Tickity-Tack-Tragic

Friday night Leah and I went to dinner at Cesar's where the food was, as usual, unremarkable, but the margaritas upheld their title as nectar of the f-ing gods. I sort of wanted to make this weekend an anti St. Pat's/Latin rebellion fiesta since St. Patrick's Day is such a joke what with the Irish being completely assimilated in this country as of about six decades ago. However, I just made due with Friday's Latino fun since not incurring the wrath of every drunken frat guy on Saturday was, how do you say, high on my list of priorities.

Whatever that I'm biased towards Cinco de Mayo. At least Mexicans have a recognizable cultural identity and don't walk around with buttons that say "Kiss Me; I'm Mexican!" Although, there are those pesky "Hecho en Mexico" shirts... tickity-tack-tragic.

Afterwards, we met up with my new neighbors to play a few rousing rounds of some truth-or-dare style game where you shove your finger in this device with four other players and whoever gets shocked has to answer. I don't know what it's called, but Tewtally Fun should be its name. Little known fact: I LOVE truth or dare games, but I never do dares since I'm more about exposing secrets and lies amongst my friends. I Never is also ludicrously fun.

As an aside, Spring is nigh Leah... time to throw another BBQ/orgy of truth-telling.

At any rate, I imbibed way too much on Friday which left me feeling not quite up to drinking all day at the party Katie and I were supposed to go to on Saturday. I asked Katie if I could show up around sevenish to which she replied, srsly? I threatened her with bodily harm if she didn't pick up her phone when I called and like a tried and true roomie, Katie kept her word, but also informed me that I probably wouldn't want to come since everyone was blitzed beyond all reckoning, the person I wanted to see at said party had not shown up, and basically it had turned into a lesbian bacchanal somewhere around five. But doesn't everything?

I could regale you with details of the rest of the weekend, but stories about doing errands on a Sunday are so amazing that I might explode your computer. In that case I'll just leave you with this ditty:

Sweeney Todd The Way It Should Be

I had an excellent trip home last December. It was the first time I was there for over a week and didn't want to murder everyone by the time I left. If there was a low point to the trip however, it was probably when I went to see Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd at the Cinerama Dome. The dome, as usual, was great; the film, was wretched.

I cannot remember the last time I fell asleep during a movie - not even Old School and a bag full of Wild Turkey nips could do me in - but Sweeney made me all sleepers. Somehow I imagine that wouldn't be the case with John Doyle's production of Todd at the Ahmanson.

From Laist:

Written by Stephen Sondheim, the original "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" is a classic. The most recent Tim Burton screen adaptation of Edward Scissorhands the musical was "meh." And last night's Los Angeles premiere under John Doyle's direction was, simply put, purely amazing.
It begins as the lights go down in the house and up on stage. It's an uncomfortable raw silence that the audience succumbs to. There's no sound, no music, just the actors, looking out into nothingness from a set that was minimalist and visually orgasmic for the macabre-inclined. The performance begins, every actor with their instrument in hand, they speak, they sing and they accompany themselves, as the orchestra pit is empty -- it's up to the ten characters to survive the next two-hours on their own.

Laist also has three links to audio podcasts with the actors who play Joanna, The Beadle, and Musical Director Andy Einhorn. If you're in Los Angeles any time between now and April 3rd, this is pretty much a must do.

Everyone is someone in LA...

I was on the phone with my sister last night, who was catching me up on her latest boy drama - I literally hear ya sister - and we also shared some vile comments about this douche bag she once dated who is apparently on the verge of going down in flames courtesy of the Los Angeles Police Department. I never liked the guy anyway so you'd think I'd take more joy in his tail-spinning out of control, but really, it just left me feeling slightly queasy. It never ceases to amaze me how insanely idiotic some people can be.

On a happier note, Bonnie said that she'd attended a party last Thursday thrown by Nintendo in honor of one of our oldest friends, Lindsay. Howza-whoza, you say? Uh, yeah, I had the same reaction. Apparently, Nintendo is courting the 25 to 34 lady set and their latest scheme is to seek out influential bloggers/trendsetters who they then throw parties for in swanky studios on La Brea, complete with hors d'oeuvres, booze, and a FREE NINTENDO DS FOR EVERYONE. I'm not even a fan of the DS, but start giving away free shit in excess of 100 bucks and I'm there. Although Bonnie told me that one of the other attendees said that she'd be selling that shit on ebay the minute she got home and I tewtally concur.

Lindsay's been writing her blog for the last five years (which just celebrated it's anniversary) and she was recently made co-editor of Laist. I've always known she was something of a trend-setter ever since she turned me on to Liz Phair almost a decade ago, but I'm glad people with money are finally taking notice so now everyone can benfit from her cultural antennae. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about working hard to make it in this world, but believe you me, I will ride my friends' coattails and starfuck all the way to the top if I have to.

In related news, Todd informed me that our mutual friend who moved to New York is one infinitesimally small degree away from Bill Hader, my latest SNL crush. Jesus christ, now this means I have to push up my move-to-New-York time frame by about three and a half years. I told Katie that I was moving there by the time I turned thirty, which originally gave her plenty of time to either decide on either coming with me or running away with Catherine Zeta-Jones. She's told me she has a bit of a problem with the trash situation in NY, so she may be packing up the U-Haul and heading over to Catherine Z's place if I really do speed things up.

Oh well, good luck to them if they do shack up... you knew that Michael Douglas marriage was a sham anyway.

You Rock My Life!

This is why I love Los Angeles:


From: Laist

This mural just went up on La Brea between Pico and Olympic. This spot is just down the the street from where we used to go to church when I was a kid (when we actually went), and where I had a bishop rub oil on my head and tell me I was now responsible for all my sins.

Back when I used to make film deliveries in this area, there were tons of awesome murals like this, but never one that made me so happy.

Whatever with all your crazy 9-11 consipiracy theories Marion; You rock my life!

Happy Birfday To Moi

Today marks the fifth anniversary of my partying with Jessica Biel. Whatever that it's my birthday, no, the highlight of the last five years of my life was without a doubt the night that I rode a bull with La Biel. Anyone who knows me personally has already heard this story ad nauseum, so you guys can just stop reading right now. For the rest of you, enjoy:



Like many a deranged Angeleno, I was under the impression that spending my twenty-first birthday at the giant clusterfuck that is the Saddleranch Chop House was a good idea. It was all pretty dismal considering that it was a Sunday and NO ONE was out. I mean, there's always someone out on the Sunset Strip, but comparatively speaking, it was a ghost town. No worries though, because I had a great group of friends with me who could and still do turn any bar they enter into a baccanale. Oh, and I should mention that I was not yet out, as in I was heavily closeted, as in two of my best friends were gay, as in I was that really open minded straight guy who had hour-long convos with his buddies.

I know... and yes, please, spare me.

Well, the evening was fun and involved my friends having me pose for pictures with sorority girls who were got all kissey face with me for the cameras, which I'm sure everyone thought was tewtally hilarious (I won't be posting those by the way). But the real festivities started when an already ineabriated Jessica Biel showed up posse in tow. I should mention that Jess and I not only share the same birthday but also the same birth-year. I like to think of us as kindred spirits of a sort and our meeting at Saddleranch was only further evidence of this fact.

Jessica & co. wasted no time in making complete and total asses of themselves. Wilmer Valderama was there and he's just sort of an ass in and of himself, but my favorite moment of the night (even better than Biel repeatedly falling off an already slowed down mechanical bull) was when Beverly Mitchell of Seventh Heaven fame came barreling out of the ladies room and hit my former roommate Corinne with her purse. Corinne's reaction, That BITCH Beverly Mitchell just hit me with her Gucci bag, became an instant classic and to this day remains one of my favorites.

I could explain how drunk La Biel was and how hammered I ended up getting off of Long Islands, but I think I'll just let the pictures speak for me:







I don't know what could possibly top that birthday, but there was the year (my 23rd?) I celebrated by drunkenly fawning over PJ Harvey at the Cat and Fiddle. She was very polite and obviously wasn't too offended by my gin breath since she let me talk to her for a good two minutes or so. Lesson learned? If you're drinking with a celebrity, make sure you're the more sober of the two; it makes for better stories and doesn't forever get you banned from PJ Harvey's clique.

Mucha Muchacha

This is the new artwork for my friend Nichole's fused-glass jewelery business, Mucha Muchacha. It's a illustration of Nichole and her cat Mito flanking a giant fused-glass necklace, done by artist Helena Garcia. I don't even like cats and I want to basically eat Mito in this picture. Adorable. I love also love that Mito and I share the same haircut and, uh, P.S. Nichole... I hope Mito wears your jewelery in real life.

Right now Mucha Muchacha sells at various craft markets in the LA area - like the South Park Flea Market and the I Made It! Market - so if you're in the neighborhood you should check one out. She also hawks her wares over at Etsy.

Pour Myself a Cup of Ambition

I could never get away with that hair at work

OMFG, am I exhausted after my first official week at the new job. Everyone seems to genuinely kind which I told Katie the other day initially freaked me out because I generally distrust kindness. Maybe it's from having grown up in the environs of Los Angeles where all is fake and plasticized, but I've always believed that most people have an agenda. I still, for the most part, believe this. The thing is the Midwestern sensibility of saying something and really meaning it throws me for a loop.

Combine this with a universal office atmosphere of requisite chit-chat and redundant questions about how the weekend went, and you have my proverbial head spinning off my proverbial neck. I'm getting better, however, at accepting my coworkers' kind gestures and salutations with a lot less vinegar and a lot more vim. At my last office job in LA I was surrounded by a bunch of really strong personalities and no one was shy about showing their anger, frustration, excitement, what have you. My boss least of all. He could be a giant bitch, but I also loved him for it. I mean, not when he had me on the verge of tears or anything, but in retrospect he was tons of fun. He would come up to me every so often when he was in a good mood to tell me, "I'm gonna make you cry. I do it to everybody. Just wait."

I'm proud to say that he never did make me cry which I'll attribute to the fact that I was an exemplary employee and not to the fact that I may or may not be emotionally barren.

The Only Way I'm Moving Back To LA

This graphic makes me, how do you say, moist as a snack cake down there. These aren't the final stops and routes for LA's "subway to the sea" but they're the possible combinations that Metro LA will be presenting to affected communities. According to laist, this thing is going to take ten years to build, but since things are already underway, well let's hope that everything stays on track.

If living in Chicago has taught me anything it's that I CANNOT live in a city without a subway or some sort of wicked transportation system (I'm not ruling out monorails) so my moving back home is absolutely contingent on this thing. Hear that Villaraigosa! Cuz I know you read this blog.

Obey-ing Obama

Shepard Fairey

Shepard Fairey of Obey fame recently released this amazing Obama poster in a limited run of 350 prints which I'm sure are completely out of my price range, but I want one NOW.



It also pains me to admit this because I'm a staunch Hillary Rodham supporter, but she's obviously neglected the urban artist contingent which is why you won't find any awesome illustrations of her with the words Health Care underneath and, unfortunately, I'm afraid her mug just wouldn't carry the same gravitas.



I've always had a love/hate relationship with guerrilla artists like Shepard Fairey, which was confirmed wholeheartedly when I met Buff Monster at a gallery opening in 2003. While the event was fun and there was lots of free booze, it was one of the single most harrowing events of my life trying to not get murdered while searching for the gallery in the back alleys of downtown Los Angeles at 11 on a Friday night. Like it's not a certifiably indie event unless its being held in a converted flop house with syringes still lining the floor.


Buff in Venice

A friend of mine was dating Buff Monster at the time, or should I say Buff (whose real name is Alex or James or something) was campaigning hardcore to get into her pants. Suffice it to say I remember him being equal parts annoying, evasive, and crazytown, but his work rocked my soul so viciously that I gave him the benefit of the doubt and told my friend she should screw him if for nothing else than getting a good story out of it. I'm pretty sure, however, she did not relent.

At any rate, you should check him out and here's some more Buff goodness:


Buff on Vine and Free Buff Wallpaper


Buff Toys


Buff Print

Shootin' at the Walls of Heartache*

I'm both excited and a little embarrassed to say that I finally saw The Warriors this weekend. This is one of those movies that's been floating around in my periphery for years but I just never happened to watch it, which is sad for me - er - was sad. It was pretty awesome for a number of reasons, none of which had to do with exceptional acting ability or writing. No, these reasons are more along the lines of James Remar was in it!



Or should I say, Richard?


Or perhaps, Dexter's pa-pa?


One of the things that I really loved about this film was how well it conveyed the vastness of New York City. So many movies are completely Manhattan-centric and if they don't take place entirely in Manhattan, then there's always at least one character who's jonesing hardcore to get to the city. Here, the reverse is true and these boys want nothing more than to get back to their beloved Coney Island, which is ironic since no one ever wants to experience Coney twice (or so I've heard).

It's going to be really interesting to see how this dynamic gets translated to the remake since it'll be taking place in Los Angeles and Tony Scott (who's directing) is supposedly replacing the fictional gangs with real-life Los Angeles street gangs (Bloods, Crips, 18th Street, etc.). Whatsmore, a major plot device of the original movie had all the gangs traveling to a "convention" by way of subway. The Warriors are then s.o.l. when they get framed for a murder and have to figure out how to get back home.

In terms of LA this may work really well since it's so ridiculously huge, but then again Los Angeles doesn't have a really viable transportation system so unless the Warriors want to be rumbling at Universal Citywalk, they're pretty much screwed.



Oh yeah, and, um... gangs in LA drive cars, you know, as in drive by shootings, but I'm willing to reserve judgment until the movie comes out.

Anyway, I'm thinking I'm going to be a Baseball Fury for Halloween; probably this guy:



I'm also campaigning for Katie to be a Lizzie, since I'm thinking she'd be pretty fierce and since she's basically one already. If she just grows her hair out and lets it dry naturally she's set.



This is all profoundly exciting for me considering that it's only January and I generally don't figure out a costume to wear until the week (read: the day) before Halloween.

Although if I were actually living in a Warriors dystopia I'd probably be one of these guys:



'cause they're - well - fancy... and from SOHO... and it's me.



*I'm not sure if she was channeling this movie when she made the video, but I'm pretty sure Patty Smyth could form her own future-retro-geisha-gang.

The Loot's In The Clock

I've always had a mild obsession with skyscrapers and despite a building boom throughout the eighties that gave Los Angeles some of its tallest buildings, my hometown's edifices have always been somewhat lacking in the style department. Thanks be to Frank Gehry who's finally putting LA on the architectural map but we, admittedly, still have a long way to go.



But that's not to say that developers aren't finally waking up and gentrifying rehabbing some of LA's best (and unfortunately) most neglected buildings. The Eastern Columbia Building on Broadway has always been my favorite Los Angeles skyscraper which was solidified when a too young to be watching John caught a rerun of the pilot episode of Moonlighting and found out that THE LOOT'S IN THE CLOCK!!!



God, Cybil Shepherd's hair looked good back then. What happened?


Well, now the Eastern Columbia has been turned into apartments complete with interiors by Kelly Wearstler of Bravo's Top Design (the skinny one who dressed too young/crazy-town for her age) and even Johnny Depp's jumped on board, purchasing a $2 million unit six months ago.

Laist had an item the other day about how it's still possible to be Depp's neighbor if you're willing to plunk down 1.8 million for a 12th floor corner unit, but before you go running off with your checkbook in hand, let it be known that you'll ALSO be sharing the elevator with the comedic oblivion that is Ant from TV's Celebrity Fit Club, and Slade from seasons 1 & 2 of The Real Housewives of Orange County.


Backdoor Buddies

Despite imagining the horrifying scenario of one day going to enjoy the rooftop pool only to find Ant sunning himself in a banana hammock, I'm pleased to know that Slade has finally made the move from Orange County to LA. This also explains why Jeanna was storing his shit in the garage of Vicky's old house on this week's episode (whew... mystery solved).

Anywho, the levels of Bravo-dom going on in this building are mind-boggling and all I can say is that I hope the gravitational forces created by mixing so many faux and real celebrities doesn't open a gate to hell or something and suck the Eastern Colombia down with it cause I really like this building.

Here's some more archi-porn for your viewing pleasure: