Fuck The Red Sox, and Fuck You Too!

If you live in l.a., then fucking live in l.a. Don't live here and spend every moment of your miserable life crusading against the city - if you don't like it here, GET THE FUCK OUT!. This is based in part on something Adam Corolla said on LOVELINES last night, but it's a complaint I've had for years. I don't give a shit how great your cheesesteaks, or pizza, or tomatoes are, and I really don't care how much you hate these things here. You're a fucking asshole! Get out of my city! Seriously - tell me again how you can't find a decent slice of pizza guiseppe, I haven't heard the argument before! Oh, what's this, you don't need a car in new york?! Congratulations! But you did need an airplane to get your three thousand fucking miles to bitch about how how didn't need a car in new york you idiot! You know what else you don't need in new york? Sunscreen or a bikini - as a matter of fact, if you're a dude, you don't even need your eye sockets, because the only thing you're gonna see in any of those east coast shangri las are pastey jawbreaker chicks with no class and no style who are dreaming of the day they can move out here... Yeah, i know their are 20 supermodels in new york - they don't make up for the other four million hags.
Seriously, why the fuck did you move here if after twenty fucking years you still have to explain to everyone that you're from Boston (like we couldn't tell with mongoloid fucking accent that's as thick as the hair on the arms of your women back home!)? Oh, you moved here to be a writer? Yeah, you and the other two and a half million waiters, busboys, valets, bartenders, and rough trade in the county - good luck with that! But just in case you're not the amazing writer / actor / singer / whatever the fuck that your mother and eighth grade teacher told you that you were, don't blame my city for your shortcomings!
Goddamnit! What the fuck is it that draws the biggest assholes her from every city in America, just so they can tell me how their food, and water, and houses, and bars, and sports teams are waaaaay better than anything here, and that "people in l.a. don't know good __________." Get this douchebag - pizza is flour and water and a can of sauce! It's the same shit from here to Sicily! Try getting a good bowl of chile verde east of the Rio Grande! Better yet, find me someone east of the Rio Grande who can pronounce chile verde. Or even better, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CITY! You whine like a fucking baby about traffic in the 405, but it only exists because dickheads like your come in drones from Assholeville, USA to this city - all with a fucking chip on your shoulder about some tiny little thing that you had that you can't find here. I'm not from here - I'm from New Mexico - we have some of the world's finest food, landscapes, sunsets, fresh air... but i moved here for a reason, so I don't need to chirp like a fucking cukoo clock every five minutes about how much I hate l.a.!
If you look a little closer you'll notice something about these miserable pieces of garbage - particularly that they're miserable... and dudes. And ugly too... and poor. I guess pathetic falls into miserable, but might as well add it to the list. Girls move to los angeles because it's a dream come true - whether they become a marine biologist and swim with the dolphins, or end up blowing guys in chatsworth, A) they're still better off than they would have been porking the high school football champ back home and turning into a baby factory and B) girls simply aren't as petty as guys are - they don't complain about their baggage, instead they turn into huge sluts and hope that eventually one day they'll fuck their pain away... or at least find a sugar daddy. And I challange you to find a handsome, successful guy that walks around evangelizing Johnnys Pizza, or Ginos and Pats (ps - fucking tourist traps for assholes and fakers) - nope, they've got real lives - they made it here, so they don't have to hate lambast tiny nuances so that they can better ignore the hell that is their lives... They've got better things to talk about than the cheesecake, or the autumn, or the fucking Red Sox.
Jesus fucking christ! Poke your head into any miserable break room filled with minimum-wage blue collar workers and you're sure to hear one of two things: The Yankees, or the Red Sox (okay, sometimes Chivas, but that's another argument!). FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR TEAM! Maybe you didn't get the memo: Baseball is for fags! What? Tell me again about how 1986 changed your life! What where you then, three years old?! If you don't like shit here, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CITY! God-fucking-damnit! Do you think in a million years you'd ever catch a group of Angelenos sitting around on snowy new england day, drinking pickle brine and staring at the three 200lb chicks in the bar, pining for the Angels or the Dodgers? Do you think a bunch of guys from l.a. could get away with jamming up a manhattan bar on a tuesday night with a Lakers game on the tube?! NO! Then why the fuck do you come to california to do that shit?! Do you really need the t-shirt, hat, cufflinks, novelty tie, foam finger, and linebacker wife just to prove to us how much you like your fucking Patriots?!
The worst - the absolute fucking worst - are the people who AREN'T EVEN FROM FUCKING BOSTON, but still they carry around the fucking olympic torch for a piece of shit sports team! DIE ALREADY YOU MISERABLE FUCKS! Newsflash! IT"S NOT YOUR FUCKING ETHNIC BIRTHRIGHT AS A CRACKER TO LOVE THE SOX!. If you lived in Boston for more than five years, you should be allowed one bumper sticker, just so the rest of us know to stay the fuck away. Pittsburg, same thing, Greenbay or Chicago, ditto!
Beyond those, please, please, for me, if you don't like the traffic, if you wish you had a dank as subway or a carb-o-fucking-rific pizza/sandwich/whatever, if you don't like that everyone here is superficial (ps - you're the asshole that's judging a city based on its people's ability to smear tomatoes onto bread)), then please, FUCK YOU! GET THE FUCK OUT OF LOS ANGELES!

Thanks, kisses. xoxo

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Link

Coca Cola and Pepsi are the same thing, open your eyes people!!!!

Just for fun, lets look at some of the reasons David hates the Black eyed peas.

Don’t Lie:

Times in a song <4 minutes the word no is said: 25 (counting knows that sound like no, the total is 40)

Times the word lie is said: 25

My Humps:

Times the word hump is said: 38

Times the word make is said: 18

Hey Mama:

Mama: 21

Don’t phunk with my heart:

No: 37 times

Baby: 28

Love: 22

You: 46

That or that shortened to “tha”: 49. FORTY NINE!!!!

Lets average out the songs to about 4 minutes, at this rate, you are likely to hear a word used more than 10 times an average of 33 times in a song.

Formula: (# of times no + lie + hump + make + mama + no (2) + baby + love + you + that) / number of songs, / (songs/instances for this study [2.5]).

This means you are likely to hear up between 2 or 3 songs a total of 81 times average, and each word at least 33 times.

Which means in an average song of 240 seconds, you will hear a repeated word (33) every 7.3 seconds or going on the total repeated words (81) just shy of every three seconds.

Average the two, and you get repetition every 5 seconds, which is definitive proof why the black eyed peas are completely unoriginal, and also in a stunning side revelation not originally part of why I founded this experiment, why people like the BEP’s can be linked to the fact they don’t have to learn that many words.

To be fair, I left out the song ba bump which has the word bump 47 times, and adding words that sound like bump (rump, stump, etc) a total of 70 times. I did this to give you fair warning of what’s to come.

5 seconds. Which mind you, is just over a third of the time when Kanye West rips off someone else and calls it his own, further anointing himself as the genius of rap.


Works cited:

http://www.azlyrics.com/b/blackeyedpeas.html

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Academy Discrepancy

This can also be found as a semi drunk repsonse to a imdb.com board. Another low poitn in my life.

http://imdb.com/title/tt0074958/board/thread/15768182

It's all about what the feeling of a bunch of 15 year olds in their basement and the unemployed over 40 have to say about the great follies of the Motion Picture Academy and their choices. Part of the film student in me always is fighting to quench the cynic in me.

So lets go. I love the Oscars for what they attempt to do (recognize cinematic greatness, perhaps the only media-due to it's immediacy and mass appeal- worthy of having a ceremony of yearly canonization) I hate them for the constant mistakes they make because of H-wood politics - Fuck you, Harvey Weinstein, what makes you think that Chocolat deserves attention?- and sentimenallity.

And such.



Fifteen, huh, I'll add a few, and comment on some more.

1. Lets get the bigs out of the way. Citizen Kane probably should have won, but part of the mythos of that movie is that it didn't win anything big except for screenplay (which many consider an insult especially since he was a co-writer and hated by the academy). Anyway, you all forget that this movie bombed and wasn't seen as genius until the French started to love it 10 years after the release. it's the best film of the year, and one of the top 10 ever, but I have always seen best picture as best for the masses, not for history. Which is why I still think Rocky was worthy, because although Taxi Driver is a better cineast film, I know 100 people personally who would rather watch Rocky. Shawshank should have won for 94, Marty for directing Raging Bull (though picture, maybe (not on quality, but because there are people that liked OP) only now it's a definite because Million Dollar Baby won in 04. Greatest Show on earth should have won nothing, Gable should have won for GWTW, and we should all forget that 1985 ever happened.

2. Saving Private Ryan should have won best picture. I am still angry about this. Hanks should have also won, and he should have won for cast away, but not for Forrest Gump, in which Freeman should have won. And, it's not Denzel or Spacey that should have won in 99, but Crowe in the insider.

3. LA Confidential should be known for the Chinatown rippoff it was, and only keep it's adapted screenplay and give the supporting actress to the field.

4. Orson Welles for The third man (in best supporting), and wins for Picture, and Director.

5. Hitchcock should have won for either North By Northwest or Vertigo, Pyscho is wildly overrated outside of it's genre shifting revelations and has the worst denoument in history.

6. Robert Duvall should have won for the Apostle in 1997, and not Mr. "Hey I'm playing myself with some hand tics" Jack Nicholson.

(if you notice I am keeping to the last 25 years, mainly, because it's a different era, and it's like comparing two different awards shows after they became televised)

7. ET over Ghandi, in every category, and Henry Thomas gets a supporting actor nod.

8. Tom Cruise for Rain Man over Hoffman. It's one thing to play method for a movie, it's another to make an ass sympathetic and watch his redemption against what is essentially a blank acting partner. Watch it now, and which do you find more impressive.

9. On Hoffman, him over Kingsley for his role in Tootsie. Which do you remember now? BTW, lets get rid of all acting awards for people playing celebs. Jamie Foxx, no more for Ray (though maybe for Any Given Sunday), Cate Blanchett for The Aviator, etc. What they are doing is called mimicry, not acting. Are we going to bestow the greatest achievment in cinematic acting for Will Ferrel doing W? Of course not.

10. Should have been at least nominated-acting. Last 15 years.

Walken, Gandolfini, Pitt, Hopper, or Oldman (only one) for True Romance.
Giamatti in Sideways or American Splendor
Scarlett Johanson in Lost In Translation
Angus Macfadyen or Patrick McGoohan in Braveheart, and while were at it, why not Mel Gibson?
At least one of the 7 supporting troops from Private Ryan, either Davies, Ribsi, or Goldberg.
Jim Carrey for Truman show or Eternal Sunshine, but really, some of his best work is in Dumb and Dumber
On comedies, how about Eddie Murhpy in Nutty Professor, Mike Myers in Austin Powers (international man of mystery)- the highlight of 1997 acting outside of Duvall.
Sean Astin or Andy Serkis in ROTK or TTT.
Anyone from the Cast of Heat.
Kevin Heffernan for his role of Favra in Super Troopers.

11. Star Wars over Annie Hall. I love both, but really, which one is going to endure more, a film about the dangers out dating posed against the me decade, or a film that has a timeless feel about it that changed peoples lives (for better or worse). One is a great film about the difficulty of dating in your late twenties and thirties, the other is a work that seems less like a film and more like a world. BTW, the major followups to both flims should have likely won best picture, director, and original scriptthat year (Empire Strikes back and Manhattan)

12. Harrison Ford for either Raiders or Empire. Steve McQueen never won an oscar, Redford only won for directing, Newman won in the autumn of his career, and has similarites with Bogart, Pacino, Denzel Washington, and Grant (I'm actually not too sure if he won anything, actually) all won for lesser performances in weaker movies. We should really pay tribute to those male icons who turn in great, career making turns as basic characters. It's one thing to see an actor on stage captivating the audience, it's another to see his best takes compliled. To me, far more captivating is the moment when you see an actor reach iconic status for nailing the hell out of a arctype (anti hero, hero, villian, likeable villian) I think we would far rather see an actor perfom to this role than play a mentally challenged person.

13. Thats the big one (#12), but really, when is the academy going to recognize comedies? Scorsese, Spielberg, Hitchcock, Lean, nor Welles ever made a decent comedy, and most tried, but yet when people would rather talk about Caddyshack or Super Troopers than Ordinary People or A Beautiful mind, what do you think constiutes a great accomplishment? What would you rather watch with friends, South Park: Bigger Longer and Uncut or American Beauty? If we all agree that the beauty of the cinema is the communal experience, why do we discount laughter?

(continued...)

Going a big rubbery one

Another old one, because I can't think of much else to do, and I have been too busy. I am working myself to the creative bone. Not really, but someday the end will come and I will feel like I should have posted more.

What?

IT'S IN REVELATIONS PEOPLE!!!!

Originally writen 2/6/04

As I watched most of ESPN on my day off, I watched about the ruling of Maurice Clarret, who has just broken a barrier which allows him to enter the NFL earlier. I have a few opposing opinions of my own on this. 1. He should be allowed to go if he wants.(mainly because every MLB is going to be foaming at the mouth to knock him hard once he gets past the front D line). 2. It is wrong, because the college football game is the main reason why the NFL is the most even playing field, the hype is created over 2-4 years against game opponents. For every LeBron or Moses Malone who can jump from high school to the pros, there are numerous others who fall by the wayside (there was a MTV true life where a kid skipped college for the draft, and
didn't make it. Almost a near comedy of errors), or a case like Darius Miles (seemingly endless talent, but no form to his game that college instills).
(Also, I hate this mainly because half of the rappers in the world--particuarly those who wear jerseys out of season-- have used the line "jumping from high school right into da pros) echk.

This story has dominated many a sports news day for the last year plus, and likely will do so further. I mean, maybe the ruling is correct, but it's kind of sickening when you think of the root cause. When someone mentions this in the same breath as Jackie Robinson, I just want to pull of my belt and whip the hell out of them. I mean, above all, Maurice Clarret and every other person of his stead is motivated by greed, not by froming a legacy.

However, on Espn classic, they were showing the Miracle on Ice. It's about as pure as a sports moment gets. It reminds you why you even care somedays. And because I have gone on this one before, I'll just say I watched it and couldn't help but be moved.

which brings us to this list.

Top moments in movies that men cry at.

First off, a (straight) man crying is as rare as they get. I mean, women cry any time they feel it's ok (breakups, weddings, stubbing their tow, parking tickets, bad meals, etc.) It really takes an outside influence for men to cry. I saw my father bury his dad, and hold back the tears. In fact the only times I have ever seen my father cry was when my parents split, and then it was mainly because all of his kids were in tears, his second wedding, and when we watched an episode of ER.

I expected the first two. I mean, it takes a villian to not cry when your kids are in tears and you are the cause and not to hurt. And with a wedding, I mean, if Moe Syzlack cries, then you better believe anyone will. (note: men can cry at their own weddings, not at their friends, it's just a line)

but the third, it was the episode "love's labor lost" where a doctor loses a patient in a gut-wrenching fashion. It's just brutal. And at the end, I looked over in the dark to the other couch to see my father shedding a few. He never talks about his work as a doctor unless you really pry at him, because he has to bury it. This is one of the few times I have ever seen him be overpowered. And it makes me admire the man all the more.

So, after the personal sidebar to put things into perspective:

The top moments in film that just tend to level men and make them cry, if even for a little.

7. E.T. Low on this list because it's not exactly a male moment, and it takes a fucking robot not to weep. But for every man who remembers losing a friend as a boy, it just takes you back. (whether it be a dog, a friend moving away, or the like it just brings up hard memories) By the end of the movie, they are tears of joy, and relief, but when ET kicks it originally while Elliot can only watch, it's just awful.

6. Good Will Hunting. At the end, when Robin Williams keeps telling Matt Damon that "It's not your fault" I know more than a few guys who couldn't take it. I actually was never really that moved by this scene, as I never was abused (though given my wise mouth and slacking off, I probably deserved one or two sharp punches to the arm). But for those I know who were treated bad, this one is a moment.

5. Terminator 2. When Arnold looks at a decimated John and says "I know now why you cry" it gets a little dusty in the room. Then, when he is lowered into the pit, and puts his thumb up, I mean its just over man.

4. Field of Dreams - It's just that it's baseball, and he gets to see everyone he ever wanted to, and then he plays catch with his estranged father. I mean catch. It's just so sacred to men, women could never understand.

3. Braveheart. Two moments:

a. Watching the executioner allow Wallace to "speak a word." And then instead of yelling for mercy, he just yells out freedom.

b. The final battle. Robert the bruce is about to walk out to accept a title that won't be honored, he instead looks at the band that Wallace formed and beeseches them: "you have bled with Wallace. Now bleed with me." And THEN, the big redhead draws out Wallace's giant sword and heaves onto the battle ground with a yell for the ages set to bagpipes. Capped off by Wallace's narration about "warrior poets," it's fantastic.

2. The Lord Of the Rings. A few of the choice selections.

a. Sam's last reminisces in the lava remains of Mount Doom. "Rosie Cotton, dancin'. She had ribbons in her hair. If ever I were to marry someone, it would've been her. It would've been her."

b. The gray havens and Sam's final line. "well, I'm back"

c. At the crowning of Aragorn, when the four hobbits are about to curtsey to the new king. "My friends. You bow to no one."

d. Sam and Frodo on Mt. Doom:

Sam: It'll be Spring back in the Shire, and the fields will be blossoming, and the birds'll be nesting, and they'll be planting the summer barley in the lower fields, and they'll be eating the first of the strawberries with cream. Do you remember the taste of strawberries, Mr. Frodo?

Frodo: No, Sam. I can't recall the taste of food, nor the sound of water, nor the touch of grass. I'm naked in the dark. There's nothing--no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I can see him with my waking eyes.

Sam: Then let us be rid of it. I can't carry the ring for you, but I can
carry you.

e.

Frodo: I can't do this Sam.

Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding on to Sam?

Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.

This last one just levels me every time I watch it. It's my favorite scene in the whole trilogy, bar none. From the allusions to change and the sun shining brighter, to the nod about the stories, to that final line, it's everything noble and heroic and grand about the books and movies summed up in one answer to why.

1. Tie Saving Private Ryan and Band of brothers

Saving Private Ryan - Between Hank's line "earn it," Upham's character climax and then an old Private Ryan ask his wife to tell him he's been a good man, that he's lived a great life, it's just every reason boys play with GI Joes. For valor, for heroism, and to do the right thing. And then Old Glory waves, and it's just unfair.

Band of Brothers. Three scenes.

a. Spears uniting the lines in episode 7. For a work that didn't play up the heroism or treat these guys as super heroes, to watch a man do the unthinkable and go thru enemy fire to pretty much single handedly win this battle, it's such an emotional release that it just amazes you.

b. The troop playing baseball to end the series. It's baseball, it's American soldiers, and it's the best ending you could ever imagine.

c. Watching the real Dick Winters relate a story about his grandson. He says: "my grandson asked me the other day, 'grandpa, were you a hero in the war?' I told him no, but I served with a bunch of heroes."

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Is it too late to start on my base tan?

Is it too late to start on my base tan?

Everyone some some bullshit knowledge they try to kick when it comes to college... "Never take a Friday class," or "Liquor before beer...," or "Bring quaters for laundry." Here's a tip: Don't get AIDS!. I think that just about covers it. If you can make it through four(ish) years without gettin' the ol' HIV-Ho, we'll mark it a success.

Another Fun Tip: If you find yourself cruising Craigslist for Snow Bunnies at 7am, then maybe it's time to find a razorblade and call it a day.

kisses

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Shhh! It's a Secret, Don't Tell

Creamy Dreamyl

Okay, so Stacie Facie and I went to Cold Stone Creamery to totally fat out on FroYo and giggle like tweens and do pretty much anything else Oscar Wilde might write about in a bad play (or Olivia Wilde might do!). Stacie got the Peaches and Creamy and I did something Chocolicious! Sooo yummy! But the girl who helped us was likesoooo totally amazing!

Her name's Jessica but her friends call her Jess, and sometimes Jesse (but she totally flutters when a cute boy calls her by her full name!) She's been varsity soccer since the end of freshman season, but she gets totally embarassed when her dad talks about his “little superstar” because she just likes to play, and all of her friends are on the team (well, most of them are still on the JV team, but they all practice together and it's totally cool because they can come out to her games to cheer for her). She also dives and does cross country, but just because, well, they're fun and the swimmer boys are all hotties!

She's still adorably clueless about stuff like that though! She's totally innocent, but not like, in a frigid way, just like, ya know, she has all kinds of other things going on and she still giggles and blushes a lil when the juniors and seniors talk about sexy stuff when they hang out after soccer practice. Her friend Tara - she's ungodly perfect, tall slim and booblie, she's got the sexiest lil freckles near her nose and almost raven hair with eyes that are so bright cerulean that you swear she's wearing fakie contacts but shes not and all the other girl should totally hate her because she's so amazing but she's not all bitchy, she's actually kinda a nerd and makes the most retarded jokes but the way she tells them makes you laugh anyways because she's just so goofy that it makes you smile! She's kinda a slut, but not really, because she's messes around with boys, but not like, all salacious and seductively like that weird girl on The OC or that girl you knew from school who was a slut and every called her a slut and she actually only kinda was but she was so loud about it that she just became that girl. Nah, guys fall in love with her left and right because she's like the most amazing girl in history but she's totally cool about it and even jokes about it with them because she's that girl who's sooo not all girlie in the dramarama way but is all girlie because she's got soft features and and wears cutie flip skirts and pastel lacoste polos and has this charm bracelet that her dad gave her for her birthday and she wears it to parties and when the boys hear it jingling they MELT, and on dress up days at school sometimes she wears totally girlie sun dresses and if she walks past you and smiles and the sun catches her so you can see her curvy curves shining through it's pretty much like the gentle breath of jesus blowing in your ear (in that it's the most remarkable thing that you'll be like seventy years old and someone will say the word easter and it'll remind you of this girl in her skirt and you'll feel fulfilled, like life was worth it). Yeah, so she's not like slutty slutty, but more than Jesse anyways, and she goes to parties and drinks Mikes Hard Lemonade or those Jack Daniels Wine Coolers and starts bouncing around and then just always ends up grabbing a boy and making out with him like, right on the trampoline or maybe in a chaise lounge next to the pool, but always in that roll-in-the-grass sing-songy fun way where it just is what it is, not in that like back bedroom/dark side of the house/regret it monday morning way. So, she's like Jesse's best friend and tells her all about boys and Jesse just listens bright eyed because she likes boys and has hooked up with a few but not in a serious way because she's kinda shy and she's friends with a bunch because Tara always has like an entourage of guys following her around and they've got their girls but guys give 'em all kinds of attention and never have any drama and are totally crazy and just have more fun... so they've got a lil tomboyish in them, but ya know, not!

Yeah, but Jesse, she's the cute tiny blonde girl with pigtails (but she always braids them all funky for soccer tournaments, and last time she even put a streak of pink 'n' blue in and was totally a punk rock cutie and even left the streaks in after State!) and she's ridiculously adorable because she only has sugar in her voice - like, even if she was all stressed out because she was blew a corner kick last game - which she never does - and she's taking drafting and she made a kickass model but the teacher's totally a jerk and he said she needed to work harder but it was still the best model in the class and he just doesn't like her because he thinks she's an athlete princess but she's totally not, and she's not stressing over the regionals, but homecoming is the same night and she just wants to go with her girls and she and Tara are like, just gonna go stag but some of the other girls wanna go with some of the boys and its drama because some of the boys are gonna go with those superfichey bitchez who like make huge scenes about getting like a million dollar dress and have to get a limo and wanna go to a stupid french restaurant but all of the guys and Tara and Jesse and their friends were gonna go to Chuck E Cheese and play around in the bouncy-ball thingie and sneak in some Malibu and get totally buzzed, then go to the dance for like ten seconds before going to Sarah's house because her parent are like the too-cool parents that convienantly take vacations the night of stuff like this (and - yeah, Sarah + Tara, but don't ask because they totally kissed at a party once and it was the hottest - thing - EVER! but they both started laughing uncontrollably in the middle and, um, yeah. Even though Jesse's kinda shy around boys, and is super innocent she still would have done it (kissed Sara or Tara, I mean), but only because it would have been HILARIOUS! She's just like that. Yeah, and ummm, so she kinda looks like Haley Joel Osmet but in the only way that she could look like him and still be cute, and with mid-length light blonde hair and cute lil boobs (not tiny tiny, but soccer girl tiny). And because she has a really good soccer butt she can wear real panties, and not just thongs, and her and her girls have these good luck panties that they made for games and they wrote a bunch of funny dirty inside jokes on them, and the captains (oh, yeah... she's a captain) have nicknames that they wrote on them, but it's a secret!

She lives in Brentwood but isn't one of the trashy nouveau riche girls who like can't walk to her locker without stopping at Saks to recycle her closet and she isn't like those old money girls who are really not attractive and have had nose jobs and kinda like Enlightenment Era EuRoyalty are a lil in family so they don't have nose-lip-lippies like mormon kids, but , you wouldn't be surprised if they had Downs a lil, and they're just kinda grandfathered into popularity because, “Don't you know who their father is?!” Jesse is way cooler than them. She lives really pretty cottage home with her family and she doesn't have to work at Cold Stone, but her dad spends a lot of money on her soccer equipment and sending her to camp and stuff like that so it makes her feel less guilty when she can buy her own party clothes and go out with her friends without having to ask to use the credit card. She's also saving up for a totally vintage Leica camera - she took black+white photography last semester and totally got into taking pictures and she read that Diane Arbus used to carry around this old Leica everywhere she went, so Jesse is gonna take it to parties and to her games so she can totally have these awesome old black+white pics of whatever she does. Besides photography, she also takes drafting because she really likes math and maybe wants to be an architect - definitely something creative though! She has a kinda annoying younger brother (though sometimes they can be totally sweet to each other!) and an older sister who goes to William & Mary. And her daffodil & desert-sand coloured kitty, Humphrey. Oh, and also she saw these unbelievable pictures by Sally Mann and that's when she decided to start taking them herself. She loves Kate Moss too, and has a bunch of pictures from W magazine on her wall... and also pictures of Becks and one of the '99 Women's World Cup team and this really cool lightboxy glowy frosted window that she covered in pictures so they totally glow in the morning and at sunset.

She drives a RAV 4, or maybe her parents old Volvo - they like it because it's super safe and she thinks it's totally cute - it's silver so she nicknamed it Streak, and she got an iPod Mini to go with it for Chirstmas last year, but the Blue one, not the Silver. It's a stick shift, not for political reasons, but just because that's what she ended up with. She listens to Jack Johnson, but it's okay because she's still young, and it helps her chill out after swim meets and soccer games. When she's getting warmed up or working out and needs to push it, she listens to La La by Ashlee Simpson, and he doesn't really listen to hip hip alone, but her and her friends always dance to Ciara and T.I. and Usher when they get togther. She doesn't do drugs except for really special occasions, like Winter Ball and stuff, and she only smokes pot but never while she's in season, except she drinks sometimes and then she acts kinda goofy and immature but not in an annoying girlie way because she's just one of the guys - only she gets a lil flirty and suggestive if she's had enough to drink - but is totally wholesome and like, adorable!
She had a boyfriend in seventh grade but all they did was kiss, and then in eighth grade like every other weekend was someone's birthday and everyone just hooked up with everyone [well, the cool kids anyways, not like, everyone!] at the parties so no one really went out - except for that one couple that was like destined to be married since they first shared a chocolate milk and have to make a scene about being together effing everywhere with the holding hands and the PDAs and the stupid notes and they get fight more than they don't but everyone already gave up on them. But when she was a freshman she had her first real real boyfriend. He was her friend Brooke's older brother - he was a junior and when Jesse would go to Brooke's house after soccer practice and MTV out and sometimes pretend to study he would always act too cool for school and be like the jerk older brother but it was because he was totally into Jess. Their house is on the beach in Malibu and is bigger than God's, and they had these really cool bonfires and she was over one night and he did the, “Are you cold,” / sweatshirt thing and the rest was history. He also played soccer, and he did cross country during the winter. It was cool for Jess because she was friends with some of the older girls because of soccer so she got to go to Junior prom with him and go to some of those parties and people wouldn't be like, “What the fuck is the freshman doing here?!” He was totally the nicest guy and not creepy but since she wasn't that clingy girl and he wasn't all hunter/gatherer on her it was really casual and they kept being friends but just stopped being bf & gf And so she kinda canoodled with a guy here and there but nothing serious.

Okay, so maybe not, but she was precious and she looked like a Jess and both me and Stacie Facie wanted to take her home she was so cute. And.. what else Stacy?! I misssssss youuuuuu!@#!

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I Couldn't Agree More.

Blog |bläg|

1. Short for weblog.
A meandering, blatantly uninteresting online diary that gives the author the illusion that people are interested in their stupid, pathetic life. Consists of such riveting entries as "homework sucks" and "I slept until noon today."
2. A place where people bitch about their daily activities which nobody is interested in. topics like why they argue with boyfriend and how they end up together at last, daily aneroxic activities like drinking blended organic fruits and vegetable for breakfast, lunch and dinner, talking about cutting themselves with a razor blade and how good they felt, bitch about their shopping activities and what they got.
just another way to seek attention and sympathy from other people.

This is without question the finest purchase I've ever made. I think it will be my Kwanzaa gift to a very special little boy. I've come full circle on the cell phone issue, by the way - i think people who fag-out when someone picks up a cell phone in public are poofey pudenda. Seriously, get over yourself! You don't deserve my attention just because of our physical proximity - grow some tits, some blonde hair, and an acute [ or just a cute]knowledge of art history and literature, then you can earn my attention like everyone else! Go back to coughing loudly when someone within eyesight is smoking a cigarette and leave me the fuck alone!

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Dave’s McRib for 8-16

So I found out that my co-writer doesn’t really like the Sandwich. In his typical dry fashion, it’s mainly because it’s popular.

I am starting this little bit (even though I think the only thing on this site I enjoy writing that may be useful for a career goal would be –working for MTV or VH1 and redeeming the channels to their early 90’s form [BRING BACK REMOTE CONTROL!!!]—just so I can be positive about things in 2000 words or less.

Anyway, I think of (my) McRib as a counter phrase to the old question, “What’s your beef?” best done by Adam Corolla and Jay Leno (when he used to come to the Letterman show). Someone can come up to you and say, “Hey, Jack, what’s your McRib?” upon which Jack recommends Lost Season one, and tells you about how cool it is.

So, what’s my McRib(s) for the moment?

Comedy:

I’ll start with one of the best jokes I have ever heard about masturbating, and why we do it to women we are not dating, by Louis C.K.

“Masturbating is a gift. I can think of anyone in the world, in any situation. My wife asks me: ‘when you do it, do you think of me?’ And I am like ‘are you high?’ That’s like getting a genie and three wishes and asking for: A glass of water. A napkin. And another glass of water.”

In all honesty, I am starting to think that marrying a woman you can barely stand but you have amazing sex with, and it’s mutual, may be a cogent option. I don’t want to be whacking off with my kids in the house.

So yeah, finding a woman we love who we actually are good enough in bed with that they want to have sex more than monthly, that’s what men want. It’s probably impossible.

Radio:

Jonesy’s Jukebox. I have talked about this before, but really you need to start streaming this on your computer at work. Not only is he the greatest DJ of all time (when I wrote my whole bit on music http://ineverlovedyou.blogspot.com/2005/07/i-dig-music-im-on-drugs-and-one-look.html, and about people who know music, Jones is the master. The best knowledge. First hand experience. Taste so varied that he will spin 70’s rock one day, then do Ska reggae the next, and it’s all great. Replace being a film maker with rock star, and this is who I want to be in my 40’s.)

Example: he had Patti Smith on the show last week. I mean, the female Punk icon of all time.

But she was there with John McEnroe. And they talked about relationships for the better part of 30 minutes. No music. Some of the best talk radio than I have ever heard.

Music:

Bloodless – My Bloody Valentine.

I don’t know how to describe this album or its quality other than the fact that I enjoyed this album as a whole from moment one. It’s an album that is a wall of sound. No breaks, just rock and roll that seemed to be clairvoyant of what electronica and house music would become. It doesn’t stop in it’s sound and volume, which is not exactly a compliment for most music. With metal, it’s assured; with electronica it’s expected; with Beyonce and Mariah, it’s about having 73 different vocal tracks courtesy of pro-tools.

But this, is sound that is purely and sometimes heavenly enveloping. Don’t look for songs though, the whole point is the mood of the album itself. It makes you have faith in the guitar as a musical instrument, not just a great piece of equipment for self-righteous 18 minute solos.

I can tell you this, if you are over 15, you will likely buy this album and know how you feel about it after 10 minutes. Some will hate it, others will love it immediately for the sound and then just come to cherish it.

The greatest problem with music today is a lack of patience. Rather than explain that, I’ll just assume that if you know what I mean, you assuredly hate most modern music. If you don’t then maybe, this album will be an eye opener.

Pretentious enough in intent, yet not didactic. Good for when you are depressed or when you are high. Great for background music when reading. And one day, when the rain does finally come to LA and I can go driving, it’s not even going to be a debate.

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Dave's McRib for 7-12

Mutual pleasure

This is to be a new installment. (as if we didn’t have enough) but rest assured this is not something for one of us (me) to rant about.

As I move to the name of the feature, I’d like to recall a story:

In my business of watching idiots park cars, and subsequently mess up, we have a lot of keys go missing. I had a Porsche key go missing from a property of mine last week. Grand total of damage: $3,000. For a lost key.

Anyway, when I was at the W in Westwood, our booth was raided at 4 am one night. 4 sets of keys were stolen. While no cars went missing, it was an act which had considerable collateral damage.

While three of the missing key’s owner’s had spares on them, one did not, and we were forced to rent a car for him, wait until he sent a key up to the hotel, and then drive his car down to him in San Diego, and then drive the rent a car back.

My friend and boss told me of how he had to go down to SD for the day. I asked if he wanted someone to go with.

The short of the rest is, we got drunk on the company tab, had too much to eat, and spent the whole day listening to ESPN radio in the car. And he got stoned on the beach of La Jolla. Good day indeed.

But at the start of the trip, we went to McDonalds. He got a Quarter pounder meal, while I decided to be adventurous and try the (then) new Chicken Selects.

They came out with too much breading, bad cuts of chick, and 3 terrible dipping sauces.

Him: Any good?

Me: No, thoroughly disappointing.

Him: Why would you order such a thing? What makes you think McDonalds can make good chicken fingers, prepared in less than a minute to boot.

Me: I don’t know. I just will always try new stuff.

Him: Why. Why not stick with the classics?

Me: The McRib. I want to find another McRib.


So I have tried the new Burger King Chicken Sticks. I have eaten the toasted Subs at Subway. I have attempted the Chicken Selects.

I have had the Big Fish.
The Taco to go
The taco Del Carbon
The McDonalds salads
The chicken Cibatta
The Angus thick-burger (in the western States, whatever Carl’s Jr, calls the Six Dollar Burgers)

I can go on.

Whatever the taste of the month is, nothing will ever be equal to the McRib.

I still do this day do not know why the Rib is not on the constant McDonalds menu. Having it there for a brief period of time increases my business there 800% there in a month span.

People talk about the McRib in such hushed and reserved tones you think that the Grateful Dead are coming to town (and I realize that the Simpsons did an episode along this angle, but I thought of it first. I swear.)

I have ordered 5 in one trip.

FIVE!!!!

There is the possibility that the Sandwich is not that good. It’s more than likely that it comes from production circumstances that would Upton Sinclair would be forced to write a follow up to The Jungle about.

Anyway.

Now to a basic format to recommend anything to you all to consider.

From Web sites, to books, to movies, to whatever.

Now for the first,

I compel you to look at one of furthest taken jokes (I know that’s bad grammar), Simpsons ever did.

http://whatbadgerseat.com/

It’s one of those complete throw away gags for a throw away joke for a throw away plot of the opening episode of the 2000-2001 Season (which we should pretty much all suppress from our memories).

Great episode of the worst season in Simpsons history.

If you get it, your probably as big of a dork as I am.

(continued...)

Looking Back

Looking Back

The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.Salvador Dali

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Big time

Sports in America have a strange dynamic compared to the rest of the world. As much as you think your friends are fanatical, they do not compare at all to the rest of the world, namely with European soccer club fans.

When Malcolm Glazer bought Manchester United a few months back, people were literally calling for his death. Fans of that team were brining effigies of the man to the game. You may never see anything like that here. And it’s not just in the interest of a Yank buying the most famous franchise on the planet being a big deal to get news, it that this kind of stuff is common.

The closest thing to Hooligans we have in America is Raider Nation. At best, these guys are a high school booster club compared to the fans of these teams. They are that strong, loyal, and completely insane. Euro fans are so fanatically tied to the team itself and less to the players in the sense that they are only to serve means to an end. They just follow the team. They live with the team, and they do so with far more passion. It may be that in Europe there really is only one sport, and that’s Football (soccer), and they obsess the year about it. Same with Canada and Hockey. It’s in the blood of these people.

In America, we are tied more to the idea of singular athletes. It’s undoubtedly a byproduct of America culture of hero worship. We are more about the individual than we are about the team. And by a huge margin. Sure, we have Red Sox nation, Cubs fans, Yankee zealots. When t comes to the college sports, it’s solely about the team. But years in these examples are mostly tied to players, the stars. Most American sports fans have a team in the major three sports, and about a fifth have a hockey team. Only basketball and hockey completely share seasons.

With the exception of the Yankees, no sports franchises in America are iconic worldwide.

For instance, it was not the NBA being a good product that allowed the league to become a worldwide phenomenon; it was the Dream Team, filled with all of America’s top stars.

Because of the notion of the American dream of one man overcoming the odds to rise to the top, our leagues are not made with parity and competition, but on the strength of the individual.

With the exception of the Patriots of the last 4 years, the 98 Yankees, the 02 Angels, and the 04 Pistons, it has always been about the players who were the leaders, not the dynamic of the team playing the game the right way, it was about tailoring a franchise to a star player. From Jordan and the Bulls, Shaq and Kobe with the Lakers, Barry Bonds and the Giants (not winners, but you get the point), Tim Duncan and the Spurs. Teams are built around the individual.

This is not a bad thing per se. It rather ruins the entire notion of competitive spirit as a whole for a sport, but this is what Americans are drawn to, the hero. I personally would like to see a shift, especially in the years when the stars are weak (like the years in the NBA after Jordan), but I am still a fan hopelessly lost in the American system. We as sports fans are inherently tied to a team from our youth, but we remember the select few more than we do the teams.

We hinge our years on the rare specimens who somehow find their way to a franchise. And as much as we focus on winning, we tend to care far too much about stats than winning.

There is a hallowed canon of magical numbers in sports.

56 hits
61 homers
6 championships and 6 NBA finals MVPs.
72 wins
21 straight games
49 touchdowns
2000+ yards
92 goals in a season
44 point average for a season
7 straight Tour De Frances

And so on. We are obsessed with numbers in America. From the Dow, to the box office, to weight, calories, height, 40 time.

America has something going for it that the other countries don’t with sports, a free press that has provided some of the most magical writing about competition ever spun. The list of great books about sports is 95% to 99% composed of American books. It may be audience demand, for this, but the quality of writing about sports is so far above any other media of the world, it is like comparing Hemingway to Brett Ratner.

Read David Halberstam, George Plimpton and Don DeLillo, and see how American writers who do not do sports for a living seem to nail the pure nostalgia of our kind of sports. Read Peter Gammons and Bob Ryan and their columns of the Boston sports of the last 30 years; read Bill Simmons and his take on all things pop culture and sports as it means to everything; read Peter King or Len Pasquarelli and their long take on football. These authors have a knack for capturing the beauty of the game as well as finding a way to make sense both the individual and communal experience of fandom.

Most every newspaper in the country follows a simple formula for the sports page. They tend to use the AP newswire for national stories, they have beat writers covering local sports, and they have at least two highly opinionated columnists (usually one that is a detractor of everything the local teams do, and one that gives a lighter side of sports). There is the news, the murmurs, and an argument.

And most any one who reads the sports page walks away with a similar experience. The small, quaintness of the paper is still there. Even if some of the writing is mechanical to a fault, America has two things going for it, the press it self and the occasional writer like a Gammons, Peter King, or Len Pasquarelli who break the sport down so well, that we read the newspaper for them as much as we do for the news. It’s like having another friend in your group who understands your passion for the team.

Professional Sports hold the last arenas in America where someone can be recognized and lauded simply by doing good and working harder than someone of equal talent. Granted it may be for hitting a ball 6% more often than the league median. It may be something as previously unseen such as dunking from the free throw line (which may have been the first sound of the sonic boom that happened for the NBA during the Jordan years), or it could be something like what happened with the Suns last year, as playing the sport in an older way, being a point guard who is able to set up for others, not for himself. The sports press notices these things. Quality does stand out.

It’s routine, daily, and seasonal. Most years writing is like the years before, unless there is a singular event like a championship or a record chase. When this happens on a local scale, the town gets a little more excited, the paper hypes it a little bit more, maybe moving a blurb to the front page. Succeeding in sports will almost always make someone stand out in America. One can tie this to the hero culture. But it is also a light on the media itself, who are starved for something to break the doldrums of monotonous seasons. As soon as something happens, they double their efforts in coverage. They bring in talking heads to argue the points, who quite often are more loud than informative. The coverage is as natural as Steven A. Smith is subtle. (Sorry for one last digression. Seriously, has a Jim Rome controversy is my constant clone ever gotten this far before. But the reason he has a show right now is because he sold his name, not his quality. At best, he is an aggressive questioner; at worst, he equates controversy with the volume of his voice. I can only think of Puff Daddy for comparison. Blandly untalented, yet both sold their name and style that the substance doesn’t mean jack.)

We in America are as loyal to some sportswriters as we are to the teams. While it may not be in a name, we focus more about the teams and stars (in shows, news, videogames, and my surprise killer witness for my argument, the fantasy league) than we do the games themselves (note this is for a whole sum of the people, not everyone). The fact that Americans would actually focus on the stats of Kobe Bryant as it pertains to their standings in an office league when the totally despise the man and the organization they love is a point no one should miss.

In terms of fans, I would much rather have Arsenal supporters with me at a match than Pacer’s fans. They are not only more fiercely loyal, they follow the game itself in the process with a fantastic level unseen here. Maybe the fact that there are four sports in America vs. One dominant. The rest of the world plays almost nothing but soccer. We play seasonally. They know the game better be osmosis because the game they follow is all they know from playing.

And so while one group focuses on strategies they have known and practiced, the other fixates one person when they break the game open. They follow the game, we follow those playing it.

When the steroids scandal began to break about a year ago with the BALCO leaks that condemned Barry Bonds and others, it was not Americans who truly cared. There was no coverage or reports of fans protesting games outside of stadiums because they believed the game was being tarnished.

Before the Congressional Hearings this year, Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon of ESPN’s Pardon the Interruption continued to asked when covering the topic, “Is this just a media issue? Does America care about the truth, or the product.”

After the hearings, and then last week’s bombshell of Rafael Palmeiro, perhaps the curiosity of the American people had finally been piqued after months of attention. Finally, we could no longer sit by an not question the events of the last few years, with ever faster runners, new home run records, and athletes with hyrdocefalaphyic (sic) size.

But even with all of the media attention, I don’t think America is ready to discount the records yet, or care enough to walk away or call shenanigans on the leagues. I think we have all known that they were doing something else, because we were willing to admit they were already that much better than the average man. Can you diminish the records of a man who magically made himself 10 –20% better? Maybe, if he was the only one who did it.

Which in my opinion makes this a media matter, because they, like every other American, are tied to their childhood icons, and do not want to diminish something they themselves believed in. They all are for iconicide, or bringing down a kingdom; just as long as it is not theirs’.

If I were to take steroids, I still could not compete in any professional sport. No two ways about it. I hasten to call bullshit on some records because I know it’s still something amazing. Barry Bonds is an asshole, and I have no doubt that he was using in one form or another in the 2001 season. Yet, I cannot remove myself from the memories of that season, which has to stand with 1998, 1951, 1961, 1927, as one of the 10 best in history of the game. That season, from the home run chase, to the World Series, the introduction of Ichiro, the Mariners trying the record for most games won in a season, and so on, stands as one of those years where I followed the game not just for my teams, but because the season had something about it. I will, and have, argued that Barry Bonds does not deserve to be the outright winner of the crown of greatest home run season; yet I still know that during the year, he homered in games when he was only given one pitch to hit in 4 at bats. Puffed by steroids or not, what he did was to hit almost every pitch that could have been a home run pitch to it’s full potential. He capitalized on every error. That should be not forgotten even if it is diminished.

What disturbs me most about American society is the double standard we have with sports and everyone else. Not in the whole every one is lazy and no one rarely gives 100% at work (a point brought up very well by ESPN’s Page two after the Randy Moss quote about not playing full out every play) sense. But on a male vs. female level of greatness and notoriety. The media is always quick to call athletes on performance enhancement, yet 1/100 of this focus is given to Hollywood starlets. From boob jobs to botox, there is an epidemic of falsification that we accept. We may know that Jessica Simpson had substantial work done, or that Pamela Anderson continually has her breast size shifted for her publicity needs. Yet we don’t call out them for being immoral, or cheaters. They are, ad yet we roll with it. We all talk about the mystery of Lohan’s breasts, yet many still read about her.

Further, and a pet peeve of mine, how can we continue to let slip the fact that NASA technology is being used to make the Pussycat Dolls seem like decent singers, or that we hear not a performance of Missy Elliot, but a song edited in protools? (And this is a phenomenon of 90% of all music today) What about cinema SFX. When are we just going to protest or see the media attention we see with sports about films that are in no way real. It’s one thing to see film move to a painters medium (Like “What Dreams May Come,” a weak film that is cheaply, yet effectively and cogently stylized).

If there is a blowback about steroids in sports, I am not only calling for the hastening, I will be pushing for the witch-hunt to move to everything else. Marilyn Monroe was an icon for what she was originally, not for how she achieved her later. Let’s make a focus for discipline in craft and in our beauties, I would gladly take a one in a million like Raquel Welch than a plastic fantastic like the pornstars and Baywatch stars of our multiplex. Ask a woman, and I’m sure they would agree that they’d take a Gable over a Pitt, or a Cary Grant over Tom Cruise, and so too, would men.

But all of this never comes to a stop because there is a big but…

While I don’t like the fact that Mark McGuire was the one to set the record in 1998, I still can’t forget the sheer emotion I had when he hit number 62. I still remember it was a low line drive that just barely was over the left field wall. I remember him and Sammy Sosa hugging after the fact, and that the teams (Cubs and Cards, a bitter yet respectful rivalry more beautiful than any other in sports) stopped the game to cherish the moment. Big Mac then gave two great moments. After hitting it, he went over to the Maris family and shared the moment. He may have been catching the torch of the record, but he went over and shared the moment with the family of the later Roger Maris, allowing them to be in the moment and to be remembered instead of relegated to a footnote. After the game he talked about how he went recently to go see the bat that hit the 61 first homer of Roger Maris, and he said, “I reached out and touched it, *holding back tears of raw emotion*, and I touched it with my heart.” I couldn’t write that moment to be any better.

Staying with that year, I do not discount Sammy Sosa, even with his now steroid huge body, or his corked bat; for he was in that year, relatively skinny. Even if he was using then, I still believe that he only started to look like he was huge come 1999, his season looked like one where he caught the pitchers by surprise, and through a combination of luck and skill, he was able to belt 66. If someone asked me what the record for homers really was, I would probably say 61 by Maris, but not until I was given definitive proof that the 1998 stats were tainted.

American readers of the Sports Page are lucky. We are not only given a wealth of info, but we are given people who are masters of journalism craft who can elevate the sports column to near poetry.

We are not tied to the teams in America as the rest of the world. We associate ourselves with the individuals, and the ties grow stronger every passing year due to the intertwining of our past and the memories that link us to them, memories made more grandiose by our writers and their brilliance in chronicaling the past and mounting pedestals beneath the weight of the triumphant.

In both cases, I don’t think either wants to give up on the past. Both options discount the past all enjoyed.

Beauty and stats are able to compel like no other in this nation. I hope that the medias and forums or competition change in the future, so that one day we won’t question the authenticity or place of a remarkable feat. I hope that maybe America will evolve to a nation that respects the end result more, and not the end numbers or statistics. Even if/when this happens, do not ask me to forsake what happened before. It was the way it was, and I loved it all the same.

(continued...)

...Right Back Where We Started From!

Like, SOOO Bang The Drum Slowly

I want to say what The OC means to me. I wish i could explain, but i simply do not have the time. For now, enjoy this. After the jump you'll find the fall preview... Cynthia and Anna, this one is all you! kisses.

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