The Lives Of Others

I was part of an Oscar pool last night and the goal was to win. So when it came to best foreign film I was forced to choose what I thought would win. So I settled on Pan’s Labyrinth. I felt bad because I wanted The Lives of Others to win. It was the best "getting it wrong" moment I felt all evening. Nikki and I actually cheered when it beat Pan’s; not that Pan’s Labyrinth was bad, I rather liked it. Nikki found I boring, which was a surprise, but it’s filmmaking could not be denied.

Lives writer/director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, a first time filmmaker created a movie so intense, so emotionally engaging and such a timeless piece of cinema that I would claim that it was actually the best picture of 2006. Ye it even beats out Children Of Men in my book. Hell he should win just for his name alone. How much of his life has been taken up just telling people, then teaching them how to pronounce it properly? This is not a good example of German efficiency.


The story revolves around Stasi officer who is in charge of spying on the life of a playwright and his actress girlfriend. It has all sorts of agendas interweaving throughout and it becomes such a stunning movie about transformation that it puts those cars into robots things to shame. (Yes I just compared the best film of 2006 to a Hasbro toy line.)

It also reminds me of a thing Kevin Smith wrote, “More often than not, a hero’s most epic battle is the one you never see; it’s the battle goes on within him or herself.” This is a movie about those changes within people, how they react to it and how a controlling government attempts to crush it. A government can destroy the body, but we decide whether or not we allow them to destroy our soul.

For me the strongest aspect was art versus politics. Something that I have always and will always have strong feelings about. There is no more important a voice than art and to me it is the ultimate form of freedom of speech. When it is good, it transcends its author/s and becomes it’s own entity. That’s kind of crazy. It’s like a big bang on a microcosmic level. People can debate about Citizen Kane and who is responsible for it, but at the end of the day, it’s Citizen Kane, end of story.


Anyway I just want to congratulate Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck on making a really great movie, winning an award that he justly deserves and on having a name that is just fucking nuts.

A Little Catch-Up

Sorry folks, it’s been a while so here’s a quick list of what I’ve been up to.

Applied for several jobs
Saw a couple movies at the DGA
Lost 40 bucks at poker
Ate 12 York peppermint patties
Met with some agents
Played in a Hearts tournament
Got laid several times
Visited the Magritte exhibit
Had dinner with a ton of family members I didn’t know
Wrote a few short scripts for a project
Watched some television I haven’t seen in a while and have come to some very solid conclusions.


TV Conclusions:

24
is just a wonky show. I know I’m seeing episodes that are taking place after the show has apparently jumped the shark, but it’s just a poorly put together show. It looks like ass, it’s acted like ass and it’s written like ass. If I have to see that button nosed pouty girl furrow her brow in concern one more time, I’m going punch my roommate in the junk.

Lost
is exactly that. I have no faith in the writers to have any excuse for what is going on. It’s boring and takes itself way too seriously now. Remember when there used to be some chuckles? Not any more. There also used to be a cast. I’m hoping they are getting paid for all of the work they’ aren’t doing.

Heroes:
is fine, but I don’t see what the big deal is. Too many characters and not a lot happens from episode to episode. Whatever the big information is, usually pops up in the last five minutes of the show and most of the time you just get run of the mill sideline adventures.

I’d rather be working, playing cards, getting laid, watching movies or writing than spending the amount of time I have watching this stuff. Worst part, I’ll watch them all next week so I have more to complain about. It’s like crack this tv stuff is.

By Request: Alan J. Pakula

Pakula was one of those filmmakers who had an incredible run in the 70’s. He basically was the guy who cornered the paranoia market with three key films.

The first was Klute, a mystery about a missing business man and a prostitute being stalked by a psychotic client. Could they be the same person? Hmmm, no actually.

This movie is one of those masterpieces that very few people take the time to appreciate. Its pacing, lighting, music and cutting are really impressive and display levels of information that you need to pay attention to.

More important are the character arcs. Jane Fonda received and academy award as Brie Daniels the prostitute/actress who is trying to find herself. Her scenes with a therapist (pre cliché) are really impressive and watching her struggle with who she wants to be and who she really is, is just a knock out. Think of the flip side to Naomi Watts character in Mullholland Drive.


Donald Sutherland never gets any praise for this movie and deserves tons. He is subtle at portraying the investigator who just gets it. His slow turn as he falls for Fonda’s character is just magnificent and it’s the small things that add up to something very big. It’s like watching Robert Forrester in Jackie Brown.

Pakula handles the plot and the characters with a deft hand keeping the tension mounting and the people growing with out a hiccup.


The next film in this trilogy was The Parallax View. This was almost a science fiction film in a weird way. Warren Beatty is a small time reporter who investigates a Kennedy-esque assassination and discovers a corporation that trains killers. Is it a little over the top? Yes. Is it probable? Doubtful, but a great ride made spooky with the help of keeping it rooted in the reality of the time. With Warren Commission style bookends, it reminds us that there may be something bigger and badder out there pulling the strings.


The third film would be the one that sealed the deal. This time based on fact. All The President’s Men would bring home a Best picture Oscar and prove that Pakula could direct the hell out of a picture. He made a movie tense when everyone already knew the outcome. Plus the shot of Redford and Hoffman in the library looking for a checked out book just sums up the entire experience Woodward and Bernstein must have felt they were going through.

Pakula would go on to direct some real pieces of crap like Rollover in 1981. Or his last film The Devil’s Own in 1997 with Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt. Even with that kind of talent involved it was utterly forgettable.

He did have a few other successes, like Sophie’s Choice and the decent little B thriller Consenting Adults. He did have one large success in his later years with The Pelican Brief, dipping his toe back into conspiracies and thrills. Pelican never did reach the heights of his original trilogy, but it did have a few good moments including a parking garage sequence that he somehow made original after the device had been used to death over the years.

Oh, yeah. He also Produced To Kill A Mockingbird. That’s an important fact to remember.

Pakula died in an auto accident on the L.I.E. in 1988. This is one of those fact that I always remember because Paul Dano mentions it in the movie L.I.E.

He contributed to that great era of filmmaking in the 70’s and stands among other underrated filmmaker’s like Sidney Lumet and John Schlesinger. Guys that were never as hip as the Scorsese’s or Spielberg's, but just as influential.

Nomenclature

I'm looking for a new word and you , yes you, can help.

A new name for a friendship where carnal knowledge is involved, but not construed as dating.

This has been known as "fuck buddies" or "friends with privlidges", but I'm looking for something new. It can be funny, but I'm on the search for a word that has a certain level of mutual respect involved.

Suggestions so far include: Fuddys, sexxers and ASSociates (for the gay set).

Roll Over

Not the shitty Allan J. Pakula movie, but that action we take for granted.

There was a time when we couldn’t roll over. This time was called infancy. Then one day, “Plunk” we rolled over. This event has just happened for my non-nephew Izzy.

“Non-nephew” sounds a little weird, but he’s not my nephew by blood and “jewphew” makes me sound more anti-Semitic than I already am. So please send any ideas on how I can define this little guy in two words or less.

To him I’m the loud chap who is always drinking stuff out of a green bottle. I’ll end up being labeled “Uncle Dew” when he starts naming people in the speaking stage.

Stay on Target, John.

So Izzy learns to roll over and AG catches it on video. He then uploads it to YouTube so family members can see it. Here it is.



It’s not a Kurosawa film, but you can see the interest to family members. Plus it’s just an odd moment in life. At some point in time, every single one of us rolled over for the first time.

So this clip is posted and what do we find? A fuckin' flurry of these things, check it out!





They’re everywhere. It’s porn for the new parent set. You can just keep getting off on watching babies roll over.

I want a site where top-heavy women struggle to flip onto their stomachs, but their ginormous breasts keep them from doing it. You can hear old people cheering and applauding off camera, “Come on honey, just a little push. You can do it. Do it for Gram Gram.”

Yeah, yeah, John is disgusting. He’s equating innocent babies rolling over with porn. But think of it this way my oh-so naive friends it’s the first step.

1. Roll over
2. Crawl
3. Walk
4. Turn on TV
5. Watch giant breasted women turn over.

It’s you’re glee at this first step in the child’s evolution that gets them where I’m already at.

So Izzy my boy, as soon as you’re ready, Uncle Dew is going to have www.rollovertitties.com ready for ya!

Keep livin’ the dream kid, keep livin’ the dream.

In Space No One Can Hear You F*@k

The first space soap opera.

Space Drama

It's got everything: Jealousy, international space stations, diapers!

Plus I like how they chose a photo so the lady looks like she's been partying with Nick Nolte and Rip Torn.

While I Was Gone

Friday 1/26/07
10:30 AM
I have been sorting through boxes of stuff to figure out what to keep and what to toss. I came across a box full of old journals, notebooks, scripts, etc.
I kept most of the scripts and looked through the journals. It was a fascinating discovery. To read all of this stuff by a person I could identify with, but no longer knew. The amount of change and growth that has taken place for me over the past several years is actually impressive. Not that there aren’t moments when I can feel the want to revert, but my mind is in a very different space then where it was even two years ago.

I’d like to say that the most change happened when I cleaned up, but that’s not the case. A lot of learning had taken place while I was drinking and using, but it all seemed to snap into place when I finally did get my shit together. So, not too shabby.

If I can keep up this growth ratio, I’ll be one hell of a guy when I reach my 60’s.

8:46 PM

Took care of a bunch of business today and I’ve been eating like shit. Actually I’ve been eating like shit for a few weeks now. That’s all ending soon. Time to reach a few physical goals since I’m unemployed and can focus on that, plus it helps keep the budget down.

So I’m going through a box full of pictures and I realize something…how many of my girlfriends have I taken boudoir photos of? Most of them, apparently. Is this common? Is it my photo fetish that allows me to convince them to do this? All I know is I’ve got a lot of them and I have to say, I haven’t done that bad in the girlfriend department. They have been an attractive bunch all around. I can guarantee you I never photographed the trolls.

That’s just mean. Unfortunately it is also true. I’m a real shit.


Saturday 1/27/07
8:40 AM

A banging at the front door at 8:15, it was the gas man. That’s impressive. The gas company told me he’d be here between 8 am and 7 pm. Pretty nuts, right? So I’d written off the day, but guess again.

I answer the door and the guy says, “Gas Man.” Best part, he’s got one of those mustaches that has the waxed tips, like a bad guy from a silent movie. I had to work not to try and poke at it.

What makes a guy decide that is going to be his statement? I’m not going to get my ear pierced, or a tattoo of a propane tank across my chest, I’m gonna wax my mustache. That says, “I’m me. Look out world, I’m fucking here!”

Although it could just be so he doesn’t burn his mustache off sticking his head inside ovens and heaters all day.

Sunday 1/28/07

10:22 AM

Spent the rest of yesterday getting Gabe moved in and stuff arranged. It rained on and off all day, so that was fun.

We’re off to his place in a few minutes to pick up his remaining items and say adios to Arcadia.

It’s odd I feel like I live in LA more now than I have in the past several months.

So it goes.

Wednesday 1/31/07

Played poker again last night, lost but came in fourth out of ten, so not too bad. The issue being I need to place at least third to get any money.

Everything else has slowed down and the apartment is in order. All the lights have been fixed so we can actually see what we’re doing. I’m still waiting for a mail key, a pain in the ass. I’m dropping off rent tomorrow, so I can complain in person and see if it makes a difference.

Nothing new on the job front, but I’m waiting for internet on Friday so I can really get into it. I’ll need to find something relatively soon. Due to my lack of work over the past year, my unemployment check would only be worth about 97 bucks a week. Whoops.

Thursday 2/1/07

Nuthin’ happened.

Friday 2/2/07

4:03 PM

Hey, I’ve now got internet and cable and Tivo and all that crap. I haven’t had cable for about nine months and haven’t missed it that much. Then after flipping channels for about a half-hour, I realized I still wouldn’t miss it I didn’t have it. There isn’t a lot out there.

Jack is in town, so I’m getting together with him and his girl. I think her name is Rebecca. I’m bad with names.

Tranny Spam And Other Notes

I have officially received my favorite piece of porn spam ever. Instead of telling me about hot wet pussy or giant tits or sluts who go all the way, this one decided to appeal to the educated side of perverts.

Subject Line: tranny movies shakespearian

Really? That’s really how you’re going to sell me? Hold on, let me put on my tweed coat with patches on the elbows and light my pipe.

So what’s the pitch? I know that men played female characters back in Shakespeare’s time, but this is a whole new ballgame (pun intended). Hell if I saw tickets on sale for a group of tranny’s performing Othello, I’d camp out to be first in line. That’s breakthrough fucking theater right there.

Now there was a moment where I knew this could be crap. Click to read and I’m suddenly offered cheap Viagra or how a sheik needs my money and I’ll be rewarded with riches beyond my wildest dreams, but I’ll risk it in hopes of discovering the next level of the Bard’s work.

As I’m sure we both could guess, this was just a link for a trannys fuck all holes site. There was a flourish that got a chuckle from my inner twelve year old.

Actual quote:

They both poured themselves another drink and sat down on the couch. Vanity said, "I have a secret I want to show you.", and she stood up and took off her skirt. Roxy didn’t seem surprised at all. She said, “Good, I need to get fuckedö.”

Fuckedo? With an umlaut? That was first used in Twelfth Night, right?

Is it pronounced ‘fucked-o’, 'fuc-kedo', or ‘fuck-edo’? I like the last one. I just like saying edo, my favorite period in Japanese history. That's not true, the tokogawa period ruled. Now I'm just talking out of my ass.

Back on topic; I know it’s just some spelling error, but man I love that word, especially when I think of it as some tranny jargon.

Tranny 1: Hey Marge, have you seen Cindy?

Tranny 2: Yeah, I’d like to get some fuckedo from that!

Nasty! Unless you’re into that…then good for you.

I think Shakespeare would be proud of this new word being attributed to him, except for the people who believe Marlowe really wrote it. Oh, snap! (Yeah, I just used 'oh, snap'.)

In other news, it looks like I’ll be going off line for a while. The big push on moving takes place on Thursday and I wont have internet access until February 2nd. So I’m not forgetting about you, I mean that from the heart. I’ll be using the internet café down the street to check my emails, but since unemployment keeps me budgeting, I wont be posting. I know you’re depressed, but I’ll be back with all sorts of new adventures of me with my Mexican sidekick. Or being the sidekick to a Mexican, again I’m not sure.

Also, dream job work stuff is in the early cooking stages so hopefully I'll have exciting news on that when I return. Keep your fingers crossed and continue praying to your heathen gods for me.

Herr Hoff

You can tell I'm unemployed when I'm posting this shit all the time.

As we all know, David Hasslehoff is a musical genius. So here he is shooting another load into our eyes.



I do not consider myself a judgemental person, even though I have my moments, so why should I find him repulsive here?

(I can pretty much guarantee that I'm going to be one of those old guys that sits on a bench trying to look up skirts of twenty year olds. I pretty much do that now, so no point in saying that'll change with age.)

Yet I find something creepy as Hof slides up to the girl and "seduces" her into Kitt. I don't know if it's because he's got those squnity eyes, or maybe I'm unsure if he takes himself seriously or not. Plus those hip thrusting/white mans overbite moves just make me feel, well repulsed. I honestly don't have a solid explanation nor will I take the time to analyse further.

I have no problem with the idea of Woody Allen face fucking his adopted daughter, but The Hof is a different reaction.

Maybe I should examine this further.

Re-Animator

Thank you technology. Now that you are getting to the point where you can re-animate the dead you give us one of our greatest icons.

Orville Redenbacher!



What's with that wierd bobbing up and down that he is doing at the end. I know he's supposed to be rocking out, but it looks like he has to pee real bad.


Now if someone would just get on re-animating the "Dunkin' Donuts" guy having sex with the "Where's The Beef" lady we will have reached CGI nirvana.

Pain In My Buttocks

I decided that I was going to put a picture of myself back up in my profile and this stupid Blogger system wont let me do it. I’ve uploaded it to my blog first, no go. Flickr, My Space, and some tool that Blogger recommends, but no go. Actually the Blogger tool would probably work if it weren’t for Windows only. Fucking Apple haters.

So I need to figure that out, but for now it’s more of the man known as Mifune.

So John, what’s been going on?

Moving. A lot of packing boxes and dealing with the whole setting up electric/gas/mail thing that is, as always, an arduous process to go through. If there is one thing that everyone hates, it’s moving; the big furniture especially.

Something you will always hear when moving: Try turning it sideways.

On Work: I really haven’t done much looking. I sent out a few half assed resumes just to say I’ve done something about it, but I’m pretty much resigned to getting moved in before looking for work.

I’ve got irons in the fire as far as the future career goes, but it is way to early to discuss any of that.

It’s funny that I’m not very stressed about it yet. Losing a job as a group of people versus as an individual is a lot more calming. I feel no guilt over losing the job since I did my job and a lot of people thought I did good work. I’m sure I’ll run across some of them in the future. It happens in this business.

So it’s back to packing and enjoying the fact that I don’t have to spend 14 hours a day at a job for a while.

Why Are People So F@*ked Up

So this lady with the ironic last name of Foxton...



Has rasied a squirrel, domesticated it and now dresses it up to takes pictures.

Not only does she take pictures of this critter, but gets all up in your face politically about it.

Here is her statement about the Sadam execution.



See more at: http://www.sugarbushsquirrel.com/

I'm not making a direct link because I feel you should do the work.

Faith In Film

There are times when that thing you feel is starting to slip is renewed, not just renewed, but a miracle is witnessed and you see the beauty that made you fall in love with something in the first place.

Children Of Men is one of those movies. It is so well made that you can’t help but be swept up in the story, the characters and just the flat out incredible imagery that keeps being thrown at you.

It’s more that just the incredible single takes; it’s how the entire thing is composed. There are shots in a barn that remind you of the best of Tarkovsky. There is a moment in the woods that top Polanski and Kubrick is applauding movie heaven at the shot of Clive Owen running to rescue our pregnant girl.

This is the best thing I’ve seen in a couple of years. I’d say the best piece of cinema since City Of God.



Keep your eyes open, like you could miss it, for the cover art of Pink Floyd's "Animals". It’s a real “Holy shit!” moment.

I’ll see it at least two more times in the theater. This is a real achievement and Alfonso Cuaron is officially a modern master.

The Latest Greatest

1. Happy New Year
2. I’m Unemployed (Show was Cancelled)
3. Moving To New Apartment (Signed lease before unemployed)
4. Feelin’ Fine

So for those of you who were getting bored because I seemed emotionally complacent, good news! I’m sure the emotional rollercoaster will be starting up again soon.

Happy B-Day Movies

Today is December 28th the official Birthday of movies.

On this day in 1895 Auguste and Louis Lumiere sold tickets to a bunch of French folk and used a magic box to project an image on a screen.

Some of the riveting films displayed held such titles as “Train leaving the Station” and “Workers leaving the Factory”. They pretty much write themselves.

These were single take shorts that lasted no more than a minute each. Rumor has it that several people ran out when the train was pulling out of the station because they thought a train was coming straight at them. This does not dissuade the theory that the French are cowards.

This night was declared the birth of movies because it was the first time that tickets were sold and money was made. The actual birth of the moving image is fuzzy to say the least. Did it start with Muybridge? The zoetrope? Maybe Plato’s philosophy about life being a shadow play was the fist reference to a moving image. Even old cave paintings made illusions of the images moving, so we could date it back as far as our troglodyte ancestors.

My favorite story is about Louis Le Prince who had invented a magic box that recorded moving images in 1890. He got on a train to go show off his device in Paris and disappeared on the way there. He was never heard from again. At the next years World Fair, Thomas Edison had shown up with a device very similar to Le Prince’s. A cinematic conspiracy is born.

The progress of movies, to me, seems to be pushed further and further on a yearly basis. Editing, color, sound, smaller cameras, video, CGI, it just keeps building and growing. The tools that are available today all started with those little wooden boxes with hand cranks and a brass lens case.

Just remember folks, don’t let the technology get in the way of trying to tell good stories. That seems to be the biggest drawback of all of the nifty toys that exist today.

I’ll end with a quote form Louis Lumiere who said, “The Cinema is an invention without a future.”

Whoops.
















Louis Le Prince (Image from 1890 milk carton)

Holiday Hoopla

Just dropping in a little note to wish all readers a happy holiday.

I guess I celebrate Christmas since that’s how I was raised.

I met up with a couple of friends from college and had dinner at one of their parents. A fun time was had by all. Actually I had a really good time and seem to feel that there is some sort of turning point taking place for me.

That tight clinched up feeling I used to have around social events seems to have dissipated. From the company party to last night, I seem to be very comfortable in my own skin.

It seems to be a pretty good note to end the year with. Given all that has taken place this year, I’d have to say it has been 75-80% positive and only 10% negative. That’s pretty damned good.

Next year may turn out to be worth while. Stuff is brewing and it’ll be time to step up and see about dusting off the A game. I may not be as much of a burn out as I anticipated. My apologies to those I am disappointing by not going down in flames by the end of this year. Time to start the betting pool for next year. I’ve got ten bucks says I make it through.

Ashton

I haven’t seen Ash in about 7 years.

For those playing catch up, Ashton is my son from a relationship that took place a long time ago.

I’m really only the biological father since the man who raised him would be classified as his father both in spirit and on paper. I was asked to allow him to adopt Ash several years ago. I was so deep into my own shit I agreed. It was probably for the best. He needs a real family and Drunk/Junkie dad doesn’t really look good on life’s resume.

Anyway, I decided to Google his name tonight for the hell of it and this picture came up. It was in an Arizona paper and it may not be him, but the odds of there being two Ashton Quintero’s in Arizona seems slim to none.



Plus he’s got my stick legs. So that must be him. He’s ten years old in this picture; he turned 11 back in October.

Anyway, there we have it.

Together by The Raconteurs

Sometimes a song just sticks in your craw.

For the cutie who doesn't know I'm crushing on her. I'm a sap.

Here are the lyrics:

You and me forever
We belong together
And we'll always endeavor
Throughout any type of weather

You want everything to be just like
The stories that you read but never write
You gotta learn to live and live and learn
You gotta learn to give and wait your turn
Or you'll get burned

You wrote our names down on the sidewalk
The rain came and washed 'em off
So we should write 'em again on wet cement
So maybe people a long time from now will know what we meant

You want every morning to be just like
The stories that you read but never write
You gotta learn to live and live and learn
You gotta learn to give and wait your turn
I'm only concerned

I'm adding something new to the mixture
So there's a different hue to your picture
A different ending to this fairytale
When the sunsets into which we sail

You want everything to be just like
The stories that you read but you can't write
You gotta learn to live and live and learn
You gotta learn to give and wait your turn
Or you'll get burned

Christmas Party Story

I’d forgotten about this one since it happened as I was leaving and thinking more about getting somewhere quiet with friends than the chaos around me.

Let me start off by bragging a little bit. I’m a big fucking star. Fine, I’m not a star, but everyone on the show knows me. I’ve done that Buster Keaton thing so many times that everyone knows who I am and always say, “Hey, John. Great job the other day” even though we’ve never met. I say, ”Thanks…uh, yeah thanks.” And keep walking.

So, Friday night, Christmas party, packed club, sweating dancing sardines. I’m squeezing sideways between a very large female ass and a thick-shouldered guy with a flailing cigarette. (I decided crotch towards the ass, for anyone wondering.) Then out comes the cry of the banshee…

“There he is. There’s my guy!” A fist comes into my peripheral and there is that quick flash that I should duck to avoid it. But it’s one of those bonding, let’s touch knuckles, type of handshakes. The fist belongs to this incredibly tall skinny guy in a cowboy hat. I think he works in the art department. I saw him earlier and I swear he changed hats sometime during the party. This was not the same one he had coming in. I made a fist and knuckled back to show I’m a, “with it” kind of guy. (Anyone who uses the phrase, “with it” is not with it.)

He howls: “What’s going on with my identical twin?”

I am very confused. This guy is skinny as a rail and has a good six to eight inches on me. His features have some Slavic influence to them. Sharp skinny nose, eyes close together, hallow cheeks and again this fuckin’ guy is tall. I’m the Herve Villechaize to this guys Ricardo Montalban.


I have to find out what this guy is talking about. “Twins? I don’t get it?”

He pulls off his cowboy hat, “Check it!” The guy has a shaved head like me. He points between our two craniums a couple of times, “We’re both losin’ our hair man! Let's get a drink.”

Now evidently this guy has issues with his thinning pate. I understand, I wish I had more hair than I do. But it’s the twin thing that is really getting to me. Even if I were shit-faced, high and squinting into a funhouse mirror, I couldn’t see how the phrase twins would come into play.

I get it though, he’s drunk, having a good time and everyone is his friend. I’ve been there, now I’m on the other side and wonder about all of the tremendously stupid shit I’ve said when under the influence. Then again there is a ton of stupid shit I say sober.

I tell him thanks, but I’m on my way out. “No problem, Happy holidays, man. See you in two weeks. Oh and great job today, it was hysterical!”

“Thanks…uh, yeah thanks.” And I’m out of there.

p.s. being short does have an upside. don't think I'm bagging on it.

Hangover By Proxy

It’s Saturday morning and the shows Christmas party was last night. It took place at one of those clubs that you always see huge lines outside of and you wonder what kind of hip cool people are hanging inside with there twenty dollar drinks and designer clothes. I can now stop wondering.

It was fun for a while because it was a private party and the show staff was busty getting lit and dancing up a storm. I got to watch people make fools of themselves and hit on anything that roved into view. I myself wandered around from group to group engaging in conversation and idle chitchat. I ended up being invited to join the writers and our shows host at a table back in the corner. There were some good laughs and it was a really good time…until the club opened up to the public.

The paying crowd in one of these places seems like all of the depressed drunks I used to see in the bars I hung out at. A lot of them looked miserable in their expensive clothes as they drank and screamed to be heard over the music. Maybe I’m getting old (which I am), but it all seemed silly.

The place made awful drinks. They watered down everything. I’d order a cranberry juice and soda water; I’d get a glass of soda water with a splash of cranberry juice. Cheap fucks.

Yesterday was also the Secret Santa shtick. I didn’t really know what to do for my guy, so I got him a gift certificate to Amoeba (awesome in it’s own right) and I wrapped his desk. I figured I’m around late waiting on stuff anyway, so I might as well have some fun.


It went over quite well. I received a lot of high fives and backslapping. You’ll notice I ran out of paper and couldn’t do the inside. A true bummer, but no one seemed to mind. The one comment I kept getting was how hysterical it was that I even wrapped his stapler. I thought wrapping the staple remover was the funniest part, but apparently I misjudged my audience.

We’re now on hiatus, which means I get to twiddle my thumbs and play catch up on movies. Yea for movies!