friends, who have been keeping in touch with me since the move and are always available to give advice. I'm grateful to my family, for their encouraging words. I'm grateful for my health, when not all of us have such luxuries. And most of all, I am grateful for my mother. Without her generosity and support, I would have been home 2 months ago. I'm not sure how much more she has in her, but I'll be thankful for every minute she spends listening to me complain, and every dollar she sends me for food. I only hope I can offer that kind of help to my children someday. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you, Mom. You are amazing.
But back to my original thought...Isn't it crazy that $5000 could change your life? I'll bet Oprah Winfrey spent that on dog food yesterday. So, while I'm not in the best place financially, I implore you to visit my other blog and donate to my cousin and his family. I think of how much I complain that I can't go out every weekend - and then I think of my cousin, Joe, whose family has given up everything to sit with him day after day. And of course, there is nowhere else they'd rather be. But things will add up eventually - and it'd be nice to give them a little cushion. Think of how far a few dollars can go. I hate to put this on you, dear friends. But they deserve it.
http://www.prayersforjoep.blogspot.com/
Spread the word. Every little bit helps.
Imagine, if you will, that you were a celebrity. Not a crazy celebrity, like Britney Spears. Just a normal, Liam Neeson-like celebrity. One who is famous, but not for having emotional meltdowns. Rich enough to be set for life, but not in rehab for the 6th time. Imagine being able to buy whatever car you wanted, whether it be a BMW (are those the really expensive ones?) or a Ford Escape. Think of how amazing it would be to scoff at your electric bill. Going out to dinner with friends 3 times a week? No problem - drinks on me!
Now imagine a normal person. Think of how they scrape together pennies every week to be able to pay for groceries. Imagine not knowing how you're going to make it through the cold months when you can't afford the gas bill. What would happen should you get sick, or you got laid off, or your car broke down? I don't mean people who are drains to the system - I mean honest, hard working people who can barely make ends meet and can't afford the decent things in life, let alone the finer ones. I mean the people who have the best intentions, but whose luck just isn't as good as others.
What those people wouldn't give to have money. And I'm not talking about Tom Hanks money. $5000 would change these people's lives. They could stretch two grand for months. They know the true meaning of budgeting - unlike Lindsay Lohan, who can go on a day-trip to Forever 21 and blow $250 on socks. Seriously. Can you imagine? It's sad, really.
I've always wished for a world where money wouldn't make you or break you. I've longed for a life where I wouldn't have to worry about my next electric bill payment or the upcoming rent. I can't imagine what it must be like to go to a mall and spend blindly until you have an entire new wardrobe. Is it jealousy? Hell yes, it's jealousy. I'm as green-eyed as they come. Snooki charges $20,000 for an appearance at a nightclub, but I've basically lived off of Campbell's Soup for three months? How is this right?
I don't want to throw myself a pity party. My mother has been absolutely wonderful to us since we've moved to LA. She moved us out here, paid for our airfare, and outfitted our apartment with whatever we needed. She's paid our rent, sent us cash, cosigned our lease, and wired us deposits. She bought my brother a car. She's sending my step-father out to move us 1.7 miles away from our current apartment, because we can't afford to move ourselves. Does that sound like a joke? Sadly, it's not.
LA is a tough town. I felt like I was on the usual path - Girl moves across the country with a few hundred dollars. Girl is average looking with awesome customer service skills. Someone will see girl's potential eventually. 2 1/2 months later, girl has 2 jobs. That's the norm - even better than the norm, from what I've heard. But things just keep popping up. And as positive as I try to be, I can't deny the fact that this is all about money. 20 minutes of Julia Roberts' salary would set me up for 5 years. It's sickening.
But I am still grateful. I'm grateful for my wonderful friends, who have been keeping in touch with me since the move and are always available to give advice. I'm grateful to my family, for their encouraging words. I'm grateful for my health, when not all of us have such luxuries. And most of all, I am grateful for my mother. Without her generosity and support, I would have been home 2 months ago. I'm not sure how much more she has in her, but I'll be thankful for every minute she spends listening to me complain, and every dollar she sends me for food. I only hope I can offer that kind of help to my children someday. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you, Mom. You are amazing.
But back to my original thought...Isn't it crazy that $5000 could change your life? I'll bet Oprah Winfrey spent that on dog food yesterday. So, while I'm not in the best place financially, I implore you to visit my other blog and donate to my cousin and his family. I think of how much I complain that I can't go out every weekend - and then I think of my cousin, Joe, whose family has given up everything to sit with him day after day. And of course, there is nowhere else they'd rather be. But things will add up eventually - and it'd be nice to give them a little cushion. Think of how far a few dollars can go. I hate to put this on you, dear friends. But they deserve it.
http://www.prayersforjoep.blogspot.com/
Spread the word. Every little bit helps.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Indecent Proposals
Well, as you all know by now, I have finally found a job. It's not going to make me rich, but I'm hoping it'll at least pay my bills - with enough left over for some semblance of a social life. As I'm learning the ropes at the restaurant, I'm also learning more about my new city - namely, that the men are perverts. Bold perverts.
For the past few days, I've had some of the regulars at the diner chat me up. It began innocently at first, but quickly escalated to eyes following my every move. I don't mind it that much - the men seem harmless and I am a waitress, after all. I was warned about the one guy though; My boss pulled me aside and told me to let him know if the guy got "hands-y." So there's that to look forward to.
On my way to work today, I wasn't paying attention on the bus and got off at the wrong stop. Thankfully, I had given myself plenty of time to get there, so I started walking. Just as the diner entered my sight line, a white pickup truck pulled up beside me. I thousand scenarios flashed through my head: rapist, drug lord, murderer, needs directions, creep, sex slavery, thinks I'm a hooker, etc... He rolled down his passenger window and asked my name. I smiled, shook my head, and began to walk away. He shouted, "you're beautiful! You're gorgeous!" I laughed and said, "what the hell are you talking about?!" He then asked me to accompany him to a party at the Playboy Mansion next month. (My responses throughout this conversation varied from "Oh my God" to "You're nuts.") He looked around, then whispered, "it's a lingerie party." Here I was thinking it was a Tupperware party. Thanks for clarifying, creepy Mexican man.
As I began to walk away, he shouted out the standard questions. Are you married? Where are you from? And my favorite: "What's your sign?" I told him apologetically that I had to get to work. He told me he had done an illegal u-turn to tell me how beautiful I am. Then he asked me if I've ever has Hennessey. Um.
I finally managed to get away from him - don't worry, I didn't go into work until he was gone. I don't need a stalker.
After work, I took the bus home. As I got off, I heard a soft accent in my ear.
"You American?"
I turned around, startled. There was a well dressed man in his 60s at my elbow carrying a cane. He was wearing sunglasses, even though today is overcast and rainy. He asked again. I grimaced and nodded. I was in a crowd of people, so I knew nothing would happen. Unless he Dexter Morgan'ed me, told people he was my father and that I had passed out, and carried me off to his waiting town car. Hmm...didn't think of that at the time...
Once I confirmed that yes, I was American, he continued with a series of questions. Did I have children? Was I married? Did I want to be? Then he offered me $1000 cash to marry him. I laughed, thinking this was only a lonely old man pulling my leg. Then he started referring to "we," as in "we pay big money." I was starting to get really uncomfortable. He began to beg me. I kept saying, "no thank you," and giggling uncomfortably. As I crossed the street to walk towards my apartment, he was still trailing behind me. I knew I had to lose him - I definitely didn't want this guy knowing where I live. So I turned around one more time and gave him a firm "NO, thank you." I walked away, glancing behind me every 2 seconds until he finally wandered away.
I'm pretty sure I was about to be sold into sex slavery. I really need to stop oozing sexuality. Or maybe just listen to my iPod on the bus from now on to deter Hostel-like situations.
For the past few days, I've had some of the regulars at the diner chat me up. It began innocently at first, but quickly escalated to eyes following my every move. I don't mind it that much - the men seem harmless and I am a waitress, after all. I was warned about the one guy though; My boss pulled me aside and told me to let him know if the guy got "hands-y." So there's that to look forward to.
On my way to work today, I wasn't paying attention on the bus and got off at the wrong stop. Thankfully, I had given myself plenty of time to get there, so I started walking. Just as the diner entered my sight line, a white pickup truck pulled up beside me. I thousand scenarios flashed through my head: rapist, drug lord, murderer, needs directions, creep, sex slavery, thinks I'm a hooker, etc... He rolled down his passenger window and asked my name. I smiled, shook my head, and began to walk away. He shouted, "you're beautiful! You're gorgeous!" I laughed and said, "what the hell are you talking about?!" He then asked me to accompany him to a party at the Playboy Mansion next month. (My responses throughout this conversation varied from "Oh my God" to "You're nuts.") He looked around, then whispered, "it's a lingerie party." Here I was thinking it was a Tupperware party. Thanks for clarifying, creepy Mexican man.
As I began to walk away, he shouted out the standard questions. Are you married? Where are you from? And my favorite: "What's your sign?" I told him apologetically that I had to get to work. He told me he had done an illegal u-turn to tell me how beautiful I am. Then he asked me if I've ever has Hennessey. Um.
I finally managed to get away from him - don't worry, I didn't go into work until he was gone. I don't need a stalker.
After work, I took the bus home. As I got off, I heard a soft accent in my ear.
"You American?"
I turned around, startled. There was a well dressed man in his 60s at my elbow carrying a cane. He was wearing sunglasses, even though today is overcast and rainy. He asked again. I grimaced and nodded. I was in a crowd of people, so I knew nothing would happen. Unless he Dexter Morgan'ed me, told people he was my father and that I had passed out, and carried me off to his waiting town car. Hmm...didn't think of that at the time...
Once I confirmed that yes, I was American, he continued with a series of questions. Did I have children? Was I married? Did I want to be? Then he offered me $1000 cash to marry him. I laughed, thinking this was only a lonely old man pulling my leg. Then he started referring to "we," as in "we pay big money." I was starting to get really uncomfortable. He began to beg me. I kept saying, "no thank you," and giggling uncomfortably. As I crossed the street to walk towards my apartment, he was still trailing behind me. I knew I had to lose him - I definitely didn't want this guy knowing where I live. So I turned around one more time and gave him a firm "NO, thank you." I walked away, glancing behind me every 2 seconds until he finally wandered away.
I'm pretty sure I was about to be sold into sex slavery. I really need to stop oozing sexuality. Or maybe just listen to my iPod on the bus from now on to deter Hostel-like situations.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Gone Huntin'
Looking for a job in LA is a joke. Well, it's a joke if you happen to be 5 feet tall, weigh more than is socially acceptable, and have no sense of style. I have now applied at over 30 places. I have sat through open interviews, walked up and down streets filling out applications, and trolled craigslist for hours. My mother has now redone my resume 3 times, and she has made me two different versions: one administrative and one customer service. I have gotten precisly 3 phone calls so far. Two were for kiosks at Santa Monica College, which I though was too far away at the time, but now am regretting not pursuing. The other was for P.F. Chang's in Burbank - but sadly, that was when I was in Buffalo a few weeks ago, and they never called me back about rescheduling.
Last week, BRO and his friend let me tag along to an open interview at a restaurant outside of Universal Studios. The Saddle Ranch Chop House boasts 3 bars, a huge indoor/oudoor dining area, and not 1, but 2 bulls for guests to get thrown from while inebriated. I liked it immediately. The interview was crowded, but I was somewhat confident. I'm outgoing, friendly, and have loads of customer service experience. I even had an Oprah approved resume. (That's where my mother got the layout for my new and improved resume from.) We waited for over an hour before BRO and his friend were called. The manager interviewed them for 5 minutes, then moved on to the next group. I almost felt bad, because BRO only has about a year and a half of restaurant experience, and his friend had never had a job before. After another hour, my group was finally called. We were interviewed by the general manager, who was quite intimidating. However, I was confident in my answers to her questions. I thought I was charming and open, and my resume spoke for itself.
Cut to the next day: BRO and his friend got callbacks. I wasn't upset at first, but as the days went on and my phone mocked me silently, I began to wonder what I could have done wrong. Had I been too nervous and fidgety? Had one of my previous employers given me a bad reference? I couldn't put my finger on it. Then, it hit me. BRO had been dressed really trendy, with boots and a vest and other things that people find trendy that I have no idea about. His friend had worn a denim jumpsuit with sky high gladiator heels, her long flowing blonde hair curled just so. Me? I had on a summer dress from Forever 21 and flip flops, my hair styled into a flat, dried out look. I had the bare minimum of makeup on. That was my problem. That was what had gone wrong: I didn't have the right look. I wasn't pretty enough, trendy enough, thin enough, glamorous enough.
That was tough to swallow. I may suck at a lot of things, but waitressing isn't one of them. I'm damn good at it, and I defy anyone to prove otherwise. But I will admit that I don't try very hard in the clothes/look department. What made me think it was ok to wear flip flops to a job interview? How could I not have curled my hair? Why didn't I wear black, the color of trendiness? Lord knows I have enough of it in my closet. But while I was busy cutting myself down, I began to get angry. Why the hell didn't they give me a chance? I have the experience, I made the manager laugh a few times during the interview, I had all the answers to her questions...so they're not going to call me because I'm not tan enough? Bullshit.
But these are the things I have to deal with out here. That's why the deli down the street wants a headshot with your application. That's why the doctor's office across town won't respond to your email regarding a receptionist position unless you've included a photo. I suppose I was in denial when I first got out here. "Oh, once people meet me, they'll give me a chance. I'm charming! Funny! I have experience! Who cares that I have dark brown roots? Who cares than I'm 25 pounds overweight? They'll love me for ME." So naive, wasn't it?
So that's where it stands now. I've been powering through craigslist once again today, responding to any ad that looks remotely promising. I'm planning on a City Walk blitz at some point, and this time, I will wear heels and curl my hair and wear my best black outfit. But I'm telling you, if I don't have even a hint of a job before October 1st, I'm going to be in trouble. As I sit here, I have $11 in my bank account. I love LA, but this is getting ridiculous. It's so different from Buffalo.
Buffalo is the dorky, band geek friend who's always there for you, but who you know you can't go to the cool parties with. LA is the bitchy girl who empties your pockets of lunch money, hope, and determination every day - but you still want to sit with her at lunch. It's a vicious cycle.
Last week, BRO and his friend let me tag along to an open interview at a restaurant outside of Universal Studios. The Saddle Ranch Chop House boasts 3 bars, a huge indoor/oudoor dining area, and not 1, but 2 bulls for guests to get thrown from while inebriated. I liked it immediately. The interview was crowded, but I was somewhat confident. I'm outgoing, friendly, and have loads of customer service experience. I even had an Oprah approved resume. (That's where my mother got the layout for my new and improved resume from.) We waited for over an hour before BRO and his friend were called. The manager interviewed them for 5 minutes, then moved on to the next group. I almost felt bad, because BRO only has about a year and a half of restaurant experience, and his friend had never had a job before. After another hour, my group was finally called. We were interviewed by the general manager, who was quite intimidating. However, I was confident in my answers to her questions. I thought I was charming and open, and my resume spoke for itself.
Cut to the next day: BRO and his friend got callbacks. I wasn't upset at first, but as the days went on and my phone mocked me silently, I began to wonder what I could have done wrong. Had I been too nervous and fidgety? Had one of my previous employers given me a bad reference? I couldn't put my finger on it. Then, it hit me. BRO had been dressed really trendy, with boots and a vest and other things that people find trendy that I have no idea about. His friend had worn a denim jumpsuit with sky high gladiator heels, her long flowing blonde hair curled just so. Me? I had on a summer dress from Forever 21 and flip flops, my hair styled into a flat, dried out look. I had the bare minimum of makeup on. That was my problem. That was what had gone wrong: I didn't have the right look. I wasn't pretty enough, trendy enough, thin enough, glamorous enough.
That was tough to swallow. I may suck at a lot of things, but waitressing isn't one of them. I'm damn good at it, and I defy anyone to prove otherwise. But I will admit that I don't try very hard in the clothes/look department. What made me think it was ok to wear flip flops to a job interview? How could I not have curled my hair? Why didn't I wear black, the color of trendiness? Lord knows I have enough of it in my closet. But while I was busy cutting myself down, I began to get angry. Why the hell didn't they give me a chance? I have the experience, I made the manager laugh a few times during the interview, I had all the answers to her questions...so they're not going to call me because I'm not tan enough? Bullshit.
But these are the things I have to deal with out here. That's why the deli down the street wants a headshot with your application. That's why the doctor's office across town won't respond to your email regarding a receptionist position unless you've included a photo. I suppose I was in denial when I first got out here. "Oh, once people meet me, they'll give me a chance. I'm charming! Funny! I have experience! Who cares that I have dark brown roots? Who cares than I'm 25 pounds overweight? They'll love me for ME." So naive, wasn't it?
So that's where it stands now. I've been powering through craigslist once again today, responding to any ad that looks remotely promising. I'm planning on a City Walk blitz at some point, and this time, I will wear heels and curl my hair and wear my best black outfit. But I'm telling you, if I don't have even a hint of a job before October 1st, I'm going to be in trouble. As I sit here, I have $11 in my bank account. I love LA, but this is getting ridiculous. It's so different from Buffalo.
Buffalo is the dorky, band geek friend who's always there for you, but who you know you can't go to the cool parties with. LA is the bitchy girl who empties your pockets of lunch money, hope, and determination every day - but you still want to sit with her at lunch. It's a vicious cycle.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
For Mimi
In between fruitlessly searching for a job and getting used to living across the country from my friends and family, I got the email no one wants to get: My grandmother was getting worse by the day, and my family thought she may only have a few days left. When you're borderline broke and 3,000 miles away, news like this causes pure panic. I quickly called my mother, who booked me a flight for the next morning. I'm really not sure what I'd do without her.
Backing up a bit here - my grandmother was diagnosed with stage 3B lung cancer a little over a year ago. I wasn't completely shocked - Mimi was a smoker for over 30 years, but she had quit a while ago. Still, when I found this out, I was crushed. I sat on the phone with her, crying as she told me she was thinking about not pursuing any treatment. I begged her to at least try. She opted for chemotherapy, which took a lot out of her. She stopped treatment a few months later, then began it again on the advice of her doctor. Again, she became weaker as the weeks went on. She was only able to talk on the phone for a short time before becoming winded, and she was easily confused. My aunts were concerned, but they thought it could have been a lot of different things: The chemo, her medication, the fact that she wasn't really eating or drinking anything. No one wanted to admit what was really going on - that our Mimi was dying.
Wednesday, September 1st, Mimi was in her apartment trying to do a crossword puzzle. A few hours later, she was at my aunt's house because my family thought she shouldn't be alone. A few days later, she was admitted to Hospice. 2 days after that, she was gone. I still can't wrap my head around how quickly it went, and how grateful I am that I could be there. Seeing a loved one in Hospice is no picnic. Mimi was weak and barely coherent at times. That last day, she tried to communicate with us, but we couldn't understand most of what she was saying, and you could see the frustration in her eyes. We felt it too.
But even through the pain, sadness, and finality of it all, Mimi was still in there. There were moments where our Mimi shone through that shell of a person lying in the hospital bed. She would use my cousin's middle finger to flip us off. She loved watching Family Guy, which still makes me shake my head in disbelief. She would reach for my hand - as if to hold it for comfort - then use it to try to pull herself out of bed to escape. She didn't want to be at Hospice, but we had no other choice. My aunt was trying to take care of her at her home, but she just couldn't do it anymore. Between trips to the bathroom, hourly administering of medication, and the fact that Mimi couldn't be left alone for any extended amount of time meant that Aunt Kelly was getting zero sleep. And we all needed to rest and keep our strength and spirits up for Mimi.
I still don't think it has fully hit me that Mimi is gone. You see, my grandmother helped to raise me. I spent a ridiculous amount of time with her when I was a kid. She was always there for me - even in this last year when she could barely afford her co-pays or groceries, she still made sure to send me $20 for my birthday and a card apologizing for being unable to send me more. That was just her. Loving, generous, kind, and hilariously funny. Even when she was first diagnosed, she was cracking jokes about her mortality. She didn't want to be sad - she wanted to make us laugh. Some days, now that she's gone, it's hard to remember that. It's easy to say that Mimi would have wanted us to laugh and be happy, but she's not here - and there are a few hours every day when I just can't bring myself to remember the good times. All I can think of are those last few days when she was begging us to take her home, to please get her out of there.
But there are other times when I'll remember something she said and laugh, or look at a picture of her with that crazy poofy hair and can't stop myself from smiling. Mimi was a ball of energy and life during her 76 years, and for that I'm grateful. And while I'm angry that this had to happen, and that she won't be here to hear about my adventures in LA, or lecture me that California is unsafe, or be at my wedding someday - I'm glad that she's not suffering anymore.
Sometimes it felt like we were outsiders, like it was she and I against everyone else. And now there's a part of me that feels really alone, and that I'll always have this little hole in my heart. I've never experienced this type of heartbreak before - when my grandfather passed away, I was younger and more immature. And while I still miss him terribly too, this is different. Mimi was more than my grandmother - she was my friend.
The one good thing to come out of this is that I feel closer to my family than ever before. And for that, among a million other tiny things that she taught me throughout these past 28 years, I will always be grateful.
I don't think I'll ever be able to watch an episode of Family Guy again without thinking of her. I don't think I'll ever be able to delete her number out of my phone. I think I will miss her forever.
Backing up a bit here - my grandmother was diagnosed with stage 3B lung cancer a little over a year ago. I wasn't completely shocked - Mimi was a smoker for over 30 years, but she had quit a while ago. Still, when I found this out, I was crushed. I sat on the phone with her, crying as she told me she was thinking about not pursuing any treatment. I begged her to at least try. She opted for chemotherapy, which took a lot out of her. She stopped treatment a few months later, then began it again on the advice of her doctor. Again, she became weaker as the weeks went on. She was only able to talk on the phone for a short time before becoming winded, and she was easily confused. My aunts were concerned, but they thought it could have been a lot of different things: The chemo, her medication, the fact that she wasn't really eating or drinking anything. No one wanted to admit what was really going on - that our Mimi was dying.
Wednesday, September 1st, Mimi was in her apartment trying to do a crossword puzzle. A few hours later, she was at my aunt's house because my family thought she shouldn't be alone. A few days later, she was admitted to Hospice. 2 days after that, she was gone. I still can't wrap my head around how quickly it went, and how grateful I am that I could be there. Seeing a loved one in Hospice is no picnic. Mimi was weak and barely coherent at times. That last day, she tried to communicate with us, but we couldn't understand most of what she was saying, and you could see the frustration in her eyes. We felt it too.
But even through the pain, sadness, and finality of it all, Mimi was still in there. There were moments where our Mimi shone through that shell of a person lying in the hospital bed. She would use my cousin's middle finger to flip us off. She loved watching Family Guy, which still makes me shake my head in disbelief. She would reach for my hand - as if to hold it for comfort - then use it to try to pull herself out of bed to escape. She didn't want to be at Hospice, but we had no other choice. My aunt was trying to take care of her at her home, but she just couldn't do it anymore. Between trips to the bathroom, hourly administering of medication, and the fact that Mimi couldn't be left alone for any extended amount of time meant that Aunt Kelly was getting zero sleep. And we all needed to rest and keep our strength and spirits up for Mimi.
I still don't think it has fully hit me that Mimi is gone. You see, my grandmother helped to raise me. I spent a ridiculous amount of time with her when I was a kid. She was always there for me - even in this last year when she could barely afford her co-pays or groceries, she still made sure to send me $20 for my birthday and a card apologizing for being unable to send me more. That was just her. Loving, generous, kind, and hilariously funny. Even when she was first diagnosed, she was cracking jokes about her mortality. She didn't want to be sad - she wanted to make us laugh. Some days, now that she's gone, it's hard to remember that. It's easy to say that Mimi would have wanted us to laugh and be happy, but she's not here - and there are a few hours every day when I just can't bring myself to remember the good times. All I can think of are those last few days when she was begging us to take her home, to please get her out of there.
But there are other times when I'll remember something she said and laugh, or look at a picture of her with that crazy poofy hair and can't stop myself from smiling. Mimi was a ball of energy and life during her 76 years, and for that I'm grateful. And while I'm angry that this had to happen, and that she won't be here to hear about my adventures in LA, or lecture me that California is unsafe, or be at my wedding someday - I'm glad that she's not suffering anymore.
Sometimes it felt like we were outsiders, like it was she and I against everyone else. And now there's a part of me that feels really alone, and that I'll always have this little hole in my heart. I've never experienced this type of heartbreak before - when my grandfather passed away, I was younger and more immature. And while I still miss him terribly too, this is different. Mimi was more than my grandmother - she was my friend.
The one good thing to come out of this is that I feel closer to my family than ever before. And for that, among a million other tiny things that she taught me throughout these past 28 years, I will always be grateful.
I don't think I'll ever be able to watch an episode of Family Guy again without thinking of her. I don't think I'll ever be able to delete her number out of my phone. I think I will miss her forever.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
One week down...at least 51 more to go!
Well, we've finally made it.
It's been a little over a week since moving into our apartment in North Hollywood, and we're still settling in. The actual apartment looks great, though. Our mother really outdid herself with the trips to Ikea and Target. We have things I didnt even know I would want, like area rugs and a decorative mirror. We have multi-colored throw pillows, coasters, and magnetic bulletin boards. It's like a college dorm, only much nicer. I feel like a real grown up...if only I had a job.
Backing up a bit here - we left Buffalo bound for LA last Monday morning. I was sad almost to the point of hysteria as the plane climbed farther and farther away from my home, but I was hopeful at the same time. We had the dogs with us on the plane, and they did great. The first flight was way too long - from Buffalo to Vegas is almost 5 hours. Next time, we're going to try to break it up a bit more evenly. Once we boarded the second plane - which was only a 41 minute flight to LA - the dogs were pretty much done. But they still didn't make a peep - just a bit of digging at the carrier from George. I was proud and relieved.
Upon our arrival in LA, we got our rental car and high-tailed it over to Carl's Jr. Fast food in LA doesn't even compare to McDonald's and Burger King. In-and-Out Burger, Carl's Jr, Chik-Fil-A, etc...I'm not sure how people stay thin living here. I've been here a week and a half and I think I've managed to gain 5 pounds.
We made it to our hotel in one piece and got some rest. The next day, we had planned on going to our apartment building to sign the lease, pay the deposit, and get the keys. My step-father, Jim, was en route from Buffalo to meet us with our belongings, and he was due to arrive later that evening. Of course, as always happens with my family, we were unable to get into the apartment that day because there was a miscommunication about how they accept payment. They wanted a cashier's check, and we didn't have one. So, instead of getting the keys, we had to find another hotel in the area. We quickly found a dog-friendly Holiday Inn 5 minutes away in downtown Burbank. I love Burbank - if we ever decide to leave this place, I'd definitely look for an apartment there. It has a really cool downtown feel, but at the same time it feels extremely safe.
Jim arrived at around 8:30 that evening, and we couldn't have moved our stuff in that late anyways, so we settled for having a drink in the top floor hotel lounge and went to bed early. We were back at the apartment complex by 11 the next day. The lease-signing process was grueling and made all three of us second guess our decision. This building is gorgeous, safe, and offers lots of amenities...but when they make you sign your life away via a 34 page lease (for 3 months, no less), it becomes less about granite countertops and more about "are these people going to completely screw us over and make our lives hell?"
The big move-in went as smoothly as it could go, with one large man and 2 gays doing the moving. Someone had to stay upstairs with the dogs the whole time while another person had to stand downstairs and hold the lobby door open. So those tasks were given to my mother and I, much to our delight. I'm not so good with heavy lifting. I also forgot how much STUFF I have. Box after box after crate after bin was mine. It almost got embarassing...and scary. My room is smaller than I remember, and my closet is tiny. After setting up my actual furniture, there was really nowhere to put all of my crap. So the closet is piled to the ceiling, and my bookshelf is 4 deep with the 7 boxes of books I felt the need to bring. Oh well. It worked out.
Since then, my mother has graciously spent most of her time doing the aformentioned shopping, buying us everything from glassware to bath mats. It goes without saying, we could not have done this without her - or at least, maybe we could have, but it would feel like a frat house in here with plastic cups and wet floors. I, of course, was stricken with a vicious cold almost immediately, so I've spent most of this week alternately unpacking and coughing up a lung.
Of course, I wouldn't let a little thing like possibly having step throat stop me from exploring the local nightlife. BIL, Max's friend Katy, and I went out last Friday night. We tried this little wine bar within walking distance of our apartment. It was nice there, but a tad snooty...not what we were looking for. So we checked out a few things online (God bless iPhones) and called a cab - there were a few bars about a mile from our place, but we didn't really feel like walking in heels...let alone feel safe enough to do so quite yet. We went to a place called No Bar, which is quickly becoming a favorite of ours. It's sort of like a classier Pink. No windows, super dark, gross bathrooms...but they have couches! Also, the one bartender bought Dharma beer and whiskey from the Lost auction last week...that fact alone automatically grants the place 1,000,000 Awesome Points. So far, we've been to No Bar twice, which means it's probably going to become our regular haunt. Of course, the second time we went, we were barred from going outside for about an hour because there was apparently a gunman driving around the area. So...that may change things...
Other than that, there's been a lot of adjusting, sweating, and emailing resumes. I'm hopeful that I'll get a few callbacks soon - it's lovely laying around all day, but I have a feeling it's going to get old fast...especially when I start getting annoyed at BRO for breathing or run out of beer money. I was happy to realize that I do still love it here as much as I did in April. But at the same time, I don't think it's really hit me yet that I'm staying. This morning was the first time I really felt upset - when my mother and Jim left. BRO seems elated to have freedom...I'm mostly scared that I'm completely on my own for the first time ever. No mom to run over and drop off groceries when my bank account is empty. No friends to stop over for drinks and a movie after work. It's pretty intense, but I've been surprisingly ok so far. No panic attacks, no major meltdowns. I miss my friends all day, every day, but I'm excited to find a new group of people to hang out with in LA.
So again, I'm hopeful. A little teary, a lot lonely...but hopeful.
Stay tuned...
It's been a little over a week since moving into our apartment in North Hollywood, and we're still settling in. The actual apartment looks great, though. Our mother really outdid herself with the trips to Ikea and Target. We have things I didnt even know I would want, like area rugs and a decorative mirror. We have multi-colored throw pillows, coasters, and magnetic bulletin boards. It's like a college dorm, only much nicer. I feel like a real grown up...if only I had a job.
Backing up a bit here - we left Buffalo bound for LA last Monday morning. I was sad almost to the point of hysteria as the plane climbed farther and farther away from my home, but I was hopeful at the same time. We had the dogs with us on the plane, and they did great. The first flight was way too long - from Buffalo to Vegas is almost 5 hours. Next time, we're going to try to break it up a bit more evenly. Once we boarded the second plane - which was only a 41 minute flight to LA - the dogs were pretty much done. But they still didn't make a peep - just a bit of digging at the carrier from George. I was proud and relieved.
Upon our arrival in LA, we got our rental car and high-tailed it over to Carl's Jr. Fast food in LA doesn't even compare to McDonald's and Burger King. In-and-Out Burger, Carl's Jr, Chik-Fil-A, etc...I'm not sure how people stay thin living here. I've been here a week and a half and I think I've managed to gain 5 pounds.
We made it to our hotel in one piece and got some rest. The next day, we had planned on going to our apartment building to sign the lease, pay the deposit, and get the keys. My step-father, Jim, was en route from Buffalo to meet us with our belongings, and he was due to arrive later that evening. Of course, as always happens with my family, we were unable to get into the apartment that day because there was a miscommunication about how they accept payment. They wanted a cashier's check, and we didn't have one. So, instead of getting the keys, we had to find another hotel in the area. We quickly found a dog-friendly Holiday Inn 5 minutes away in downtown Burbank. I love Burbank - if we ever decide to leave this place, I'd definitely look for an apartment there. It has a really cool downtown feel, but at the same time it feels extremely safe.
Jim arrived at around 8:30 that evening, and we couldn't have moved our stuff in that late anyways, so we settled for having a drink in the top floor hotel lounge and went to bed early. We were back at the apartment complex by 11 the next day. The lease-signing process was grueling and made all three of us second guess our decision. This building is gorgeous, safe, and offers lots of amenities...but when they make you sign your life away via a 34 page lease (for 3 months, no less), it becomes less about granite countertops and more about "are these people going to completely screw us over and make our lives hell?"
The big move-in went as smoothly as it could go, with one large man and 2 gays doing the moving. Someone had to stay upstairs with the dogs the whole time while another person had to stand downstairs and hold the lobby door open. So those tasks were given to my mother and I, much to our delight. I'm not so good with heavy lifting. I also forgot how much STUFF I have. Box after box after crate after bin was mine. It almost got embarassing...and scary. My room is smaller than I remember, and my closet is tiny. After setting up my actual furniture, there was really nowhere to put all of my crap. So the closet is piled to the ceiling, and my bookshelf is 4 deep with the 7 boxes of books I felt the need to bring. Oh well. It worked out.
Since then, my mother has graciously spent most of her time doing the aformentioned shopping, buying us everything from glassware to bath mats. It goes without saying, we could not have done this without her - or at least, maybe we could have, but it would feel like a frat house in here with plastic cups and wet floors. I, of course, was stricken with a vicious cold almost immediately, so I've spent most of this week alternately unpacking and coughing up a lung.
Of course, I wouldn't let a little thing like possibly having step throat stop me from exploring the local nightlife. BIL, Max's friend Katy, and I went out last Friday night. We tried this little wine bar within walking distance of our apartment. It was nice there, but a tad snooty...not what we were looking for. So we checked out a few things online (God bless iPhones) and called a cab - there were a few bars about a mile from our place, but we didn't really feel like walking in heels...let alone feel safe enough to do so quite yet. We went to a place called No Bar, which is quickly becoming a favorite of ours. It's sort of like a classier Pink. No windows, super dark, gross bathrooms...but they have couches! Also, the one bartender bought Dharma beer and whiskey from the Lost auction last week...that fact alone automatically grants the place 1,000,000 Awesome Points. So far, we've been to No Bar twice, which means it's probably going to become our regular haunt. Of course, the second time we went, we were barred from going outside for about an hour because there was apparently a gunman driving around the area. So...that may change things...
Other than that, there's been a lot of adjusting, sweating, and emailing resumes. I'm hopeful that I'll get a few callbacks soon - it's lovely laying around all day, but I have a feeling it's going to get old fast...especially when I start getting annoyed at BRO for breathing or run out of beer money. I was happy to realize that I do still love it here as much as I did in April. But at the same time, I don't think it's really hit me yet that I'm staying. This morning was the first time I really felt upset - when my mother and Jim left. BRO seems elated to have freedom...I'm mostly scared that I'm completely on my own for the first time ever. No mom to run over and drop off groceries when my bank account is empty. No friends to stop over for drinks and a movie after work. It's pretty intense, but I've been surprisingly ok so far. No panic attacks, no major meltdowns. I miss my friends all day, every day, but I'm excited to find a new group of people to hang out with in LA.
So again, I'm hopeful. A little teary, a lot lonely...but hopeful.
Stay tuned...
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Road Rageaholic
I haven't owned a car in over 5 years. Living in the city made it easy to get around without one, although I've always missed the freedom that a vehicle allows. The bus took me to work and school, and that's really all I needed. I had Wilson Farms and Mobil within walking distance of my apartment, and friends were always willing to run me to the mall, Target, or Wegman's if I needed to go.
Now that I'm living at home, it's obviously a bit more difficult to get around without a car. Walking to the nearest store would probably take me at least 20 minutes - and for someone who does not enjoy physical activity, that's just too far. Thankfully, BRO has a car. Not so great? BRO, BIL and I share it. My brother owns the car, but it's sort of an unspoken agreement that whoever needs it most gets to use it. It hasn't really been a problem - either my mother or I drive BIL to work in the morning, then I drive myself to the office, then my mother or I pick BIL up. Everyone's willing to sacrifice, and everyone's very generous and understanding when more than one person needs the car at once. There have only been a few times that I've been literally stranded here, and that was due to miscommunication. It's been a pretty smooth ride.
Not such a smooth ride? Driving in general. After only driving once in a blue moon for the past 5 or 6 years, driving through the city and to Niagara Falls Boulevard every day really sucks. I cannot believe the way people drive. It's frightening, unnecessary, and idiotic. Here are some of my favorite drivers:
1.) The I'm in too much of a hurry to use my turn signal driver: This person is obviously in a huge rush. Whether it's changing lanes or making a right turn, it is simply too time consuming to flick the little lever next to their hand. Forget that it turns off automatically when they actually turn - it's TOO DIFFICULT. Weaving in and out of rush hour traffic on the thruway requires serious concentration - breaking concentration to signal a lane change could cause an accident when cutting off three lanes of heavy traffic to get to the Galleria Mall. Better just cut the wheel and hope everyone stays out of the way.
2.) The hands-free headsets are for pussies driver: We all think that cops are jerks when they pull us over. Especially about stupid stuff, like not wearing a seat belt or littering. But these drivers laugh in the face of the law. These are the ones that will cut you off, then promptly slow down to 5 miles below the speed limit. When you finally get agitated enough to pass them, you see that they are in deep conversation with their therapist. Don't bother giving them the finger - it'll just cause another driver to suffer when he calls his buddy to bitch about you.
3.) The I refuse to let you merge, even though all other lanes are open driver: This gem sees you coming off the ramp, but refuses to get over to allow you to merge. This causes you to swear, slam on the breaks, and maybe even honk your horn. The driver probably doesn't notice because he's on his cell phone.
4.) The I'm going to stop in the middle of a busy street because I don't know where I'm going driver: Listen: Pull over. 80% of people have phones with some sort of mapping system. Enter your destination and follow the directions. Or perhaps get a Garmin. Or go to a gas station and ask someone. But when I'm cruising along at a comfortable 45mph and you decide to take your foot completely off the gas without braking, I may come within inches of hitting you. Is that really worth your pride? Also, if I slam into your car, that'll really interfere with your dinner plans at the TGI Friday's you were searching for.
5.) The I don't know what the lines on the road are for driver: This winner doesn't seem to get the most basic of all driving rules: The lines make a lane that you keep your car in. You don't get to drive in both lanes at once. You don't get to keep your passenger's side tires in my lane while the rest of your car is in your lane. This is like coloring. Stay in the lines. And if you can't stay in the lines at age 49, you may have bigger problems. Starting with your Ed Hardy baseball cap and Ke$ha CD.
6.) The I don't know who goes first at a stop sign driver: Basic rule of the road: whoever gets there first gets to leave first. That means after coming to a complete stop, not slowing down to 15mph, then gunning it. This driver also gets easily confused at shopping malls and 4 way stop signs. I don't need you to wave me on - you got there first, just fucking go! And if you're at a mall, it's quite easy to see who goes first if you pay attention. I know there's a sale at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, but it's my turn, ok?
7.) The I drive a semi and insist of going 20mph over the speed limit on a 2 lane highway driver: Hey semi drivers - can you slow the hell down, please? I find it hard to believe that those beasts are easy to maneuver, and you're scaring me.
8.) The I'm too busy texting/putting makeup on/kissing my boyfriend to notice the light change driver: These drivers are usually teenagers and are always annoying. When you are in a car, you have one job: driving. You can wait until you're parked to apply your mascara. The person texting you can hold on 5 minutes until you arrive at your destination or pull over. And making out in your car is fine, if you are not holding a line of cars up while you do it. We all know how irresistable your acne-covered boyfriend is to you, but please, wait until you're at the movie theater to grope him. At least then you'll be in a dark room where I don't have to see your saliva being exchanged. Also, the light is green and I'm hungry.
9.) The how you doin', baby driver: I wonder if this is a common plotline in pornos, because certain men think they have a shot with a woman if they approach her by rolling down their window and smiling appreciatively. Has this ever worked? Have you ever looked over at a red light, seen a guy roll down his window and lick his lips at you, then pointed to a nearby parking lot for him to follow you to? I'm doubting it. Quit it, guys. It's distracting and creepy.
And my personal favorite:
10.) The I don't care if the sign says "right lane closed ahead," I'm going to wait until the last second to get over, causing a traffic jam and angering every car in my vicinity driver: Folks, this is where traffic jams begin and end: with this driver. If they got over in a timely fashion, lane closures wouldn't be nearly as congested. These drivers think they're getting far ahead of the rest of us, when really they're just holding everyone up, including themselves. They think they're clever, even going so far as to drive over the "wake up, sleepy driver" strips on the shoulder and zooming ahead. I always hope an errant crane will be up there with one of those huge magnets they have in junkyards (at least in movie junkyards). Then this driver could be picked up and moved to the back of the line. That would make my year.
This concludes my complaint(s) for the week. If any of you can see yourself in the drivers I mentioned above...knock it off.
Now that I'm living at home, it's obviously a bit more difficult to get around without a car. Walking to the nearest store would probably take me at least 20 minutes - and for someone who does not enjoy physical activity, that's just too far. Thankfully, BRO has a car. Not so great? BRO, BIL and I share it. My brother owns the car, but it's sort of an unspoken agreement that whoever needs it most gets to use it. It hasn't really been a problem - either my mother or I drive BIL to work in the morning, then I drive myself to the office, then my mother or I pick BIL up. Everyone's willing to sacrifice, and everyone's very generous and understanding when more than one person needs the car at once. There have only been a few times that I've been literally stranded here, and that was due to miscommunication. It's been a pretty smooth ride.
Not such a smooth ride? Driving in general. After only driving once in a blue moon for the past 5 or 6 years, driving through the city and to Niagara Falls Boulevard every day really sucks. I cannot believe the way people drive. It's frightening, unnecessary, and idiotic. Here are some of my favorite drivers:
1.) The I'm in too much of a hurry to use my turn signal driver: This person is obviously in a huge rush. Whether it's changing lanes or making a right turn, it is simply too time consuming to flick the little lever next to their hand. Forget that it turns off automatically when they actually turn - it's TOO DIFFICULT. Weaving in and out of rush hour traffic on the thruway requires serious concentration - breaking concentration to signal a lane change could cause an accident when cutting off three lanes of heavy traffic to get to the Galleria Mall. Better just cut the wheel and hope everyone stays out of the way.
2.) The hands-free headsets are for pussies driver: We all think that cops are jerks when they pull us over. Especially about stupid stuff, like not wearing a seat belt or littering. But these drivers laugh in the face of the law. These are the ones that will cut you off, then promptly slow down to 5 miles below the speed limit. When you finally get agitated enough to pass them, you see that they are in deep conversation with their therapist. Don't bother giving them the finger - it'll just cause another driver to suffer when he calls his buddy to bitch about you.
3.) The I refuse to let you merge, even though all other lanes are open driver: This gem sees you coming off the ramp, but refuses to get over to allow you to merge. This causes you to swear, slam on the breaks, and maybe even honk your horn. The driver probably doesn't notice because he's on his cell phone.
4.) The I'm going to stop in the middle of a busy street because I don't know where I'm going driver: Listen: Pull over. 80% of people have phones with some sort of mapping system. Enter your destination and follow the directions. Or perhaps get a Garmin. Or go to a gas station and ask someone. But when I'm cruising along at a comfortable 45mph and you decide to take your foot completely off the gas without braking, I may come within inches of hitting you. Is that really worth your pride? Also, if I slam into your car, that'll really interfere with your dinner plans at the TGI Friday's you were searching for.
5.) The I don't know what the lines on the road are for driver: This winner doesn't seem to get the most basic of all driving rules: The lines make a lane that you keep your car in. You don't get to drive in both lanes at once. You don't get to keep your passenger's side tires in my lane while the rest of your car is in your lane. This is like coloring. Stay in the lines. And if you can't stay in the lines at age 49, you may have bigger problems. Starting with your Ed Hardy baseball cap and Ke$ha CD.
6.) The I don't know who goes first at a stop sign driver: Basic rule of the road: whoever gets there first gets to leave first. That means after coming to a complete stop, not slowing down to 15mph, then gunning it. This driver also gets easily confused at shopping malls and 4 way stop signs. I don't need you to wave me on - you got there first, just fucking go! And if you're at a mall, it's quite easy to see who goes first if you pay attention. I know there's a sale at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, but it's my turn, ok?
7.) The I drive a semi and insist of going 20mph over the speed limit on a 2 lane highway driver: Hey semi drivers - can you slow the hell down, please? I find it hard to believe that those beasts are easy to maneuver, and you're scaring me.
8.) The I'm too busy texting/putting makeup on/kissing my boyfriend to notice the light change driver: These drivers are usually teenagers and are always annoying. When you are in a car, you have one job: driving. You can wait until you're parked to apply your mascara. The person texting you can hold on 5 minutes until you arrive at your destination or pull over. And making out in your car is fine, if you are not holding a line of cars up while you do it. We all know how irresistable your acne-covered boyfriend is to you, but please, wait until you're at the movie theater to grope him. At least then you'll be in a dark room where I don't have to see your saliva being exchanged. Also, the light is green and I'm hungry.
9.) The how you doin', baby driver: I wonder if this is a common plotline in pornos, because certain men think they have a shot with a woman if they approach her by rolling down their window and smiling appreciatively. Has this ever worked? Have you ever looked over at a red light, seen a guy roll down his window and lick his lips at you, then pointed to a nearby parking lot for him to follow you to? I'm doubting it. Quit it, guys. It's distracting and creepy.
And my personal favorite:
10.) The I don't care if the sign says "right lane closed ahead," I'm going to wait until the last second to get over, causing a traffic jam and angering every car in my vicinity driver: Folks, this is where traffic jams begin and end: with this driver. If they got over in a timely fashion, lane closures wouldn't be nearly as congested. These drivers think they're getting far ahead of the rest of us, when really they're just holding everyone up, including themselves. They think they're clever, even going so far as to drive over the "wake up, sleepy driver" strips on the shoulder and zooming ahead. I always hope an errant crane will be up there with one of those huge magnets they have in junkyards (at least in movie junkyards). Then this driver could be picked up and moved to the back of the line. That would make my year.
This concludes my complaint(s) for the week. If any of you can see yourself in the drivers I mentioned above...knock it off.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Death of Sensitivity
In Artvoice’s recent cover story, Death at Bonnaroo, the author, Andrew Blake, should have really thought twice about even attending the music festival, let alone writing a review about it. I myself have never attended Bonnaroo, but even I know that it is a modern day Woodstock knock-off, fueled by drugs, high temperatures, and free love. Mr. Blake begins and ends his article with such snarky negativity; one wonders why he bothered at all. The few bands he wanted to see hardly seem worth the apparent hell he went through for four days.
I have never been into drugs, or outdoor festivals, for that matter. This is why I avoid attending them. In the first few paragraphs of his article, Mr. Blake gives readers the impression that every single person who attends Bonnaroo is a hacky-sack carrying member of the Coalition of Hippie Drug Dealers. He regales us with tales from past years at the festival, when there were nights that “dealers” would be outside of his tent with nitrous tanks all night, interrupting Blake’s “beauty sleep.”
Among his sweeping generalizations, Mr. Blake introduces us to his new friend, David Matthew Sloan. Matt, as he went by, was described as a pretty laid back guy who somehow got trapped with this stick in the mud as a camp-mate. You see, Mr. Blake had posted a classified ad of sorts, inviting strangers on the road trip to Bonnaroo with him. Why someone would do this, when said person seems to dislike people in general, is beyond me. Don’t ask strangers along for the ride, kids. It’s akin to picking up hitchhikers, which is dangerous and illegal.
Soon after we meet Matt, we are subjected to a page and a half of Mr. Blake lamenting his previous years at Bonnaroo: The shitty bands, the pricey food, the sweltering heat, and the endless drugs. By the time we get to the point of this article, we are once again left wondering why he attended in the first place; and why we are still reading.
At one point, when giving us more background about his new buddy Matt, Blake mentions that Matt has wanted to see Dave Matthews Band at Bonnaroo for years and cannot wait until Sunday to hear them close the show. After this, we are reminded – more than once – how much Blake cannot wait to leave the festival before Dave Matthews hits the stage; yet another example of the author’s blatant disrespect throughout the article.
After one short paragraph about the bands he did enjoy – and another mention of hightailing it before DMB began their set – Blake hits on the real reason for his article: On the last day of the festival, he awakens to find that Matt has died. While the reader digests this sad news, Mr. Blake makes sure to mention that he is “the only person not knocked out hard still by rolls, ‘shrooms, molly, and everything else in that gargantuan galaxy of designer drugs that are so abundantly named.” Just so we, the readers, are clear – that means he was the only one awake and not “on something” of almost 100,000 people. Pretty impressive, Mr. Blake. He must have the best morals and will power on the planet to resist these devilish hippies and their lives of complete excess.
After the news of Matt’s untimely passing sets in, Blake paces around, and then goes to sit and wait for the cops to come and “scrape Matt’s Honda Element with a fine-tooth comb and inquire about every last incident from the night before.” Sorry to inconvenience you, pal. Thank God you got your full 8 hours of sleep the night before, or how ever would you have made it through the questions about a 29 year old man’s sudden death? Poor Mr. Blake.
The author then tells us what he found on the internet about Matt’s death; That Matt’s core body temperature had been 108 degrees and he had collapsed. Then Blake goes on to cryptically point out that toxicology reports could take weeks to come back – almost in the same breath as mentioning that Matt’s brothers made the drive to Bonnaroo to retrieve Matt’s camping gear. What was Blake’s only comment about this touching and sad moment?
“I apologized for their loss and swore, yet again, that this would be my last Bonnaroo.”
Then, with Matt’s memory quickly fading and Matt’s family and friends given no apparent thought, Mr. Blake decides to tell the readers how many drugs Matt was seen taking over the course of the festival. That the young man had been “shaking, sweating, and grabbing people” while watching a band. Blake wanted us to know just how hard Matt was partying. He wanted us to realize that he had planned to party even more, telling us about “the bag of mushrooms the cops didn’t catch when they went through (Matt’s) stuff.” And most of all, Blake wanted us to know how much this whole ordeal put him out by saying, “…and now Matt was dead and I was alone on the hood of my car…listening to goddamn Dave Matthews Band on Sunday night.” Well if that’s not the worst thing that could happen to a person, I don’t know what is; Except for maybe accidently overdosing at a festival with thousands of people watching and doing absolutely nothing to stop you or help. That would kind of suck, too.
Mr. Blake brings his article home by reminding us one last time how insensitive he is with this gem of a line; “We didn’t talk about Matt on the way home.” How lovely. A man who you set up your tent next to for a four day festival; who you probably shared at least a beer with; who you got to know in your own snobby, elitist way, is dead. He doesn’t even get a passing mention on the long car ride home? I would understand if Blake was still upset or in shock, but after reading the preceding two pages, it would seem that he was more annoyed by Matt’s death than affected by it. He concludes by, once again, promising himself that he will never attend another Bonnaroo festival. I hope, for the sake of other concert goers, he keeps his promise this time.
Of course, the obvious conclusion would be to blame Matt for his own death. He was obviously having too good of a time, not monitoring his drug intake, and overdoing it. He wasn’t staying hydrated properly in the stifling heat. Perhaps he also didn’t get enough sleep over the weekend. It was irresponsible, to say the least; But what of the other festival attendees? Could no one have stopped this young man? Not one person could have stepped in and said, “That’s enough, bro.”? The very person he slept next to – Mr. Blake, himself – probably saw Matt more regularly that most people. He had to have seen him at least a few times. So perhaps some blame can fall on his shoulders, as well. The bottom line here is this: The cops at Bonnaroo need to be more diligent; security needs to beef up and be more aware of what is happening at the festival; concertgoers have to act more responsibly and take care of themselves; and vendors need to give away cups of water when the temperature rises. Perhaps Mr. Blake could have made these points instead of sullying a young man’s memory by recounting the ways he was responsible for his own death. While Matt had a hand in his demise, there were many other factors involved; and Blake certainly didn’t have to recount Matt’s final days for his family to read with such judgment. Ultimately, I understand where the author is coming from – I just think he could have gotten the message across in a more positive, productive, and respectful manner.
My prayers go out to the family and friends of David Matthew Sloane; I hope that he did not die in vain and as a result, next year’s Bonnaroo will be an enjoyable – and safe – place for the Coalition of (Now Reformed) Hippie Drug Dealers.
I have never been into drugs, or outdoor festivals, for that matter. This is why I avoid attending them. In the first few paragraphs of his article, Mr. Blake gives readers the impression that every single person who attends Bonnaroo is a hacky-sack carrying member of the Coalition of Hippie Drug Dealers. He regales us with tales from past years at the festival, when there were nights that “dealers” would be outside of his tent with nitrous tanks all night, interrupting Blake’s “beauty sleep.”
Among his sweeping generalizations, Mr. Blake introduces us to his new friend, David Matthew Sloan. Matt, as he went by, was described as a pretty laid back guy who somehow got trapped with this stick in the mud as a camp-mate. You see, Mr. Blake had posted a classified ad of sorts, inviting strangers on the road trip to Bonnaroo with him. Why someone would do this, when said person seems to dislike people in general, is beyond me. Don’t ask strangers along for the ride, kids. It’s akin to picking up hitchhikers, which is dangerous and illegal.
Soon after we meet Matt, we are subjected to a page and a half of Mr. Blake lamenting his previous years at Bonnaroo: The shitty bands, the pricey food, the sweltering heat, and the endless drugs. By the time we get to the point of this article, we are once again left wondering why he attended in the first place; and why we are still reading.
At one point, when giving us more background about his new buddy Matt, Blake mentions that Matt has wanted to see Dave Matthews Band at Bonnaroo for years and cannot wait until Sunday to hear them close the show. After this, we are reminded – more than once – how much Blake cannot wait to leave the festival before Dave Matthews hits the stage; yet another example of the author’s blatant disrespect throughout the article.
After one short paragraph about the bands he did enjoy – and another mention of hightailing it before DMB began their set – Blake hits on the real reason for his article: On the last day of the festival, he awakens to find that Matt has died. While the reader digests this sad news, Mr. Blake makes sure to mention that he is “the only person not knocked out hard still by rolls, ‘shrooms, molly, and everything else in that gargantuan galaxy of designer drugs that are so abundantly named.” Just so we, the readers, are clear – that means he was the only one awake and not “on something” of almost 100,000 people. Pretty impressive, Mr. Blake. He must have the best morals and will power on the planet to resist these devilish hippies and their lives of complete excess.
After the news of Matt’s untimely passing sets in, Blake paces around, and then goes to sit and wait for the cops to come and “scrape Matt’s Honda Element with a fine-tooth comb and inquire about every last incident from the night before.” Sorry to inconvenience you, pal. Thank God you got your full 8 hours of sleep the night before, or how ever would you have made it through the questions about a 29 year old man’s sudden death? Poor Mr. Blake.
The author then tells us what he found on the internet about Matt’s death; That Matt’s core body temperature had been 108 degrees and he had collapsed. Then Blake goes on to cryptically point out that toxicology reports could take weeks to come back – almost in the same breath as mentioning that Matt’s brothers made the drive to Bonnaroo to retrieve Matt’s camping gear. What was Blake’s only comment about this touching and sad moment?
“I apologized for their loss and swore, yet again, that this would be my last Bonnaroo.”
Then, with Matt’s memory quickly fading and Matt’s family and friends given no apparent thought, Mr. Blake decides to tell the readers how many drugs Matt was seen taking over the course of the festival. That the young man had been “shaking, sweating, and grabbing people” while watching a band. Blake wanted us to know just how hard Matt was partying. He wanted us to realize that he had planned to party even more, telling us about “the bag of mushrooms the cops didn’t catch when they went through (Matt’s) stuff.” And most of all, Blake wanted us to know how much this whole ordeal put him out by saying, “…and now Matt was dead and I was alone on the hood of my car…listening to goddamn Dave Matthews Band on Sunday night.” Well if that’s not the worst thing that could happen to a person, I don’t know what is; Except for maybe accidently overdosing at a festival with thousands of people watching and doing absolutely nothing to stop you or help. That would kind of suck, too.
Mr. Blake brings his article home by reminding us one last time how insensitive he is with this gem of a line; “We didn’t talk about Matt on the way home.” How lovely. A man who you set up your tent next to for a four day festival; who you probably shared at least a beer with; who you got to know in your own snobby, elitist way, is dead. He doesn’t even get a passing mention on the long car ride home? I would understand if Blake was still upset or in shock, but after reading the preceding two pages, it would seem that he was more annoyed by Matt’s death than affected by it. He concludes by, once again, promising himself that he will never attend another Bonnaroo festival. I hope, for the sake of other concert goers, he keeps his promise this time.
Of course, the obvious conclusion would be to blame Matt for his own death. He was obviously having too good of a time, not monitoring his drug intake, and overdoing it. He wasn’t staying hydrated properly in the stifling heat. Perhaps he also didn’t get enough sleep over the weekend. It was irresponsible, to say the least; But what of the other festival attendees? Could no one have stopped this young man? Not one person could have stepped in and said, “That’s enough, bro.”? The very person he slept next to – Mr. Blake, himself – probably saw Matt more regularly that most people. He had to have seen him at least a few times. So perhaps some blame can fall on his shoulders, as well. The bottom line here is this: The cops at Bonnaroo need to be more diligent; security needs to beef up and be more aware of what is happening at the festival; concertgoers have to act more responsibly and take care of themselves; and vendors need to give away cups of water when the temperature rises. Perhaps Mr. Blake could have made these points instead of sullying a young man’s memory by recounting the ways he was responsible for his own death. While Matt had a hand in his demise, there were many other factors involved; and Blake certainly didn’t have to recount Matt’s final days for his family to read with such judgment. Ultimately, I understand where the author is coming from – I just think he could have gotten the message across in a more positive, productive, and respectful manner.
My prayers go out to the family and friends of David Matthew Sloane; I hope that he did not die in vain and as a result, next year’s Bonnaroo will be an enjoyable – and safe – place for the Coalition of (Now Reformed) Hippie Drug Dealers.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Countdown Begins
In the interest of helping myself reach the goal I set two months ago (and came nowhere near achieving), I am about to do something I've never done. I'm slightly frightened, embarrassed, and hungry, but I'm forcing myself. I'm beginning to think that the part of my brain that controls will power has short circuited, and the part that enjoys pasta has grown three sizes too big. Sort of like the Grinch's heart when he decides to embrace friendship and Christmas, only this part of my brain has chosen to embrace starches and carbohydrates.
I am going to reveal my weight on a public blog. I just weighed myself, and my scale says that I weigh less than I actually do, as it has been broken for months. I just wanted to make myself feel better by seeing a lower number. The scale says 127.5. My actual weight is somewhere closer to 140. How do I know this? Because I can't fit into my clothes anymore, and I once weighed 140, so I know what 140 looks like on my body.
Before people say "140?? I'd kill to weigh 140!! But you're so tiny!" let's get some things straight here. Am I fat? No. I do not think I am obese or "fat." I am extremely out of shape, and as I get older, it's only going to become more difficult for me to lose weight and keep it off. It's better to start now. Also, let's bring in the height versus weight factor. I am 5 feet tall, though sometimes I appear to be 5'1". For someone who is 5'1", I should weigh between 105 and 120 pounds. 132 is considered overweight for someone my height. That's just science, people. Not me looking for compliments and reassurance.
There is no reason for me to be eating whatever I want. It's not good for me, and it's gross. Does anyone else out there eat two double servings of pasta per day? Do you visit McDonald's 4 times a week? Do you down 3-4 Pepsi's per day? Doubtful. I've let myself get completely out of control and I don't know why.
Two years ago, I managed to lose 20 pounds. I worked out diligently and watched what I ate. I didn't do anything extreme. I didn't even join a gym. I just used a video at my apartment 4-5 times a week, and stopped eating fast food and mac and cheese. I felt great. And somehow I fell off the wagon. Maybe it started with a cheat day, or a lazy day, or a hangover. However it started, it never stopped. And when I stopped waiting tables it got really out of control, because running around a restaurant was the only type of physical activity I did. Now I sit at a desk all day, munching on cheez-its and going to McDonald's for lunch. It's awful.
So, my dear friends, I have 5 weeks to lose 15 pounds, and 6 to lose 20. I want to be down to at least 125 by BRO's wedding, and 120 by the time I move to Bikini-Fake-Boobs-Personal-Trainer-Zone-Diet-Land. (I'd prefer to be down to 115, but let's not go nuts here.) I'll need everyone's help on this. Don't let me get that slice of pizza after a bar. Don't let me try that heavy wheat beer. Don't let me "cheat just for today" and eat at Arby's. Let's all help eachother be a little healthier. Or at least just me.
As I mentioned, I'm leaving Buffalo in 6 weeks. Every time I think about it, my stomach instantly rumbles with nerves. I'm nauseous as I'm typing this. It all seemed great when I went to visit back in April. I loved it so much when I was there, I didn't want to come home. But now that it's so close, my head is spinning. Can I really do this? Leave my friends and family and move across the country? I mean, I'm doing it. Don't take my rambling as me having second thoughts. I'm going. But its going to be harder than I thought. Not being able to call up a friend and meet for a drink or a movie is going to be the hardest part. Even leaving my job will be difficult. I've never felt so welcome or appreciated before. It's going to be extremely hard to leave a place that I could quite comfortably stay at until I eventually begin my actual career. Again, why couldn't this job have come along years ago??
BIL has secured an apartment for us. He sent in a deposit last week for the 2nd layout at the 1st apartment - the one I really wanted. So I'm really excited to have a gorgeous new apartment in a really funky building. And I think I've successfully talked the FAM into driving across the country to get there, so that will be fun.
Biggest fears? That I'll go out there and be no better off than I was here. That I'll be so homesick that I won't let myself fully enjoy LA and give up before I've really tried. That my friends won't care that I'm gone. That no one will come to visit and my friendships will fade away into nothing. That I'll miss big events, like 30th birthdays, weddings, and my friend's children growing up because flights are too expensive to come home. That I won't find a job. That I will find a job, but won't make any money.
But what if...? What if things are great? What if I find a really fun job in the first week that I also make great money at? What if I make great friends that don't take my other friends' places, but make me miss them just a little less? What if my Buffalo friends actually keep in touch with me and love hearing about my West Coast shenanigans? What if people actually come visit for long weekends? What if I meet the man of my dreams? What if I meet the right person and get a job writing?
Either one of these scenarios could happen. But from now until July 29th, I'm going to focus on the latter. I'm going to exercise. I'm going to daydream about how to decorate my new bedroom. I'm going to check Craigslist for cool jobs. I'm going to remember how much I absolutely loved LA and all the people we met when we visited. I'm going to think and act positively, so that maybe I'll go out there with not only a healthier body, but a healthier mind, too.
After all, I AM moving to a place that serves wheatgrass shots in bars and has yoga classes for dogs. If I'm going to fit in, I'd better start acting a little less neurotic and a lot more Zen.
I am going to reveal my weight on a public blog. I just weighed myself, and my scale says that I weigh less than I actually do, as it has been broken for months. I just wanted to make myself feel better by seeing a lower number. The scale says 127.5. My actual weight is somewhere closer to 140. How do I know this? Because I can't fit into my clothes anymore, and I once weighed 140, so I know what 140 looks like on my body.
Before people say "140?? I'd kill to weigh 140!! But you're so tiny!" let's get some things straight here. Am I fat? No. I do not think I am obese or "fat." I am extremely out of shape, and as I get older, it's only going to become more difficult for me to lose weight and keep it off. It's better to start now. Also, let's bring in the height versus weight factor. I am 5 feet tall, though sometimes I appear to be 5'1". For someone who is 5'1", I should weigh between 105 and 120 pounds. 132 is considered overweight for someone my height. That's just science, people. Not me looking for compliments and reassurance.
There is no reason for me to be eating whatever I want. It's not good for me, and it's gross. Does anyone else out there eat two double servings of pasta per day? Do you visit McDonald's 4 times a week? Do you down 3-4 Pepsi's per day? Doubtful. I've let myself get completely out of control and I don't know why.
Two years ago, I managed to lose 20 pounds. I worked out diligently and watched what I ate. I didn't do anything extreme. I didn't even join a gym. I just used a video at my apartment 4-5 times a week, and stopped eating fast food and mac and cheese. I felt great. And somehow I fell off the wagon. Maybe it started with a cheat day, or a lazy day, or a hangover. However it started, it never stopped. And when I stopped waiting tables it got really out of control, because running around a restaurant was the only type of physical activity I did. Now I sit at a desk all day, munching on cheez-its and going to McDonald's for lunch. It's awful.
So, my dear friends, I have 5 weeks to lose 15 pounds, and 6 to lose 20. I want to be down to at least 125 by BRO's wedding, and 120 by the time I move to Bikini-Fake-Boobs-Personal-Trainer-Zone-Diet-Land. (I'd prefer to be down to 115, but let's not go nuts here.) I'll need everyone's help on this. Don't let me get that slice of pizza after a bar. Don't let me try that heavy wheat beer. Don't let me "cheat just for today" and eat at Arby's. Let's all help eachother be a little healthier. Or at least just me.
As I mentioned, I'm leaving Buffalo in 6 weeks. Every time I think about it, my stomach instantly rumbles with nerves. I'm nauseous as I'm typing this. It all seemed great when I went to visit back in April. I loved it so much when I was there, I didn't want to come home. But now that it's so close, my head is spinning. Can I really do this? Leave my friends and family and move across the country? I mean, I'm doing it. Don't take my rambling as me having second thoughts. I'm going. But its going to be harder than I thought. Not being able to call up a friend and meet for a drink or a movie is going to be the hardest part. Even leaving my job will be difficult. I've never felt so welcome or appreciated before. It's going to be extremely hard to leave a place that I could quite comfortably stay at until I eventually begin my actual career. Again, why couldn't this job have come along years ago??
BIL has secured an apartment for us. He sent in a deposit last week for the 2nd layout at the 1st apartment - the one I really wanted. So I'm really excited to have a gorgeous new apartment in a really funky building. And I think I've successfully talked the FAM into driving across the country to get there, so that will be fun.
Biggest fears? That I'll go out there and be no better off than I was here. That I'll be so homesick that I won't let myself fully enjoy LA and give up before I've really tried. That my friends won't care that I'm gone. That no one will come to visit and my friendships will fade away into nothing. That I'll miss big events, like 30th birthdays, weddings, and my friend's children growing up because flights are too expensive to come home. That I won't find a job. That I will find a job, but won't make any money.
But what if...? What if things are great? What if I find a really fun job in the first week that I also make great money at? What if I make great friends that don't take my other friends' places, but make me miss them just a little less? What if my Buffalo friends actually keep in touch with me and love hearing about my West Coast shenanigans? What if people actually come visit for long weekends? What if I meet the man of my dreams? What if I meet the right person and get a job writing?
Either one of these scenarios could happen. But from now until July 29th, I'm going to focus on the latter. I'm going to exercise. I'm going to daydream about how to decorate my new bedroom. I'm going to check Craigslist for cool jobs. I'm going to remember how much I absolutely loved LA and all the people we met when we visited. I'm going to think and act positively, so that maybe I'll go out there with not only a healthier body, but a healthier mind, too.
After all, I AM moving to a place that serves wheatgrass shots in bars and has yoga classes for dogs. If I'm going to fit in, I'd better start acting a little less neurotic and a lot more Zen.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I Was With Coco
As if any of you don't know this already, I traveled to New York City a few days ago to see Conan O'Brien's "Legally Prohibited From Being Funny on Television Tour" at Radio City Music Hall. I can't even think of the appropriate words to describe the actual show at the moment, so allow me to tell you a bit about my trip.
My friend Lisa and I left the area around 10:45am on Monday, thinking we'd be to NYC at around 5 or 6pm. We completely forgot that it was Memorial Day. What was supposed to be a 6 1/2 hour trip slowly turned into an 11 hour trip. We were stuck in traffic near the Poconos for two hours, and on the George Washington Bridge for about an hour and a half. The GWB was the most insane thing I've ever seen - people cutting in front of us without warning, semi trucks changing lanes at the last possible moment. People even came within inches of scraping Lisa's car a few times. It was nerve-wracking to say the least. By the time we got there, we were shaken and exhausted.
Once we arrived at our friend Christopher's place near Harlem, we ran upstairs to freshen up, then walked a few blocks to a Memorial Day barbecue. Christopher's place was much bigger than I thought it would be, but his friend's place was really nice for Harlem. Set up like a page out of a modern home-decor magazine, it was all black and white with an exposed brick wall and large terrace. It was tiny, but didn't feel that way - sort of my dream NYC apartment. (But perhaps in a slightly better location...)
We stayed at the barbecue just long enough to drown our nerves in a few cocktails, then headed back to Christohper's for a good night's sleep. We awoke early the next morning and prepared for the day ahead. Lisa and I wanted to get slightly dressed up for Conan's show later that night, but we were planning on walking around the city for a bit first. Doing that in heels obviously isn't the best idea, so Christopher kindly offered to take our dresses and heels to work with him so we wouldn't have to take the subway for 100 blocks back to his apartment. We set out for the theater district. We wanted to stay in the immediate area of Radio City so that we could stop and grab our tickets before 3:30. We found a decent looking tourist-y restaurant and sat down to have lunch.
The food was really good, but unfortunately at one point, Lisa looked up only to see a man standing behind me with his fly open and his penis sticking out of it. The strange thing was that he looked completely normal, but we couldn't figure out how he couldn't feel...a breeze. Right? I refused to look at it, but Lisa said she must have seen it about 100 times. I still don't regret my decision to avert my eyes.
After our peep show, we decided to head down to Radio City. We planned to grab the tickets and our wristbands, then go to Christopher's store to get changed. When we walked in, we were told that we couldn't get our tickets yet, and that even though the email I got said BY 3:40pm, we were actually supposed to pick them up AT 3:40. Bollocks. So Lisa and I went over to Rockafeller Center and shopped a bit for souvenirs. Soon enough, it was time to head back. This time, we got our tickets no problem. As we were about to walk away, the box office man said, "So you can head outside and get in line, and your guide will be down in a few minutes to take you to soundcheck."
Um. What?
I got selfish for a moment and forgot how excited I was to see the show (and how much my mother had paid for the tickets). I was pissed. We had been walking around in 80 degree heat all afternoon. I was sweaty. I was stinky. I had swamp ass. My hair was flat and my makeup was all but gone. I was in no shape to possibly see/meet Conan O'Brien. We had joked a few times about Conan maybe being at soundcheck, but I knew it would most likely only be the band tuning their instruments. By the time our show guide showed up, I had decided to forget about how I looked and focus on the fun I was about to have. Perhaps we'd be able to sneak out and change before the actual show.
As we lined up inside Radio City Music Hall's lobby, Lisa and I somehow managed to be 2nd and 3rd in line. Again, we thought it didn't really matter because, while still really cool, there would be no way the man himself would be there. Then this happened:
Show Guide: "Ok, guys, we're just waiting for the ok to go in. Before I get the call, I just wanted to say," (garbled talking on her walkie), "Oops! Here we go! We don't want to keep Conan waiting!"
Me: Instant stomach ache and ass sweat.
As we walked in, I think I may have blacked out a little. (This would happen several times that night, and for once, it wasn't due to drinking.) I somehow managed to move myself toward the stage, where a familiar man with crazy red hair stood, strumming his guitar. It was him. He was there. And I looked dumpy. (I know this didn't matter at all, as I wouldn't and didn't talk to him, but that was how my mind worked. As if Conan would take one look at me and say, "Oh, if only you were wearing heels - I would have left my wife and children in a heartbeat!" Please.)
The next 20 minutes were a blur of real (imagined?) eye contact and a ridiculous amount of blushing. I swear to Christ that LaBamba and I looked at each other for a full 3 seconds and laughed together. (As a quick side note, before you start to think that I seriously thought that Conan was looking at me and only me - there were only about 20-25 of us in the entire theater, we were directly in front of him, and he really had nowhere else to look while he was playing - I'm sure he made eye contact with all of us at some point. Just let me dream, ok?)
After I had sufficiently panicked enough for 20 minutes, our guide ushered those with blue wristbands (us + 15 more people) downstairs to the cocktail party while those with orange wristbands (bollocks!!) got to stay with Conan for a meet and greet. The cocktail party was fun, but uneventful. Lisa and I got stuck talking to this complete horror of a woman who loved to hear herself talk and must have mentioned Twitter at least 127 times. We could have left at that point to go get changed, but we decided that our chance to meet Conan had come and gone, and we didn't care what we looked like anymore.
The show began, and it was amazing. Conan was hilarious and adorable, and we could tell that he was really having a blast up there. He actually mocked out Leno a few times (albeit without mentioning his name) and brought out some fan favorites like the Masturbating Bear (now renamed the Self Pleasuring Panda) and the Walker, Texas Ranger Lever. Conan actually has a decent singing voice - not the stuff of record deals, but decent. He brought out Vampire Weekend for a song, and I almost had a stroke. Watching him mouth the words along with the lead singer while playing guitar was really cute. Then, the extra special portion...
Stephen Colbert was the first major guest to walk out on stage. A hilarious dance off ensued (which I'm sure most people have seen on the internet by now) that ended in Colbert "pulling his hamstring" and almost admitting defeat until a voice boomed from the back of the theater, "Don't you dare, Colbert!" Of course it was John Stewart, dressed in some sort of flamenco outfit, complete with shiny red shirt and black cumberbund. Stewart offered to take Colbert's place in the dance off, and he did until Andy Richter came out and fake shot him. As he lay fake dying, Colbert leaned down to ask him, "Can I have 11:00?" It was really funny.
Then Conan introduced SNL's Bill Hader to pull the Walker, Texas Ranger lever, and he asked the crowd what character we wanted him to do. After a beat of awkward silence, someone shouted out, "Stephen!" So Hader pulled the lever as his nervous gay club consultant.
Then, John Krasinski came out, and Lisa and I almost had seizures. He was appropriately adorable, even leaning down to shake the hand of an older woman Conan had been harrassing earlier in the show. (And yes, Lisa and I hated her with every fiber of our beings.)
Then. Paul Rudd. I blacked out again. Lisa remembers what he talked about, but I have no clue. I know I have a video of him on my camera, but I have to go out and buy a new charger before I can watch it. The suspense is killing me.
The rest of the show played out in funny, if uneventful, fashion. Conan sang a few more songs in a sparkly jacket, then came back for a fun encore. I'm sure I'm leaving many details out, but like I said, much of the night was a blur. It was honestly one of the best nights of my life. If Tina Fey had shown up, I would have spontaneously combusted.
The rest of the trip was great, but short. We left for home the next morning. As always when I leave New York City, I was sullen and teary eyed. I love that goddamned city so much. It's funny - when I was there, Christopher offered to let me move in with him for about the same as I'd be paying in LA. Hmm. What do you do when you're in love with 2 cities?
My friend Lisa and I left the area around 10:45am on Monday, thinking we'd be to NYC at around 5 or 6pm. We completely forgot that it was Memorial Day. What was supposed to be a 6 1/2 hour trip slowly turned into an 11 hour trip. We were stuck in traffic near the Poconos for two hours, and on the George Washington Bridge for about an hour and a half. The GWB was the most insane thing I've ever seen - people cutting in front of us without warning, semi trucks changing lanes at the last possible moment. People even came within inches of scraping Lisa's car a few times. It was nerve-wracking to say the least. By the time we got there, we were shaken and exhausted.
Once we arrived at our friend Christopher's place near Harlem, we ran upstairs to freshen up, then walked a few blocks to a Memorial Day barbecue. Christopher's place was much bigger than I thought it would be, but his friend's place was really nice for Harlem. Set up like a page out of a modern home-decor magazine, it was all black and white with an exposed brick wall and large terrace. It was tiny, but didn't feel that way - sort of my dream NYC apartment. (But perhaps in a slightly better location...)
We stayed at the barbecue just long enough to drown our nerves in a few cocktails, then headed back to Christohper's for a good night's sleep. We awoke early the next morning and prepared for the day ahead. Lisa and I wanted to get slightly dressed up for Conan's show later that night, but we were planning on walking around the city for a bit first. Doing that in heels obviously isn't the best idea, so Christopher kindly offered to take our dresses and heels to work with him so we wouldn't have to take the subway for 100 blocks back to his apartment. We set out for the theater district. We wanted to stay in the immediate area of Radio City so that we could stop and grab our tickets before 3:30. We found a decent looking tourist-y restaurant and sat down to have lunch.
The food was really good, but unfortunately at one point, Lisa looked up only to see a man standing behind me with his fly open and his penis sticking out of it. The strange thing was that he looked completely normal, but we couldn't figure out how he couldn't feel...a breeze. Right? I refused to look at it, but Lisa said she must have seen it about 100 times. I still don't regret my decision to avert my eyes.
After our peep show, we decided to head down to Radio City. We planned to grab the tickets and our wristbands, then go to Christopher's store to get changed. When we walked in, we were told that we couldn't get our tickets yet, and that even though the email I got said BY 3:40pm, we were actually supposed to pick them up AT 3:40. Bollocks. So Lisa and I went over to Rockafeller Center and shopped a bit for souvenirs. Soon enough, it was time to head back. This time, we got our tickets no problem. As we were about to walk away, the box office man said, "So you can head outside and get in line, and your guide will be down in a few minutes to take you to soundcheck."
Um. What?
I got selfish for a moment and forgot how excited I was to see the show (and how much my mother had paid for the tickets). I was pissed. We had been walking around in 80 degree heat all afternoon. I was sweaty. I was stinky. I had swamp ass. My hair was flat and my makeup was all but gone. I was in no shape to possibly see/meet Conan O'Brien. We had joked a few times about Conan maybe being at soundcheck, but I knew it would most likely only be the band tuning their instruments. By the time our show guide showed up, I had decided to forget about how I looked and focus on the fun I was about to have. Perhaps we'd be able to sneak out and change before the actual show.
As we lined up inside Radio City Music Hall's lobby, Lisa and I somehow managed to be 2nd and 3rd in line. Again, we thought it didn't really matter because, while still really cool, there would be no way the man himself would be there. Then this happened:
Show Guide: "Ok, guys, we're just waiting for the ok to go in. Before I get the call, I just wanted to say," (garbled talking on her walkie), "Oops! Here we go! We don't want to keep Conan waiting!"
Me: Instant stomach ache and ass sweat.
As we walked in, I think I may have blacked out a little. (This would happen several times that night, and for once, it wasn't due to drinking.) I somehow managed to move myself toward the stage, where a familiar man with crazy red hair stood, strumming his guitar. It was him. He was there. And I looked dumpy. (I know this didn't matter at all, as I wouldn't and didn't talk to him, but that was how my mind worked. As if Conan would take one look at me and say, "Oh, if only you were wearing heels - I would have left my wife and children in a heartbeat!" Please.)
The next 20 minutes were a blur of real (imagined?) eye contact and a ridiculous amount of blushing. I swear to Christ that LaBamba and I looked at each other for a full 3 seconds and laughed together. (As a quick side note, before you start to think that I seriously thought that Conan was looking at me and only me - there were only about 20-25 of us in the entire theater, we were directly in front of him, and he really had nowhere else to look while he was playing - I'm sure he made eye contact with all of us at some point. Just let me dream, ok?)
After I had sufficiently panicked enough for 20 minutes, our guide ushered those with blue wristbands (us + 15 more people) downstairs to the cocktail party while those with orange wristbands (bollocks!!) got to stay with Conan for a meet and greet. The cocktail party was fun, but uneventful. Lisa and I got stuck talking to this complete horror of a woman who loved to hear herself talk and must have mentioned Twitter at least 127 times. We could have left at that point to go get changed, but we decided that our chance to meet Conan had come and gone, and we didn't care what we looked like anymore.
The show began, and it was amazing. Conan was hilarious and adorable, and we could tell that he was really having a blast up there. He actually mocked out Leno a few times (albeit without mentioning his name) and brought out some fan favorites like the Masturbating Bear (now renamed the Self Pleasuring Panda) and the Walker, Texas Ranger Lever. Conan actually has a decent singing voice - not the stuff of record deals, but decent. He brought out Vampire Weekend for a song, and I almost had a stroke. Watching him mouth the words along with the lead singer while playing guitar was really cute. Then, the extra special portion...
Stephen Colbert was the first major guest to walk out on stage. A hilarious dance off ensued (which I'm sure most people have seen on the internet by now) that ended in Colbert "pulling his hamstring" and almost admitting defeat until a voice boomed from the back of the theater, "Don't you dare, Colbert!" Of course it was John Stewart, dressed in some sort of flamenco outfit, complete with shiny red shirt and black cumberbund. Stewart offered to take Colbert's place in the dance off, and he did until Andy Richter came out and fake shot him. As he lay fake dying, Colbert leaned down to ask him, "Can I have 11:00?" It was really funny.
Then Conan introduced SNL's Bill Hader to pull the Walker, Texas Ranger lever, and he asked the crowd what character we wanted him to do. After a beat of awkward silence, someone shouted out, "Stephen!" So Hader pulled the lever as his nervous gay club consultant.
Then, John Krasinski came out, and Lisa and I almost had seizures. He was appropriately adorable, even leaning down to shake the hand of an older woman Conan had been harrassing earlier in the show. (And yes, Lisa and I hated her with every fiber of our beings.)
Then. Paul Rudd. I blacked out again. Lisa remembers what he talked about, but I have no clue. I know I have a video of him on my camera, but I have to go out and buy a new charger before I can watch it. The suspense is killing me.
The rest of the show played out in funny, if uneventful, fashion. Conan sang a few more songs in a sparkly jacket, then came back for a fun encore. I'm sure I'm leaving many details out, but like I said, much of the night was a blur. It was honestly one of the best nights of my life. If Tina Fey had shown up, I would have spontaneously combusted.
The rest of the trip was great, but short. We left for home the next morning. As always when I leave New York City, I was sullen and teary eyed. I love that goddamned city so much. It's funny - when I was there, Christopher offered to let me move in with him for about the same as I'd be paying in LA. Hmm. What do you do when you're in love with 2 cities?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The End: My Thoughts on The LOST Series Finale
Let me get this out of the way first: I am still really emotional about the Lost finale. I know that this makes me completely lame. It's a television show, for Christ's sake. But I can't help it. For 6 years, I've obsessed over this show. I devoted over 100 hours of my life to this show (let's not get into how many times I've REwatched it...). I spent countless late nights on message boards, analyzing every minute detail with my fellow "Losties." I've bonded with complete strangers, because as anyone who has a fan for a friend knows, it becomes a 20 minute conversation every time someone brings it up. I've gotten friends as obsessed with it as I have been. I wish everyone watched this show. I honestly believe that it is one of the best viewing experiences I've had in my life - and I've watched a lot of television.
Having said all of that, I will say that I was completely let down by the series finale at first. I was emotionally drained and incredibly pissed at what I saw as a total cop-out on the producers' parts. I still have so many burning questions, as I know any fan of the show does. Obviously, I never expected every question to be answered. Did I need to know The Man In Black's name? No. But it would have been nice to know why women on the island couldn't have babies, something that was a huge plotline over several seasons. Or maybe why Walt and Aaron were "special." Or who the hell Wallace was. Alas, we got none of those answers and - in true Lost form - even more questions. But after watching the finale for the third time today, my crying fits having finally subsided to a few silent tears, I can truly appreciate it for what it was. And it was one hell of a show.
Here are some things I still don't quite understand from The End:
1.) I was really confused about this at first, but then when I watched again today, I think I finally got it. Everyone in that church was dead, right? Because at first, I was thinking, "What the frig? Hurley and Ben were still on the island when Jack died! Sawyer, Kate, and Claire flew away to safety. Desmond was on the island, but homeward bound. So I didn't understand why they were supposed to be dead. Then I listened to Christian's speech to Jack again, and he did say, "Some of them died before you, some long after you." Ok, now I get it. Because "the most important time of Jack's life was spent with these people," he gets to spend eternity with them. Then again, is this really a good thing? Was he particularly close to Boone or Shannon? I think he only met Penny once. And he and Locke were certainly never friends. So Jack doesn't get to see his mom in the afterlife? Only these people? I know I'm looking too far into it, and obviously our castaways DID share the most momentous times in their lives with eachother. But still...meh. Which leads me to...
2.) PURGATORY?! You promised, you sons of bitches.
3.) One of my biggest concerns is the children. What happened to Ji Yeon, little Charlie, Aaron, and Walt? Aaron was in Claire's arms at the end of the episode. Does that mean Aaron died, too? Also, let's go back to season 1 for a moment. In Claire's flashback story, she went to a psychic who told her that she had to raise Aaron herself because danger surrounds him. Then, he put her on a plane, apparently because he knew it would crash, to ensure his request would be carried out. So...does this mean that the child was doomed because Kate was raising him? Where was the danger surrounding him? Or was the psychic just anti-adoption?
And as much as I loved the Sun-Jin "did you see" moment (and I LOVED it), how could they feel so happy about supposedly seeing the child they had left behind? I'm doubting that Sun was pregnant with a ghost baby in purgatory. I'm thinking that Sun's un-enlightened self needed to have that sonogram performed to reach her enlightened state. There was no more Ji-Yeon. Which leads me to...
4.) David Shephard. So Jack didn't have a son, right? Then who was that poor child? A manifestation of Jack's deep-seated Daddy Issues? His subconscious giving him a chance to have the kind of father-son relationship he never had with Christian? I guess David will now disappear into the ether, along with every other expendable, non-castaway in the Matrix of their un-enlightened minds. Also, being divorced from Juliet was a really odd choice - but I read in a column that perhaps it was Jack's subconscious way of making up for how awful his marriage to Sarah had been. Jack had a lot of guilt, you see...
5.) The mysterious blood on Jack's neck was finally explained, which was really cool. And that appendix scar from the season premiere? That was from FLocke stabbing Jack in the side. Awesome. (And I'm sorry, I know a lot of people thought the Jack/FLocke running-at-each-other-fight scene was cheesy, but I frigging LOVED it. "Looooccckkkeee!!" Chills.)
6.) The enlightenment scenes were stellar, and every single one had me sobbing like a family member had just died. My only complaint is that we didn't get one Des-Penny scene. What is up with that?? I'd so much rather have seen that than a Sayid-Shannon reunion. My favorites were obviously Sun-Jin and Sawyer-Juliet. But the Locke scene was great, too. "I hope that somebody does for you what you just did for me." Sigh. I missed the old John Locke. (One quibble - where was Helen?? You only get to spend eternity with your soulmate if they were on Oceanic 815? They were supposed to get married, and she was suddenly just gone from John's life?? Well, afterlife...) I admit, I liked seeing the old Jack-Kate chemistry again. Their final goodbye on the island was heart-wrenching, and their Purgatory reunion was sweet.
7.) No enlightenment scenes for our Freighter crew. Desmond told Eloise Hawking that Daniel would not be moving on with him. Was it because Daniel wasn't on the flight? Neither were Des or Penny, but they were in that church. And Ana Lucia "wasn't ready," but Libby was? Who gets to choose? Do you have to have a soulmate? (Which Daniel did, in Charlotte.) Rules, rules, rules.
8.) One thing I'll always be sad we never got to see was Hurley and Ben's reign on the island. They shared a sweet scene outside the church, complimenting one another on their skills as a team. So obviously it had been a while since Jack's death. It kills me that we'll never know why Hurley and Ben finally left the island. Was it death? Who's protecting the island now? Walt?
9.) I thought Ben's road to redemption was great, and I'm glad we ended the series with Ben being welcomed as one of their group. Obviously, he still didn't completely forgive himself, as he decided to stay in Purgatory to "work some things out." I wonder if Rousseau and Alex will be there with him. I wonder if they "remember."
All in all, I was mostly satisfied that all of our castaways ended up happy. Happy and dead, but happy nonetheless. I'm still sad that they couldn't all live happily ever after (alive), but then that wouldn't be the show I fell in love with 6 years ago. I'll always wonder about where the Others disappeared off to. And what happened to Cindy the flight attendant and the kids. And why the Others gave Walt back. And why the Dharma Initiative and the Others were barely mentioned once in all of season 6, when we've spent 5 years analyzing Orientation films. And what was in those damn notebooks?!
But at least, in our minds, our favorite characters are together, and happy...wherever they are. I suppose I can live with that.
--Lostie
1. A person who is overly obsessed and easily excited with the hit TV show, LOST. 2. A degree of fandom only attained by knowing way too much info about the show LOST.--
Having said all of that, I will say that I was completely let down by the series finale at first. I was emotionally drained and incredibly pissed at what I saw as a total cop-out on the producers' parts. I still have so many burning questions, as I know any fan of the show does. Obviously, I never expected every question to be answered. Did I need to know The Man In Black's name? No. But it would have been nice to know why women on the island couldn't have babies, something that was a huge plotline over several seasons. Or maybe why Walt and Aaron were "special." Or who the hell Wallace was. Alas, we got none of those answers and - in true Lost form - even more questions. But after watching the finale for the third time today, my crying fits having finally subsided to a few silent tears, I can truly appreciate it for what it was. And it was one hell of a show.
Here are some things I still don't quite understand from The End:
1.) I was really confused about this at first, but then when I watched again today, I think I finally got it. Everyone in that church was dead, right? Because at first, I was thinking, "What the frig? Hurley and Ben were still on the island when Jack died! Sawyer, Kate, and Claire flew away to safety. Desmond was on the island, but homeward bound. So I didn't understand why they were supposed to be dead. Then I listened to Christian's speech to Jack again, and he did say, "Some of them died before you, some long after you." Ok, now I get it. Because "the most important time of Jack's life was spent with these people," he gets to spend eternity with them. Then again, is this really a good thing? Was he particularly close to Boone or Shannon? I think he only met Penny once. And he and Locke were certainly never friends. So Jack doesn't get to see his mom in the afterlife? Only these people? I know I'm looking too far into it, and obviously our castaways DID share the most momentous times in their lives with eachother. But still...meh. Which leads me to...
2.) PURGATORY?! You promised, you sons of bitches.
3.) One of my biggest concerns is the children. What happened to Ji Yeon, little Charlie, Aaron, and Walt? Aaron was in Claire's arms at the end of the episode. Does that mean Aaron died, too? Also, let's go back to season 1 for a moment. In Claire's flashback story, she went to a psychic who told her that she had to raise Aaron herself because danger surrounds him. Then, he put her on a plane, apparently because he knew it would crash, to ensure his request would be carried out. So...does this mean that the child was doomed because Kate was raising him? Where was the danger surrounding him? Or was the psychic just anti-adoption?
And as much as I loved the Sun-Jin "did you see" moment (and I LOVED it), how could they feel so happy about supposedly seeing the child they had left behind? I'm doubting that Sun was pregnant with a ghost baby in purgatory. I'm thinking that Sun's un-enlightened self needed to have that sonogram performed to reach her enlightened state. There was no more Ji-Yeon. Which leads me to...
4.) David Shephard. So Jack didn't have a son, right? Then who was that poor child? A manifestation of Jack's deep-seated Daddy Issues? His subconscious giving him a chance to have the kind of father-son relationship he never had with Christian? I guess David will now disappear into the ether, along with every other expendable, non-castaway in the Matrix of their un-enlightened minds. Also, being divorced from Juliet was a really odd choice - but I read in a column that perhaps it was Jack's subconscious way of making up for how awful his marriage to Sarah had been. Jack had a lot of guilt, you see...
5.) The mysterious blood on Jack's neck was finally explained, which was really cool. And that appendix scar from the season premiere? That was from FLocke stabbing Jack in the side. Awesome. (And I'm sorry, I know a lot of people thought the Jack/FLocke running-at-each-other-fight scene was cheesy, but I frigging LOVED it. "Looooccckkkeee!!" Chills.)
6.) The enlightenment scenes were stellar, and every single one had me sobbing like a family member had just died. My only complaint is that we didn't get one Des-Penny scene. What is up with that?? I'd so much rather have seen that than a Sayid-Shannon reunion. My favorites were obviously Sun-Jin and Sawyer-Juliet. But the Locke scene was great, too. "I hope that somebody does for you what you just did for me." Sigh. I missed the old John Locke. (One quibble - where was Helen?? You only get to spend eternity with your soulmate if they were on Oceanic 815? They were supposed to get married, and she was suddenly just gone from John's life?? Well, afterlife...) I admit, I liked seeing the old Jack-Kate chemistry again. Their final goodbye on the island was heart-wrenching, and their Purgatory reunion was sweet.
7.) No enlightenment scenes for our Freighter crew. Desmond told Eloise Hawking that Daniel would not be moving on with him. Was it because Daniel wasn't on the flight? Neither were Des or Penny, but they were in that church. And Ana Lucia "wasn't ready," but Libby was? Who gets to choose? Do you have to have a soulmate? (Which Daniel did, in Charlotte.) Rules, rules, rules.
8.) One thing I'll always be sad we never got to see was Hurley and Ben's reign on the island. They shared a sweet scene outside the church, complimenting one another on their skills as a team. So obviously it had been a while since Jack's death. It kills me that we'll never know why Hurley and Ben finally left the island. Was it death? Who's protecting the island now? Walt?
9.) I thought Ben's road to redemption was great, and I'm glad we ended the series with Ben being welcomed as one of their group. Obviously, he still didn't completely forgive himself, as he decided to stay in Purgatory to "work some things out." I wonder if Rousseau and Alex will be there with him. I wonder if they "remember."
All in all, I was mostly satisfied that all of our castaways ended up happy. Happy and dead, but happy nonetheless. I'm still sad that they couldn't all live happily ever after (alive), but then that wouldn't be the show I fell in love with 6 years ago. I'll always wonder about where the Others disappeared off to. And what happened to Cindy the flight attendant and the kids. And why the Others gave Walt back. And why the Dharma Initiative and the Others were barely mentioned once in all of season 6, when we've spent 5 years analyzing Orientation films. And what was in those damn notebooks?!
But at least, in our minds, our favorite characters are together, and happy...wherever they are. I suppose I can live with that.
--Lostie
1. A person who is overly obsessed and easily excited with the hit TV show, LOST. 2. A degree of fandom only attained by knowing way too much info about the show LOST.--
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Evolving into (Unintentional) Crap
In a recent Newsweek article, writer Ramin Setoodeh implied that homosexual actors should not be cast in heterosexual roles because they do not come across as believably straight. He used Will and Grace's Sean Hayes and Glee's Jonathan Groff as examples. Hayes played a straight man in the Broadway production of Promises, Promises, and Setoodeh called his performance "wooden and insincere, like he was trying to hide something, which of course he is." Setoodeh said that Hayes' scenes with on-stage love interest Kristin Chenoweth "devolve into unintentional camp."
On the musical hit show Glee, Jonathan Groff plays Rachel Barry (Lea Michele)'s love interest. Groff and Michele are well known in the Broadway community, both having starred in Spring Awakening. Groff is openly gay, yet plays a straight man who enters a love triangle and steals a young girl's heart. Setoodeh feels that "there is something about his performance that feels off. In half his scenes, he scowls - is that a substitute for being straight?"
I could go off about how closed-minded and ignorant this article is. I could crucify Ramin Setoodeh, calling him homophobic and hateful. What I will do instead is ask one simple question - why is he looking so hard? When you watch a television show or a movie, are you studying the actors' performances, searching for nuances that shout "gay" or "straight"? I certainly don't. I've never seen a Broadway play, so I cannot personally comment on Mr. Hayes' performance. I do, however, watch Glee, and I did not know that Mr. Groff was gay until I read Setoodeh's article. Frankly, I don't care if he's straight, gay, or somewhere in between. He's a charming actor who has a nice chemistry with his love interest, Lea Michele. Should I be looking for longing glances between Groff and the show's jock character, Finn? Watching for Groff to brush up against Puck, the resident bad boy, in the hallway? Of course not. So why, then, would I be looking for any other clues as to the actor's sexual orientation?
If the acting is good, the audience shouldn't be thinking about the actor's personal life. In Boys Don't Cry, I quite literally forgot that Hilary Swank was, in fact, a female. That's acting. I hate to use this example, but in Tropic Thunder, I forgot that Robert Downey Jr. was portraying the African American character. He was that good. This is what we should remember when stereotyping actors into roles that only coincide with their personal lives. Is Tom Hanks really a slow man with mental issues, as he portrayed in Forrest Gump? Can you believe that Steve Carell isn't really a 40 Year Old Virgin? And wait, you're telling me that Aaron Eckhardt doesn't look like Two-Face? Colin Firth recently played a gay man in A Single Man. Was it easier for him because it's a cinch to play, in Setoodeh's words, "your average theater queen?" Is it so much more difficult for a gay man to act macho than a straight man to pretend to like other men?
I don't think it was fair of Setoodeh to blame the actors themselves for this trend. Hayes and Groff are fine actors, believable in every role I've seen them in. Hell, look at Neil Patrick Harris, who has played everything from a womanizer on HIMYM to an exaggerated cameo in the Harold and Kumar movies where he's a sex obsessed, drug addicted heterosexual. (Wink wink - he is credited as himself.) This is not about gay playing straight. This is about what we allow ourselves to forget when we watch television or movies. I don't think about Anna Paquin's bisexuality when I watch True Blood because the show sucks me in (pun intended). I can forget that Owen Wilson tried to kill himself a few years back, because he's funny. I can forget that Angelina Jolie stole Jen Aniston's man, because she's sexy and a damn good actress. (I cannot, however, forget about poor Jen's past, because the tabloids won't let me. Poor, poor, lonely, manless Jen...)
Perhaps Ramin Setoodeh just doesn't like Glee. Maybe he's not a fan of Broadway shows. Or maybe he's just so closed-minded that he can't put his knowledge of the actors aside and enjoy the show. By the way, Setoodeh himself is an openly gay man.
I think perhaps what the author of the article meant to convey was that gay people have a harder time getting juicier roles because of the audience's inability to seperate reality from fiction. He asks, "if an actor of the stature of George Clooney came out of the closet tomorrow, would we still accept him as a heterosexual leading man?" I've seen Clooney act; the answer is yes.
For the original article, click here: http://www.newsweek.com/id/236999
Kristin Chenoweth's response to the article, click here: http://www.broadway.com/shows/promises-promises/buzz/152350/promises-star-kristin-chenoweth-speaks-out-on-horrendously-homophobic-newsweek-article-defends-sean-hayes/
Setoodeh's response to Kristin Chenoweth here: http://www.newsweek.com/id/237758
On the musical hit show Glee, Jonathan Groff plays Rachel Barry (Lea Michele)'s love interest. Groff and Michele are well known in the Broadway community, both having starred in Spring Awakening. Groff is openly gay, yet plays a straight man who enters a love triangle and steals a young girl's heart. Setoodeh feels that "there is something about his performance that feels off. In half his scenes, he scowls - is that a substitute for being straight?"
I could go off about how closed-minded and ignorant this article is. I could crucify Ramin Setoodeh, calling him homophobic and hateful. What I will do instead is ask one simple question - why is he looking so hard? When you watch a television show or a movie, are you studying the actors' performances, searching for nuances that shout "gay" or "straight"? I certainly don't. I've never seen a Broadway play, so I cannot personally comment on Mr. Hayes' performance. I do, however, watch Glee, and I did not know that Mr. Groff was gay until I read Setoodeh's article. Frankly, I don't care if he's straight, gay, or somewhere in between. He's a charming actor who has a nice chemistry with his love interest, Lea Michele. Should I be looking for longing glances between Groff and the show's jock character, Finn? Watching for Groff to brush up against Puck, the resident bad boy, in the hallway? Of course not. So why, then, would I be looking for any other clues as to the actor's sexual orientation?
If the acting is good, the audience shouldn't be thinking about the actor's personal life. In Boys Don't Cry, I quite literally forgot that Hilary Swank was, in fact, a female. That's acting. I hate to use this example, but in Tropic Thunder, I forgot that Robert Downey Jr. was portraying the African American character. He was that good. This is what we should remember when stereotyping actors into roles that only coincide with their personal lives. Is Tom Hanks really a slow man with mental issues, as he portrayed in Forrest Gump? Can you believe that Steve Carell isn't really a 40 Year Old Virgin? And wait, you're telling me that Aaron Eckhardt doesn't look like Two-Face? Colin Firth recently played a gay man in A Single Man. Was it easier for him because it's a cinch to play, in Setoodeh's words, "your average theater queen?" Is it so much more difficult for a gay man to act macho than a straight man to pretend to like other men?
I don't think it was fair of Setoodeh to blame the actors themselves for this trend. Hayes and Groff are fine actors, believable in every role I've seen them in. Hell, look at Neil Patrick Harris, who has played everything from a womanizer on HIMYM to an exaggerated cameo in the Harold and Kumar movies where he's a sex obsessed, drug addicted heterosexual. (Wink wink - he is credited as himself.) This is not about gay playing straight. This is about what we allow ourselves to forget when we watch television or movies. I don't think about Anna Paquin's bisexuality when I watch True Blood because the show sucks me in (pun intended). I can forget that Owen Wilson tried to kill himself a few years back, because he's funny. I can forget that Angelina Jolie stole Jen Aniston's man, because she's sexy and a damn good actress. (I cannot, however, forget about poor Jen's past, because the tabloids won't let me. Poor, poor, lonely, manless Jen...)
Perhaps Ramin Setoodeh just doesn't like Glee. Maybe he's not a fan of Broadway shows. Or maybe he's just so closed-minded that he can't put his knowledge of the actors aside and enjoy the show. By the way, Setoodeh himself is an openly gay man.
I think perhaps what the author of the article meant to convey was that gay people have a harder time getting juicier roles because of the audience's inability to seperate reality from fiction. He asks, "if an actor of the stature of George Clooney came out of the closet tomorrow, would we still accept him as a heterosexual leading man?" I've seen Clooney act; the answer is yes.
For the original article, click here: http://www.newsweek.com/id/236999
Kristin Chenoweth's response to the article, click here: http://www.broadway.com/shows/promises-promises/buzz/152350/promises-star-kristin-chenoweth-speaks-out-on-horrendously-homophobic-newsweek-article-defends-sean-hayes/
Setoodeh's response to Kristin Chenoweth here: http://www.newsweek.com/id/237758
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Personal Ad
SWF seeking SWM for friendship and possibly more. Must have a job and be willing to relocate across the country. Dark hair, preferred but not required. No redheads, please. I'm not hair-ist, I'm just not attracted to gingers. No mandals or corduroy pants wearers, either.
Looking for someone who likes to cuddle, but only for a short time. I enjoy being able to get up for a drink in the middle of the night without having to disentangle myself from someone's grasp. Public displays of affection limited only to hand holding and the occasinal smooch. You must be chivalrous, but not in a cheesy way. I like to be accompanied to the bar and occasionally treated to a drink, but I don't need the car door opened for me. If it's cold outside and I'm visibly shivering, the offer of your coat or sweatshirt would be nice, but no grand gestures, please.
You must know how to give compliments, but not go over the top. Telling me I smell nice is lovely, but sniffing me all night long is not. Also, please don't tell me I'm "beautiful." I'm not, so don't blow smoke. Cute, pretty, whatever strikes your fancy. But let's not pretend I'm Jessica Biel here.
I want someone who knows how I take my coffee and surprises me with small gestures like bringing me a cup once in a while. Bringing me a 12-pack would also suffice. I love flowers, but don't waste your money on roses. I like them cheap and pretty, and roses are cliche. I want to be out at a bar and have you order me my first drink without asking. I don't necessarily want you to like the television shows and movies I make you watch, but still sit and watch them quietly with me. I want you to take me to hockey and football games and not ignore me during them. I want you to be patient when I don't understand a call a ref makes or what off-sides means.
I want a guy who genuinely listens when I speak, but knows how to shut me up when I babble. You have to ask me questions about my day, and know who I'm talking about in my stories. You must be nice to my friends. You must be nice to people in the service industry. I want you to tip well, but not exhorbitantly. I want to be able to go to a nice restaurant or a pizza place with you and be comfortable. I want you to like dressing up once in a while. I want you to take me on dates.
I also need you to be a man. I never want to see you cry unless your dog or a family member dies. It's not sensitive - it's girly. You should be able to fix things like leaky faucets, blown fuses, and plugged up toilets. You have to be able to hang shelves and pictures. I want you to have lots of friends and go out drinking with them, but come home when you say you're coming home. I want you to bring me out with you and your friends once in a while.
I want you to be clean, but not necessarily neat. Throwing clothes on the floor doesn't bother me. Moldy plates on the counter does. You must care about your appearance, but not obsessivly so. You cannot go tanning or frost your tips. You must wear some sort of cologne. A scruffy face is also a plus. You must look good in a hat and wear comfy hoodies that you don't mind me stealing from you.
I want a guy who thinks it's cool when I burp and doesn't tell me to relax when I'm anxious. Must be willing to give backrubs, not just recieve them. You must like sleeping in and staying up late. I want someone who knows my favorite foods and knows me well enough to answer for me when I'm asked a question. I want someone who will stick up for me, but doesn't resort to physical violence.
You must love road trips. I want someone who wants to go places with me, whether it's a concert or a wine tasting trip. I want a do-er, not a "maybe-er" or "some day-er." I want someone who makes decisions, so it's not always up to me what movie we see or bar we go to. But I want you to respect the decisions I do make. I want your mother to like me, and for you to put up with mine (who tends to be...involved). You will respect my mother, but never side with her in an argument- and definitely never talk to her about our problems.
You must love animals and be kind to children. I want someone who plays with my dog and offers to take him outside for me. I want someone who doesn't mind my dog's breath in your face when you wake up and will throw a ball for him until he tires. I want you to suggest bringing the dog on trips with us and let him sleep in our bed.
You will think I look as cute in the morning as I do in full makeup. You will love my granny panties as much as the other kinds. You will always wake me up to say goodbye before you leave. You will text message, and you will like it. You won't flirt with other girls in front of me. You must be able to admit if another man is attractive or not. You will call me your girlfriend without having to be asked or told.
Any takers?
Looking for someone who likes to cuddle, but only for a short time. I enjoy being able to get up for a drink in the middle of the night without having to disentangle myself from someone's grasp. Public displays of affection limited only to hand holding and the occasinal smooch. You must be chivalrous, but not in a cheesy way. I like to be accompanied to the bar and occasionally treated to a drink, but I don't need the car door opened for me. If it's cold outside and I'm visibly shivering, the offer of your coat or sweatshirt would be nice, but no grand gestures, please.
You must know how to give compliments, but not go over the top. Telling me I smell nice is lovely, but sniffing me all night long is not. Also, please don't tell me I'm "beautiful." I'm not, so don't blow smoke. Cute, pretty, whatever strikes your fancy. But let's not pretend I'm Jessica Biel here.
I want someone who knows how I take my coffee and surprises me with small gestures like bringing me a cup once in a while. Bringing me a 12-pack would also suffice. I love flowers, but don't waste your money on roses. I like them cheap and pretty, and roses are cliche. I want to be out at a bar and have you order me my first drink without asking. I don't necessarily want you to like the television shows and movies I make you watch, but still sit and watch them quietly with me. I want you to take me to hockey and football games and not ignore me during them. I want you to be patient when I don't understand a call a ref makes or what off-sides means.
I want a guy who genuinely listens when I speak, but knows how to shut me up when I babble. You have to ask me questions about my day, and know who I'm talking about in my stories. You must be nice to my friends. You must be nice to people in the service industry. I want you to tip well, but not exhorbitantly. I want to be able to go to a nice restaurant or a pizza place with you and be comfortable. I want you to like dressing up once in a while. I want you to take me on dates.
I also need you to be a man. I never want to see you cry unless your dog or a family member dies. It's not sensitive - it's girly. You should be able to fix things like leaky faucets, blown fuses, and plugged up toilets. You have to be able to hang shelves and pictures. I want you to have lots of friends and go out drinking with them, but come home when you say you're coming home. I want you to bring me out with you and your friends once in a while.
I want you to be clean, but not necessarily neat. Throwing clothes on the floor doesn't bother me. Moldy plates on the counter does. You must care about your appearance, but not obsessivly so. You cannot go tanning or frost your tips. You must wear some sort of cologne. A scruffy face is also a plus. You must look good in a hat and wear comfy hoodies that you don't mind me stealing from you.
I want a guy who thinks it's cool when I burp and doesn't tell me to relax when I'm anxious. Must be willing to give backrubs, not just recieve them. You must like sleeping in and staying up late. I want someone who knows my favorite foods and knows me well enough to answer for me when I'm asked a question. I want someone who will stick up for me, but doesn't resort to physical violence.
You must love road trips. I want someone who wants to go places with me, whether it's a concert or a wine tasting trip. I want a do-er, not a "maybe-er" or "some day-er." I want someone who makes decisions, so it's not always up to me what movie we see or bar we go to. But I want you to respect the decisions I do make. I want your mother to like me, and for you to put up with mine (who tends to be...involved). You will respect my mother, but never side with her in an argument- and definitely never talk to her about our problems.
You must love animals and be kind to children. I want someone who plays with my dog and offers to take him outside for me. I want someone who doesn't mind my dog's breath in your face when you wake up and will throw a ball for him until he tires. I want you to suggest bringing the dog on trips with us and let him sleep in our bed.
You will think I look as cute in the morning as I do in full makeup. You will love my granny panties as much as the other kinds. You will always wake me up to say goodbye before you leave. You will text message, and you will like it. You won't flirt with other girls in front of me. You must be able to admit if another man is attractive or not. You will call me your girlfriend without having to be asked or told.
Any takers?
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
An Open Letter to Louis Bardo Bullock
Dear Louis-
May I call you Louis? I'm not sure how we're all supposed to be pronouncing your name. Is it Loo-is or Loo-ey? I prefer Loo-ey, so that is what I shall be calling you in my mind as I type you this note.
First of all, you're adorable. You are the perfect little chubby baby, and the fact that you are originally from New Orleans is going to get you lots of chicks when you get older. Also, your mom seems really nice, so you've got that going for you. You were born into this world with a loving family and, unfortunately, are now at the center of a nasty Hollywood divorce.
Your mother and father (?) obviously wanted you very much, as they've been trying to find you since four years before you were born. But during their search, Daddy got a little side tracked. You see, your Daddy is what some people would refer to as a "Bad Boy." This does not mean the same thing as when your mother says that to you after you knock over a vase with a whiffle ball. Daddy's nickname came from the fact that he has lots of tattoos and rides motorcycles. Your Daddy also had a few other "Mommies" before your Mommy. Your brother and sisters came from those other Mommies. Now, those other Mommies looked pretty similar. Both had blond hair, tattoos, and had "grown up" jobs where they made money for doing "grown up" things. Daddy seemed to like those physical traits (and careers) in the Mommies he dated. Until he met YOUR Mommy. Your Mommy is naturally beautiful, genuine, humble, and generous. She doesn't get into trouble with the police and is very good at her job (which is also a "grown up" job, but with actual acting involved. And more clothes.). When she met your Daddy, she thought he was a big scary man with all of his tattoos and bikes, but then they fell in love and got married.
Soon after they got married, they decided they wanted you. Being around your brother and sisters made Mommy want a baby of her own, so she began her long search. Along the way, Mommy kept making (real) movies and giving to charities, while Daddy worked at his famous bike shop and opened up a popular hamburger place. (Be very grateful that you've been born into such entrepreneurs, little one.)
At some point, Daddy realized that he missed Mommy because she was always away filming. So Daddy decided to find a Friend (Buddy). Let's save time and say FB. Daddy put out a search on his computer for an FB and a girl answered. Daddy was so lonely that he decided this girl would be his FB. Daddy realized that his FB had a "grown up" job just like the previous Mommies. He also saw that his FB had lots of tattoos - even some on her face. He didn't mind that she posed for "grown up" web sites, either. Daddy was just lonely and wanted some company. Daddy decided not to tell Mommy about his FB because he was afraid that Mommy would be mad.
When Mommy came home from her long movie shoots, Daddy would pretend not to have an FB. He would go to work and send grown up text messages to his FB, then go home and have dinner with Mommy. He still played the part of loving husband and father. Daddy and his FB were friends for a long time, and Mommy never knew.
Soon enough, you arrived, and everyone was happy. Before she found you, Mommy did a really good job in a movie and got nominated for lots of awards. Daddy went with her to all of the awards shows, and Mommy thanked him in her speeches. She even told the reporters how much she loved him and appreciated him. A few days after the awards shows, Daddy's FB called up a magazine and told them about her friendship with Daddy. When Mommy found out, she took you and moved out of Daddy's house. Mommy felt betrayed.
I know you don't understand all of this right now, dear child, but hopefully someday you will. Some people don't appreciate what they have when they are married; they're always looking for something better. Maybe they feel lonely, maybe they need attention, or maybe they're just bored. None of those things are a good excuse to hurt the person you are supposed to love more than anyone else in the world. You see, Daddy didn't see what he had in Mommy until it was too late. He decided to take the coward's way out and look outside the marriage instead of communicating his loneliness to Mommy. Daddy chose to lie, cheat, and ruin his family. Unfortunately, Daddy got caught. Unfortunately for him; because you, little one, will have a wonderful life with your Mommy.
And your Daddy? He has been in a hospital dealing with what he calls an addiction. Not a normal addiction, sweet boy. Not drugs or alcohol. Daddy is addicted to grown up things. He is addicted to Friend (Buddies). Daddy has lost his wife, his newborn baby, and the nation's respect. But Daddy has also done the one thing that may have saved him had he done it in the first place: He has screwed himself.
Love,
The World
May I call you Louis? I'm not sure how we're all supposed to be pronouncing your name. Is it Loo-is or Loo-ey? I prefer Loo-ey, so that is what I shall be calling you in my mind as I type you this note.
First of all, you're adorable. You are the perfect little chubby baby, and the fact that you are originally from New Orleans is going to get you lots of chicks when you get older. Also, your mom seems really nice, so you've got that going for you. You were born into this world with a loving family and, unfortunately, are now at the center of a nasty Hollywood divorce.
Your mother and father (?) obviously wanted you very much, as they've been trying to find you since four years before you were born. But during their search, Daddy got a little side tracked. You see, your Daddy is what some people would refer to as a "Bad Boy." This does not mean the same thing as when your mother says that to you after you knock over a vase with a whiffle ball. Daddy's nickname came from the fact that he has lots of tattoos and rides motorcycles. Your Daddy also had a few other "Mommies" before your Mommy. Your brother and sisters came from those other Mommies. Now, those other Mommies looked pretty similar. Both had blond hair, tattoos, and had "grown up" jobs where they made money for doing "grown up" things. Daddy seemed to like those physical traits (and careers) in the Mommies he dated. Until he met YOUR Mommy. Your Mommy is naturally beautiful, genuine, humble, and generous. She doesn't get into trouble with the police and is very good at her job (which is also a "grown up" job, but with actual acting involved. And more clothes.). When she met your Daddy, she thought he was a big scary man with all of his tattoos and bikes, but then they fell in love and got married.
Soon after they got married, they decided they wanted you. Being around your brother and sisters made Mommy want a baby of her own, so she began her long search. Along the way, Mommy kept making (real) movies and giving to charities, while Daddy worked at his famous bike shop and opened up a popular hamburger place. (Be very grateful that you've been born into such entrepreneurs, little one.)
At some point, Daddy realized that he missed Mommy because she was always away filming. So Daddy decided to find a Friend (Buddy). Let's save time and say FB. Daddy put out a search on his computer for an FB and a girl answered. Daddy was so lonely that he decided this girl would be his FB. Daddy realized that his FB had a "grown up" job just like the previous Mommies. He also saw that his FB had lots of tattoos - even some on her face. He didn't mind that she posed for "grown up" web sites, either. Daddy was just lonely and wanted some company. Daddy decided not to tell Mommy about his FB because he was afraid that Mommy would be mad.
When Mommy came home from her long movie shoots, Daddy would pretend not to have an FB. He would go to work and send grown up text messages to his FB, then go home and have dinner with Mommy. He still played the part of loving husband and father. Daddy and his FB were friends for a long time, and Mommy never knew.
Soon enough, you arrived, and everyone was happy. Before she found you, Mommy did a really good job in a movie and got nominated for lots of awards. Daddy went with her to all of the awards shows, and Mommy thanked him in her speeches. She even told the reporters how much she loved him and appreciated him. A few days after the awards shows, Daddy's FB called up a magazine and told them about her friendship with Daddy. When Mommy found out, she took you and moved out of Daddy's house. Mommy felt betrayed.
I know you don't understand all of this right now, dear child, but hopefully someday you will. Some people don't appreciate what they have when they are married; they're always looking for something better. Maybe they feel lonely, maybe they need attention, or maybe they're just bored. None of those things are a good excuse to hurt the person you are supposed to love more than anyone else in the world. You see, Daddy didn't see what he had in Mommy until it was too late. He decided to take the coward's way out and look outside the marriage instead of communicating his loneliness to Mommy. Daddy chose to lie, cheat, and ruin his family. Unfortunately, Daddy got caught. Unfortunately for him; because you, little one, will have a wonderful life with your Mommy.
And your Daddy? He has been in a hospital dealing with what he calls an addiction. Not a normal addiction, sweet boy. Not drugs or alcohol. Daddy is addicted to grown up things. He is addicted to Friend (Buddies). Daddy has lost his wife, his newborn baby, and the nation's respect. But Daddy has also done the one thing that may have saved him had he done it in the first place: He has screwed himself.
Love,
The World
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Popping My LA Cherry
When BIL and I first arrived in California, I was so tired/buzzed/out of it, I barely remember the airport. I do recall, however, getting off the plane in the land of hard bodies...and high tailing it directly to the nearest airport McDonald's. Classic. I was hoping to see some celebrities at LAX, but no such luck. I always see at least a few pictures in my FagMags (tm) of celebs at LAX each week, but no such luck that day. BIL and I had to wait a while for our hotel shuttle, but once we found it, it took us literally 45 seconds to get to our hotel.
We ended up spending the next two day holed up in our room. The only times we left were to smoke or travel down to the gift shop to get a sandwich. We started to get a bit concerned about how we were going to get to our apartment appointments on Monday. Thankfully, our mom came through and got us a great deal on a rental car. We picked it up on Sunday afternoon - an adorable little Suzuki. I fell in love.
Since the rental agreement was in my name, my mother requested that I be the only one to drive it. That was fine by me - I wanted to experience some of the crazy LA traffic I had heard so much about. Honestly? It wasn't that bad. The regular roads were completely fine - I had no assholes refusing to let me switch lanes or people cutting me off. The 405, which is the major expressway in the area, was crazy, but nothing I couldn't handle. The whole trip, we only got caught in slow traffic once, and that was supposedly during rush hour. It wasn't bad at all, and really quelled my fears about getting around LA. Everything is 30 minutes or less away - the airport, downtown Hollywood, North Hollywood, Santa Monica Pier...
On Sunday night, we decided to check out the nightlife. We had a bit of trouble finding a place for my brother (BRO) to go, as he's only 19. Finally, we decided on a gay bar in West Hollywood - the one good thing about gay bars (besides their generous shots and fabulous music) is that they appreciate young gay boys and usually let them in. Without wrist bands, of course.
So we found this bar called Rage and decided to try it out. It was about a 25 minute drive from our hotel, in a really cute area near Wilshire Blvd (Reg. Bev. Wil.) and Rodeo Drive (baby). There was a whole row of cute gay bars along the street and the patios were great for people watching. Upon entering Rage, I could immediately see we would have fun. There were mostly naked boys dancing on the bars, and the Russian Hercules behind the bar knew how to work the girl customers so well, he had me questioning his sexuality by the time I ordered my first drink. BRO and BIL danced the night away, while I stood quietly in the shadows, getting danced on by small, drugged up, shirtless gay boys. The music was loud, the drinks were strong, and everyone was so friendly. It was the most fun I've ever had at a gay bar.
On Monday, we went to see apartments. I already spoke about that in the last blog, so I won't rehash the details again. At this point, we're still leaning towards the first building - we just can't decide what we want to sacrifice - living space or (some) privacy. We did have some AWESOME authentic Mexican at a place called Los Burritos. And the cute ladies that worked there were so nice - they even let us smoke illegaly on their patio. Twice.
BRO fell asleep early that night, so BIL and I decided to venture down to the hotel bar to have a few bevs. We met some nice people from London who were stuck there due to the freak volcanic ash cloud hovering over their area. But they were having a great time - they told us how they had rented a car and driven to Vegas the previous night, and when they ordered their drinks, they used free coupons. I wouldn't mind that situation at all.
Tuesday was supposed to be "let's make no plans and just explore LA" day, but of course it was overcast and rainy. I really wanted to see the Santa Monica Pier, and BRO and BIL were good sports and said we could go despite the weather conditions. When we arrived, it was still raining pretty hard. We took a few wet pictures, then wandered into a restaurant on the pier called Rusty's. We figured we'd wait out the rain for a bit, eat some lunch, and try again. Well, the food was DIS-gusting (for example, I ordered a side of mac and cheese...and it was Easy Mac. Honest to God, microwaveable Easy Mac. And they charged me $6.95 for it. And don't even get me started on the Cooter Soup.), but our plan worked. By the time we finished gagging our way through the meal, the rain had let up and the sun was peeking through. We went out and walked around a bit. We found a playground, and decided we wanted to swing. Of course, as soon as we got some height, it started raining again. We tried to be strong for a few minutes, but we were quickly beginning to look like drowned rats. So we gave up and went back to the hotel to relax for a bit before dinner.
After searching and making a few phone calls, we realized that a straight bar wasn't in the cards for BRO with his age. We decided to head back to the area Rage was in and grab some dinner, then go back to Rage if nowhere else would let BRO in. We found a really nice restaurant called Eleven down the street from Rage. (Rage should seriously pay me for all these free plugs.) The food was great and the atmosphere was really fun...the only thing is, we got our first taste of LA waiter/actors. They SUCK as waiters. I can only hope their acting skills are better, or it won't be long before Chet/Ashton/Tod/Grayson are on their way back to being John/Bill/Gary/Fred.
After dinner, we could tell that Eleven was turning into a club - they brought out the velvet ropes and the music turned from quiet background noise to ear splitting techno. Always a sure sign. We decided to check out what else was in the area, and ended up at Mickey's (another gay bar) a few doors down. It was really nice, with a huge wrap around bar inside, smaller bar outside, dance floor, faux fireplaces...and the obligatory shirtless bartenders and mostly naked dancer boys. We had a lot of fun at Mickey's, too, but unfortunately, the amount of food I had consumed at dinner sort of ruined the night for me. BRO and BIL were sweet about it, but I could tell they wanted to stay out when I decided I needed to go to bed a short time after arriving. For our last night, it was kind of a bust. But at least we tried a few different places. (Although I now have no sense of the heterosexual nightlife in LA...)
Wednesday morning, we got up early, took the rental car back, and boarded the plane for home. I missed LA almost immediately and truly cannot wait to get back there. Nothing against Buffalo, and of course I'll really miss my friends and family - I just can't wait for this new chapter in my life. I'm totally in love with LA. Now I just have to lose 20 pounds to feel comfortable...
xoxo
We ended up spending the next two day holed up in our room. The only times we left were to smoke or travel down to the gift shop to get a sandwich. We started to get a bit concerned about how we were going to get to our apartment appointments on Monday. Thankfully, our mom came through and got us a great deal on a rental car. We picked it up on Sunday afternoon - an adorable little Suzuki. I fell in love.
Since the rental agreement was in my name, my mother requested that I be the only one to drive it. That was fine by me - I wanted to experience some of the crazy LA traffic I had heard so much about. Honestly? It wasn't that bad. The regular roads were completely fine - I had no assholes refusing to let me switch lanes or people cutting me off. The 405, which is the major expressway in the area, was crazy, but nothing I couldn't handle. The whole trip, we only got caught in slow traffic once, and that was supposedly during rush hour. It wasn't bad at all, and really quelled my fears about getting around LA. Everything is 30 minutes or less away - the airport, downtown Hollywood, North Hollywood, Santa Monica Pier...
On Sunday night, we decided to check out the nightlife. We had a bit of trouble finding a place for my brother (BRO) to go, as he's only 19. Finally, we decided on a gay bar in West Hollywood - the one good thing about gay bars (besides their generous shots and fabulous music) is that they appreciate young gay boys and usually let them in. Without wrist bands, of course.
So we found this bar called Rage and decided to try it out. It was about a 25 minute drive from our hotel, in a really cute area near Wilshire Blvd (Reg. Bev. Wil.) and Rodeo Drive (baby). There was a whole row of cute gay bars along the street and the patios were great for people watching. Upon entering Rage, I could immediately see we would have fun. There were mostly naked boys dancing on the bars, and the Russian Hercules behind the bar knew how to work the girl customers so well, he had me questioning his sexuality by the time I ordered my first drink. BRO and BIL danced the night away, while I stood quietly in the shadows, getting danced on by small, drugged up, shirtless gay boys. The music was loud, the drinks were strong, and everyone was so friendly. It was the most fun I've ever had at a gay bar.
On Monday, we went to see apartments. I already spoke about that in the last blog, so I won't rehash the details again. At this point, we're still leaning towards the first building - we just can't decide what we want to sacrifice - living space or (some) privacy. We did have some AWESOME authentic Mexican at a place called Los Burritos. And the cute ladies that worked there were so nice - they even let us smoke illegaly on their patio. Twice.
BRO fell asleep early that night, so BIL and I decided to venture down to the hotel bar to have a few bevs. We met some nice people from London who were stuck there due to the freak volcanic ash cloud hovering over their area. But they were having a great time - they told us how they had rented a car and driven to Vegas the previous night, and when they ordered their drinks, they used free coupons. I wouldn't mind that situation at all.
Tuesday was supposed to be "let's make no plans and just explore LA" day, but of course it was overcast and rainy. I really wanted to see the Santa Monica Pier, and BRO and BIL were good sports and said we could go despite the weather conditions. When we arrived, it was still raining pretty hard. We took a few wet pictures, then wandered into a restaurant on the pier called Rusty's. We figured we'd wait out the rain for a bit, eat some lunch, and try again. Well, the food was DIS-gusting (for example, I ordered a side of mac and cheese...and it was Easy Mac. Honest to God, microwaveable Easy Mac. And they charged me $6.95 for it. And don't even get me started on the Cooter Soup.), but our plan worked. By the time we finished gagging our way through the meal, the rain had let up and the sun was peeking through. We went out and walked around a bit. We found a playground, and decided we wanted to swing. Of course, as soon as we got some height, it started raining again. We tried to be strong for a few minutes, but we were quickly beginning to look like drowned rats. So we gave up and went back to the hotel to relax for a bit before dinner.
After searching and making a few phone calls, we realized that a straight bar wasn't in the cards for BRO with his age. We decided to head back to the area Rage was in and grab some dinner, then go back to Rage if nowhere else would let BRO in. We found a really nice restaurant called Eleven down the street from Rage. (Rage should seriously pay me for all these free plugs.) The food was great and the atmosphere was really fun...the only thing is, we got our first taste of LA waiter/actors. They SUCK as waiters. I can only hope their acting skills are better, or it won't be long before Chet/Ashton/Tod/Grayson are on their way back to being John/Bill/Gary/Fred.
After dinner, we could tell that Eleven was turning into a club - they brought out the velvet ropes and the music turned from quiet background noise to ear splitting techno. Always a sure sign. We decided to check out what else was in the area, and ended up at Mickey's (another gay bar) a few doors down. It was really nice, with a huge wrap around bar inside, smaller bar outside, dance floor, faux fireplaces...and the obligatory shirtless bartenders and mostly naked dancer boys. We had a lot of fun at Mickey's, too, but unfortunately, the amount of food I had consumed at dinner sort of ruined the night for me. BRO and BIL were sweet about it, but I could tell they wanted to stay out when I decided I needed to go to bed a short time after arriving. For our last night, it was kind of a bust. But at least we tried a few different places. (Although I now have no sense of the heterosexual nightlife in LA...)
Wednesday morning, we got up early, took the rental car back, and boarded the plane for home. I missed LA almost immediately and truly cannot wait to get back there. Nothing against Buffalo, and of course I'll really miss my friends and family - I just can't wait for this new chapter in my life. I'm totally in love with LA. Now I just have to lose 20 pounds to feel comfortable...
xoxo
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