My best birthday ever? This year. I think. I don't remember a lot of it. But I guess that's the point, when you're turning 21.
I decided to throw myself a party, and invite everyone from every organization I was a part of. I went out, bought almost $200 worth of booze, but I never thought it'd all get drunk (drank? drunken?).
I was wrong.
There were more people than I ever thought would come, which was good and bad, but mostly good. I was running around, I got 42 cupcakes, I car bombed, I danced. I got to see a movie I've always wanted to see, and forgot about it the moment I fell asleep.
And I took some goofy photos. Not only was all of the alcohol I bought gone when I woke up, so was the bottle of Grey Goose, the two six packs of beer, and various other gifts brought along. I wiped the place clean. And it was worth every penny.
Ok, so...let me think...I think my best birthday party was my thirteenth. I grew up in a very Jewish community, and it sucks royally when everyone around you is having a bar/bat mitzvah and you're not Jewish.
It really, really sucks.
So my solution was to have a sweet thirteenth birthday party that was cooler than a bat mitzvah- I invited only a select few and we went out to tea at the Ritz Carlton. Yeah that's right. The Ritz. In the yuppieness (sp?) I lived in, you could do no better. We all got dressed up in cute dresses and went downtown, had tea and lunch at the Ritz, and the roamed around the adjoined mall for a bit.
The only thing I really remember clearly from that day was that my first cup of tea was ruined because my friend squeezed a lemon in it and curdled the milk. It was actually quite funny.
That is a picture of the main dining room right there....let me tell you, I have never felt so classy in my whole life.
Sorry if this is a cop-out, guys. But it's my birthday and I want to get drunk. Sometime soon, hopefully. So, my assignment to get all you Flingo-ers back flingo-ing: tell me about your BEST birthday party ever.
Mine? Third grade. My mother used to plan the most elaborate "theme" parties back then. This one was, no joke, a "chefs in the kitchen" themed birthday party. All my little girlfriends and I decorated aprons with puff paint, played "name that exotic fruit" (8-year-olds don't really know what a mango looks like), and had popcorn fights. The best part? The pancake game: one player uses a spatula to flip a pancake over their head, while the other stands behind and tries to catch it with a plate. There were pancakes all over my backyard. At some point I think there was a cake, too. Ah, good times.
So apparently I'm the only one who can remember to blog every day. Oh well. So my list today is the top 5 people-watching spots in Los Angeles.
1. The L.A. opera. If you thought you'd seen it all, I promise you that you haven't. This is a great place to see what people used to dress like 50 years ago, furs and pearls included. I recommend buying a pair of opera glasses to check people out during the show.
2. Santa Monica beach and pier. The great thing about the Pier is that it is not only a date destination, but kids go there to hang out, and bums go there to get some quick cash. Plus you will probably catch a fair amount of tourists, bermuda shorts and hawaiian shirts.
3. The Asscat comedy show at the Upright citizens brigade. It's a bunch of young hipsters and emo kids drinking and doing drugs before and sometimes DURING the show. They promise a good time, especially when they do a whip-it on stage.
4. Hollywood and Highlands. Thanks to the high tourist population, there is always someone dressed up as Darth Vader or Jack Sparrow, but there are also alot of Angelenos wandering the racks at BCBG or grabbing a bite at Beard Papa's. So classy.
5. Last but not least, I tend to have fun people watching at the midnight shows or opening nights at the Arclight movie theater. Movie geeks, film students, and celebrities alike swarm to this place for drinks and a movie. The best yet was seeing Sin City with a bunch of hardcore fans. Plus, on various occasions, I've seen Jason Lee, Giovanni Ribisi, and Lucy Liu drop by for a flick.
sonia's flingo on magic(well, sort of...) So in our desire to seamlessly blend fiction and reality, American scientists have been working for some time on an invisibility cloaking device, straight out of the pages of Harry Potter.
Ok, so it's not a cloak, and it won't hide you from evil wizards and witches. Scientists have engineered certain materials that, when hit with a light wave, bend the light instead of reflecting it, caused the object to be virtually invisible.
I have no problem with the progress of science, and I certainly find this a fascinating discovery. Despite my enthusiasm, however, I can't say that I look forward to the perfection of this technology.
While scientists cannot wait to find out more about these light-bending "metamaterials," the U.S. military cannot wait to get their grubby little paws all over them. With the possibility of making a tank invisible to the enemy, what could be a better weapon? We can see them ,but they can't see us, and the minute they turn away, we fire.
Is that really fair? Now, I know that life and war are not about fairness. But there is something about this situation that reminds me of shooting on an unarmed soldier. If you fire on a person without a gun, you haven't given them the chance to defend themselves, and there is very little honor to be gained from killing the indefensible. In the same strain, to kill people who can't even see you is not a victory of strength or force, but a magic trick.
What if we gave everyone access to this technology, some ask? Wouldn't that even the odds, give everyone a chance? Well, if they can't see you, and you can't see them, you really can't have a war, then, can you? Unless you kill innocent people who do not have the benefit of military invisibility.
While making magic real is something we all dream about as kids, I can't say that I can pursue that dream as an adult. Even if it was just for fun, the minute that politics gets in the way the game is over, and all we have to show for it is a bunch of invisible wars.
So the reason I didn't post yesterday, was, in fact, because I was at work all day. After work, I headed up to Beverly Hills to get a haircut with Nathan, my new hairdresser. While talking about working, he said something that you rarely hear from anyone.
"This is the best job I've had by far. I just love everything about this place."
Wow. WOW. I don't know a single person who loves everything about their job. But then again, I don't know very many people who are actually doing what they want to do. It's an unfortunate side-effect of cutthroat American culture that we are obsessed with getting ahead, being the best, making the most.
But is it really worth it to give up your dream to follow the American dream?
Yes, Google employees get fabulous perks, free cheese, and good dental. But I have absolutely no desire to be a programmer. I am a science student, but I don't want to be a doctor, or an engineer, or a researcher. None of those things appeal to me in the least, except that they make good money.
On a recent trip to France, I noticed that the French don't have the same problem we do. Yes, they have programmers, and doctors, and scientists, but they also have a plethora of florists, bakers, bookshop owners, and the like. The fact that many of these people did not go to college is not really a concern; they are doing what they like doing, and they make a decent living. Astounded by this observation, I wondered if they wanted bigger homes and better pay, but it doesn't really seem like it.
I've decided that, although I value my education and I'm certainly glad I went to college, I don't need to show it off by becoming something I'm not. I think I might open a cafe/brasserie, and do some freelance writing. No I won't be rich, but at least I can say, "This is the best job I've had. I just love everything about it."
Em's Flingo on working. (Which she writes in order to avoid working-- ironic!) I'm a realist. I know I'll never have a super-awesome-high-paying job with a company car and a corner office. I'm a cinema studies/psychology double-major. With my luck, I'll live just above the poverty line.
For years I justified my decision to major in two useless (but stimulating!) subjects, claiming that a job as an engineer or a computer programmer would be "too boring." I would never be able to pull myself out of bed to attend meetings with Powerpoint presentations, and a six-figure salary could not possibly offset the pain and misery of life behind a cubicle.
I was wrong, guys. Why? Because there is something that can offset the pain and misery of a computer programmer's life. It's called free food.
WHY, GOOGLE, WHY?!?
WHY do you torture me with high-resolution photos of your healthy dishes...
.... your gourmet cheese plates...
...and your made-to-order omelettes?!?
And why, Google, do your highly-paid employees get to devour these delicious choices free of charge?!? Aren't cinema majors people too? Don't we need cheese? Don't we need made-to-order omelettes?
Apparently we don't. We don't work for Google. And suddenly, I'm regretting my major choice a little more than I used to.
I'm a lazy man. But I also like money. This is a conflict I am constantly trying to compromise with - I want to be busy, but I don't want to work. I want to make money, but I'd rather spend my time spending it.
My point is, I didn't post yesterday, and I'm starting today's Flingo far later than is preferred. And I'm going to cop-out. I could talk about my current job - developing a strategy for marketing the engineering company I work for to consultants, trading my 40+ gbs of music with a co-worker's 90+gbs - but I think that would bore you.
So, in honor of the workplace, and as a man now doing the 9-5 thing daily, I give you something that will hopefully be more entertaining: Dilbert, and The Office.
I don't exercise. I mean, it's not like I sit on my ass all day. But I don't go to the gym just so I can work out.
Why not, you ask? Well, it's simple, really. First of all, I don't fancy waiting in line so that I can use the ellipticals. Second, I don't like things where you can't win, as unless I'm missing something, you can't win at lifting weights. Third and most important is that if I am going to exercise at all, I would prefer some scenery, maybe a lake and some trees, not a bunch of other sweaty people exercising. Gross.
I think there is more than one way to get your exercise in for the day, and sometimes I wonder if the general public forgets that. For example, if your local gym is three miles away, why don't you run there instead of getting in your car and driving? I know, I know, some people don't run. If you prefer spinning, go for a bike ride instead. I promise, the view is alot nicer that way.
My grandfather was incredibly healthy into his eighties. And every day, he would walk two miles to the grocery store, buy two gallons of milk, and walk back to our house. Even that is exercise.
So if you really feel yourself lacking in the exercise category, try to look at your daily routine for some easy ways to add it to your schedule. Trust me, you will find a way.
Carl's flingo formerly on exercise but now on copping out
I really was planning on writing a titillating blog on exercise. I figured that a person as lazy as myself could pound out a pretty good rant on the evils of physical exertion. However, I am tired from unpacking boxes all day and, in combination with aforementioned laziness, I will therefore make this post short. What does Carl have to say about exercise? Carl is in awe of the exercise movers get and is ecstatic that he isn't one. I leave you with an image I found when I googled "mover." Consider this an exercise in trying to find meaning in what appears to be a totally unfunny joke:
In the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I went to the International Thespian Festival. I think that's what it was called. I may be paraphrasing the name but it was definitely a festival, definitely purported to involve mulitple countries (though I think they may have been counting states as countries), and definitely used a synonym for "actor" that sent everyone below a certain IQ scrambling for jokes about lesbians.
Anyway, I didn't just head on over to this festival for the lesbian jokes. I was an actor in high school and our school was in the custom of sending one of our shows every other year to this festival. Our show was a Restoration comedy, The Rivals, in which I played the mischievous, arrogant, but but basically-good-at-heart protagonist Sir Jack Absolute. And where were we to put on this comedy of manners and esoteric wordplay? Where was this convocation of lesbiansimeanthespians? In Lincoln, Nebraska. Clearly. And while this fact initially flabbergasted me as much as I imagine it is gasting many of your flabbers right now, it turn out that the University of Nebraska at Lincoln actually has a beautiful 5000-seat facility with all the bells and whistles one would expect of a top-notch stage.
But enough of this jibber jabber gasting your flabber. The point of this entry is that actors are a bizarre breed. They (we?) can accept the silliest, most absurd ideas and events as a matter of course. And my favorite story illustrating and exploiting this fact happened at the International Thespian Festival in Lincoln, Nebraska.
Night had fallen. I was with my fellow actors from my school and, having just gotten out of that evenings mainstage show, we were roaming the Cornhusker campus looking for something to do. There were no interesting activities scheduled. There was no clear plan. All there was but lots and lots of animated actors everywhere we looked. Wild gestures and weird voices in every direction. And, slowly but inevitably, patterns starting forming in the chaos. Pairs and small groups of actors absorbed into larger groups and began one of the most distinctive thespianic behaviors there is: the theatre game.
Circles formed. Rules were established. Chanting and clapping began. The largest of these circles was directly adjacent to us, a group playing a game called My Pony. I don't remember much about the rules of the game--it had something to do with galloping around the circle. All I clearly remember was that this game was really, really dumb. If you're reading this and I've just insulted your favorite game, I'm deeply sorry. I hope one day you develop better taste.
Anyway, my compatriots and I decided if My Pony could find success in this crowd, we could easily make up one just as ridiculous and make it the new hit of the festival. We decided to do it. The first thing we needed was a name. Someone suggested "Fruitbasket." And a legend was born.
How do you play Fruitbasket? We were asking ourselves that very same question as we began playing. You definitely played it in a circle. I mean, come on, it's a theatre game. We got into a circle. I can't be 100% certain but I think I can claim credit for starting the chant. We started chanting: "Fruit! Baskeeeeeet, yeah Fruit! Baskeeeeeeeeet..."
And someone got in the middle and chanted a rhyming couplet about fruit. Example:
"I think bananas have a really great taste! To miss a chance to eat one is a terrible waste!
Smiles and laughs of appreciation while repeating the refrain:
And then someone else went in and rhymed. And then someone else. And wouldn't you know it, before long people we didn't know came over and wanted to play this ridiculous game we had concocted. The rhymes these people came up with (or sometimes failed to come up with) were absolutely priceless. I'm pretty sure there was a rhyme about cumquats at one point. I wish I could remember the rhymes more clearly.
This game was so, so stupid. And people took it seriously. Total strangers put forth immense thought and effort to be the best Fruitbasketeers they could be. But I do have to confess, the whole thing was really fun. It was fun to try to come up with the most terrible, kitschy rhymes about fruit conceivable. So, as much as I'm tempted to ridicule stupid actor games, I have to concede that there is something to be said for letting that side out every once in a while. Things in the theatre still get a little too actor-y every once in a while but I try to engage with that world as much as I can. Because it's liberating to let go of all value judgments, not to worry about keeping distance, keeping perspective. It's liberating and it's the only way to really access your creativity.
Thanks to new technologies and a newfound awareness for violence, you can't even turn on the TV anymore without hearing about someone getting raped or killed. It's something that has existed all along, but it's like someone has just recently turned the volume up, and now it's all we ever notice. That and Paris Hilton's latest antics.
But does anyone ever stop and wonder how many rape cases are actually rape?
Don't get me wrong, I'm a girl in her early twenties and I live in South Central Los Angeles. I know what crime is. But every now and then , you come across a case that makes you wonder if women take advantage of rape allegations, or if parents use it to justify their not-so-innocent children.
One such case was just recently brought to my attention: the trial and incarceration of Genarlow Wilson, a 21-year-old man who has been in jail for the past 4 years for recieving oral sex from a minor, on the grounds of aggravated child molestation.
Aggravated child molestation? At the time, Wilson was 17 years old and the girl in question was 15 years old. They went to school together, and were videotaped at a party while the girl performed oral sex on Wilson. In my opinion, this hardly construes child molestation. The girl was a peer of Wilson's, she was most likely intoxicated, and considering she did not press charges, it was probably consensual. What part of this looks like child molestation to anyone?
The worst part of this whole ordeal is that, if Wilson and the girl had actually had sex, he would not be in jail, due to Georgia's Romeo and Juliet clause. And since his sentencing, they have appended the law to prevent his circumstance from reoccuring. But, as it's not a retroactive ruling, they can't go back and change the ruling.
So, thanks to the brilliance of Georgia's judicial system, Wilson is going to be in jail for the next 6 years, unless a judge can find some way around it. Wilson was an honors student, studying for his SATs and on the way to a bright future. I hope the jury sees that they have effectively ruined a kid's life, just because some idiot chose to videotape a party.
In 1937, a little movie called Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was released, sparking a love of animated movies that hasn't died in this country since.
But no, it did not star the voices of Maurice Chevalier, or Bette Davis, or Gretta Garbo. In fact, its voices went uncredited. So began the voice actor, the actor whose vocal variety and talent humanized animation and gave life to animated films. The best voice got the job, whether a male doing a female voice or vice versa.
Flash-forward to 1992, and the release of the Disney masterpiece, Aladdin. The movie featured Robin Williams, a major star, who accepted the role on union (minimum) pay, on the conditions that his voice not be used for marketing (toys) and that his character not comprise more than 25% of the movie's poster. These conditions were not met, and he refused to return for Return of Jafar, but the damage was already done.
In 1994, The Lion King featured distinctive, animated, unique voices - James Earl Jones, Jeremy Irons, Nathan Lane. But since, the voice actor has been almost completely supplanted by boring, nondistinct celebrities whose role in an animated movie is to sell it on voice talent.
Money used to be spent on the animation and story of the film. Now it's spent on Elijah Wood, Rupert Everett, Cameron Diaz. I saw the (atrocious) movie Over the Hedge last summer, and didn't recognize the voices of Bruce Willis, Nick Nolte, Thomas Haden Church, Allison Janney, or Avril Lavigne until the end credits. Steve Carell and William Shatner were good ideas -- the two distinct voices that provided the only real humor in the film. Everyone else was nothing but a waste of money.
The movies are suffering, and audiences are responding. Animated movies feel like the same old crap now. Surf's Up, which was actually apparently good, made a disappointing $17 million its opening weekend.
Where's the charming, unique, fresh animation of yore? Where are the movies kids will grow up and continue to watch when they're 21? They're gone, with the voice actors that made them possible.
I like old movies. I like old actors even more. Unfortunately, I sometimes get flack for this. Yes, I know Cary Grant was bisexual. And yes, Fred Astaire was a bit of a tyrant on set. It's easy to judge these people-- they're dead, after all.
What irks me most, however, is the poor treatment of Maurice Chevalier. In my opinion, the guy was just a victim of circumstance. Let's face it-- great roles don't come around often when you're 70 years old and washed up. So if a director happens to approach you with a cameo role, and this cameo role just so happens to involve singing a song called "Thank Heaven for Little Girls," you do it. No matter what that sort of thing insinuates.
So in 1958, poor Maurice sang about little girls and how "their eyes are so helpless and appealing." Apparently some party poopers associate that with child molestation. And now every time I express my love for this talented entertainer, people raise their eyebrows.
Here's what they don't realize: Maurice was a superb entertainer in the in 1930's, starring in such classics as "The Merry Widow," "One Hour with You," and "The Smiling Lieutenant," in which he certainly did not sing about molesting little girls. What's that? You haven't heard of any of these movies? Oh, that's right-- they're not available on DVD. This is why I cry myself to sleep.
Fortunately, some wonderful film nerd happened to upload this charming clip on YouTube, so now you too can bask in the glory of Chevalier's charming shtick. It's from "Love Me Tonight"-- perhaps the best film musical ever made. If for no other reason, watch it for the guy with the large moustache and top hat. He's hillllarious.
And there, my friends, is my apologia for Maurice Chevalier. He's not a pervert. He's just French.
Em's Flingo on Shmoopie... Shmoopy.. Schmoopy? How are we spelling this, guys?
I want to contribute to this (hilarious) Shmoopy-abuse, but I'm tired. I just worked 8 hours at the Grand Library, shuttling stupid dissertations back and fourth from Doheny. (Never get a PhD, guys. Nobody wants your dissertation. We don't need anymore fucking dissertations.) Now I get to spend the next 6 hours studying for a research methods test. Yes, my life sucks. You know what I want more than anything in the world now?
Now that we have looked an the etymological origins of schmoopy, we need to consider the sociological origins of the word. Why has it become a commonplace saying?
The answer to that lies at the depths of one of America's most revered and quoted comedies, Seinfeld. If you recall, there is a fantastic episode no one can forget called the Soup Nazi episode. The other, more enigmatic title for this episode is the Schmoopie episode.
Now it's all coming back to you...
Schmoopie was the affectionate nickname that Jerry and his girlfriend have for each other, which drives George completely crazy. Jerry actually ends up choosing his bisque soup over Sheila("schmoopie") when the Soup Nazi tells him there is no kissing in his shop.
So what can we take from this episode? If you choose soup over your schmoopie, it better be a good bisque.
As we all know, Shmoopy may soon be joining our blog. I'd like to reiterate the importance of Shmoopy passing all tests to become part of Flingo, not only to maintain our high standards of excellence...but for his own safety. When Shmoopy has to go out on a jungle safari to Flingo on poison-dart frogs, I want to make sure he knows which Apostle denied Christ 3 times before the cock crowed...(and which one only did it twice before the cow crowed.) It's for his safety, you see.
Anyhow, that's enough of that. What I'd really like to talk about is the etymology of Shmoopy.
Now, clearly, Shmoopy is a bastardized form of the Hebrew Schmoopenheim, which means "large ankles."
Orville Redenbacher, of the famous popcorn of Valparaiso, IN, used the pet name "Shmoopy" for his wife, Greta Schmoopenheim Redenbacher. He called her this mostly because Greta is an ugly name that means "woman with mustache," and he didn't think it boded well.
Greta loved cream sauces, apples, and she was totally delish on the eyes. Yes, she wore a housecoat. They were very happy together, and Shmoopy lived a long, thick-ankled life, free of facial hair.
So this is a day late, but my computer's slow, and so I struggled to find all of the clips I wanted.
But that said, I give you: My top ten childhood disney songs. These aren't necessarily the best songs they've ever had, or even all of my current favorites, but these are the ones I think about when I think about laying in the living room and popping in a Disney VHS. These are the ones I think about, and instantly get that little bounce in my step.
In a pretty much random order: My Top Ten Childhood Disney Songs
The Lion King - Be Prepared
This one always stuck out. Lion King is my favorite animated movie, and this is my favorite song. God, Scar was terrifying, and I just loved the back and forth between him and the hyenas. Jeremy Irons lends one of the great voices, making you shake in your seat. And now, in my old age, I can really appreciate the borrowed Nazi imagery in the animation. No wonder it was so scary.
Alice in Wonderland - The Unbirthday Song
Who doesn't know The Unbirthday Song? I feel like this was on every disney cassette I owned, every VHS compilation video. I loved the kooky Mad Hatter.
Aladdin - One Jump Ahead
Aladdin vs. Lion King, the great debate. Lion King won, but I loved everything about this song. The fat lady who wants to eat him, the way the platform shakes from the guards. And the way this song moves -- God, it starts at 60mph and just gets faster and faster and never stops gaining energy. It's breathless.
The Lion King - Circle of Life
Breathless in a very different way. The Lion King looked and sounded unlike anything put on film. Musically, there was nothing that sounded like it, nothing that incorporated such diverse and foreign cultural music into pop culture, at least not this effectively. And visually, it was a feast. This opening was balls-out, get-your-ass-ready-cause-here-we-come animation. It was so pounding and effective, in fact, that it worked on its own as the movie's trailer.
Little Mermaid - Under The Sea
I was never a huge fan of the movie as a kid, but everyone loves Sebastian. I remember, I had a tape with him singing various pop classics; the one that always stuck out was his "What A Wonderful World." I loved that little crustacean, and I love his crustacean band.
Pinnochio - I've Got No Strings
I could only find foreign language versions of this on youtube, and Italian felt most fitting. Looking back, there's something really poignant about watching this little kid get used and abused, and in seeing the difference between the lifeless puppets and Pinnochio dancing side by side.
The Jungle Book - Bare Necessities
Wow. When I watched this, I realized the similarities between it and "Hakuna Matata." Animals teaching adolescants to live on their own through songs about the simple things in life. I wonder how much of "Hakuna Matata" was homage (specifically, when they eat bugs from the tree). This is just such a damn jovial, bouncy song. I want to dance like Baloo.
Aladdin - A Whole New World
It wasn't the cool song to like as a young boy, but I loved it. There's a reason I remember every word of it, but forget lyrics from other songs in Aladdin -- it's the greatest of Disney love songs, and it still kind of chokes me up. I'm a cheeseball, but I love it.
The Lion King - Just Can't Wait To Be King
Just as I loved the back and forth between Scar and the three Hyenas in "Be Prepared," you gotta love the same between Simba/Nala and Zazu here. And when you're a little kid, and you watch a little kid establish himself as the future king, and watch the little bird holding him back get squished by an Elephant, it's awesome. It's a gloriously abstract number, and again, the animation has just never been topped.
Zip a Dee Doo Dah
I remember this song from a VHS tape of Disney music videos, but never knew where it was from. I remember reading something about Disney disowning the movie because of major racism issues, which is maybe why I couldn't find this song on youtube. But still, I dare you not to sing along. And who needs the video? I still completely remember it anyway.
I really like perfect rhymes. When the rhythms and syllables match up flawlessly it's like a nice little shiatsu massage for my soul. Because of this, I've developed a little bit of a snobbishness about rhymes. However, every once in a while there comes a long an imperfect rhyme that is otherwise so great that I don't care. So, in no particular order, I present to my five favorite almost-perfect song rhymes that I can think of right now.
1. "Don't you tell me lines about some idealistic future/Your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures"
The emo-vibes are near lethal but anyone who gets away with rhyming "sutures" is good in my book.
2. "He may never be Cole Porter/But he knows a bunch of words that sorta rhyme."
Pure gold. The song is "Getting Out" by Jason Robert Brown.
Actually, those are the only two I can think of right now and I have to go pick my girlfriend up from the airport in about two minutes. So, let me supplement with some great perfect rhymes:
3. "Genuflect, show some respect/Down on one knee"
My favorite rhyme from my favorite Disney movie. If you're wondering which movie that is, the prospects for any kind of friendship between you and me are not looking too good.
4. "Now I'm a little flustered/How do you get out mustard?"
Courtesy of Becky Melocik, an excellent up and coming lyricist based in New York.
Ok, I'm still short one but I really have to leave for the airport now. Time for a quantity-not-quality approach:
5. "How now, brown cow?"
Wow.
This post simulates the effect of drugs on your brain (and my brain), getting dumber as the amount you take in gets larger. Hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit. If not, go do some drugs.
I have come to the conclusion that I do not possess the superior wit of Sonia and Lindsay, and that I simply can't compete with their hilarious postings.
I do, however, go to Trader Joe's a lot. So here, in order from best to worst, are my Southern California area Trader Joe's:
1. Trader Joe's Westwood: (3456 South Sepulveda Blvd.) The oldest socal TJ's features ample parking and the friendliest TJ's cashier's I've ever run into. Plus, they had like 7 different varieties of frozen pizzas here. Oh, and the cheese section is massive. Can't top that.
2. Trader Joe's Culver City: (9290 Culver Blvd.) Conveniently located right off the 10 freeway, this is the TJ's I visit the most. It's attached to a parking structure, so finding a spot is never an issue. It also has the widest aisles of any TJ's I've ever been to, which means a lot when you're schlepping a cart full of goat cheese and $2.99 wine.
3. Trader Joe's West Hollywood: (7304 Santa Monica Blvd.) I guess I have a penchant for parking lots, because TJ's WeHo is next on my list thanks to the vast concrete oasis of parking out front. Besides that, TJ's WeHo also separates it's "organic" foods from all the rest-- so if you're into that sort of thing, it can make shopping a lot easier. For some unknown reason, a lot of Russian people shop here. Last time I was there, the guy at the checkout spoke Russian to the person in front of me. He then proceeded to speak to me in French. I'm not French, but I give TJ's WeHo points for being so bilingual, at least.
4. Trader Joe's Santa Monica: (10850 National Blvd.) Sometimes, when I'm on my way home from some god-awful spending spree at the Promenade, I take it upon myself to stop by TJ's SM. It's always a mistake. There are probably 12 parking spots behind this sorry excuse for a grocery store. It's miserable. Never go there.
5. Trader Joe's La Brea: (263 South La Brea) This is the creepiest TJ's, hands down. The parking is a mess, and ever since they changed their produce/wine/cereal setup, I'm lost every time I go there. One time, I witnessed one customer accost another in the "10 Items or Less" line because, well, he thought she didn't actually have 10 items or less. And finally, (I'm just going to say it) there are a lot of Jews that shop here, and old Jewish moms annoy me. Get your frickin' kosher meat and get the hell out.
11 things I may or may have not accomplished on Sunday
Lindsay's Flingo on things she has/has not done today
1. Stole Ferrero Rocher from Sonia. Ate it. 2. Pimped Flingo template. 3. Showered. 4. Attempted to style hair. 5. Failed to style hair. 6. Succeeded in styling hair. 7. Cleaned room. 8. Made list. 9. Went to kitchen to check spelling on "Ferrero Rocher," and contemplated stealing another. 10. Did not steal another Ferrero Rocher, despite little voice from box that said "Eat us, Eat Ferro Rochers..." 11. Ran several miles.
So, in Sunday tradition, I give you a list. It is a seven item list, because I like the number seven. So there. [drumroll please...]
Top Seven Reasons to Carpool:
1. You get to use the carpool lane. So much faster! 2. You have a personal navigator/CD changer/ purse carrier. 3. When you drop something, they can get it for you, that way you don't crash into that parked car on the side of the road, causing severe damage and endless mocking. 4. When you are stuck in traffic, they can run out to the Little Caesar's across the street, grab a pizza, and be back before the light changes. 5. You can have some wicked awesome sing-a-longs to Alanis, Weezer, Jimmy Eat World, you name it. 6. When you cut it front of a scary guy yelling, "Fuck you , I'll call the police!" you have four people to back you up in case a fight breaks out. 7. You can make other people around you feel bad, wishing that they were in the cool party car with pizza, wine, and sing-a-longs. And you can laugh at them, all alone in their Escalades, with nothing but their automaton navigator as company.
My first instinct in writing this entry is to tell you Ye Most Tragick and Lamentable Historie of Carl's Car Troubles, about how many problems I've had with my pitiful excuse for a vehicle and how much aforementioned problems have cost. I could probably write for a couple days straight on how much I loathe the automotive gods. However, I'll just leave it at the fact that, in the most recent of a long line of similarly frustrating and beggaring incidents, I had to take my car in this week. It had been making this soul-wrenching screeching sound for about a week and when my friendly neighborhood mechanic took a look at it, he told me that the brakes were totally shot. Yikes.
This means that I had been driving with unreliable brakes for a week or more. It's moments like these in which I feel bitch-slapped by a sense of my own mortality. The brakes could have gone out and I could have died from ramming into a building or another car or something. Then it occurs to me that I could died from pretty much anything in the past week. Someone else's car could have lost control and killed me or I could have choked on a piece of food or a piece of airplance could have fallen to earth and shattered my head like grapefruit or I could have been struck down by a previously undetected brain tumor or a five-headed pig god could have turned the ground beneath me into quicksand because He (or She) disliked the way I trim my beard. It's only impossible until it happens.
It's the kind of thing that makes you think about how you're spending your days. I certainly could use my time more wisely. However, I feel like envisioning a five-headed pig deity with terrain-altering powers is a step in the right direction. And in a certain way I'm serious about that.
Personally, I don't think I'm at all qualified to speak on the topic of cars. Myles can attest to this. Once, while circling LAX, my car started coughing out enormous plumes of black smoke. Why? It was out of oil. See, I thought you only had to change the oil once every 5,000 miles. "No, honey," Myles said. "You have to fill it, too."
Anyway, cars are gross and emit hazardous fumes (and, in my case, smoke). But apparently the people at Hollywood Freeway Central Park don't understand this. Does anybody else find this just a little absurd?
BEFORE:
AFTER:
No joke, guys. That's a "visualization" right there. People are serious about this.
Sonia opened the day with a rant against the new car smell, to which I say: "pooh." Because I know the alternative: the old car smell.
My car, Edna, is a solid 14 years old. If it were a dog, it'd be Shadow, from Homeward Bound. It'd be an ancient wise sage of a dog (I actually think dog years and car years are comparable. Both of mine may die this year).
Edna also smells. I used to think this was a product of my personal hygiene, but in recent days, I've thought back to when I first purchased it from my brother, 4 years ago.
It had the same smell. That old car smell. The same smell you find in your grandma's closet. The same smell you find in your kitty litter. The same smell you pick up as you walk through the Bronx. Sweat soaked into the seating, melted vinyl on the steering wheel, one too many times lighting that lighter in the glove compartment because you're just that bored waiting for a friend to come outside (cough, johnandmyles, cough).
Give me the fumes of the new car smell. Give me headaches, nausea, dizziness, sore throats, and cancer. Each breath of new car smell is a reminder that you are in no danger of spending eight hours behind a Mobile gas station fixing all of your belts with a repairman named Jorge and his wife and daughter who live in an RV in front of the Mobile gas station and don't have power tools but instead use sheer brute strength, thus leaving your belts squealing and whining like a baby in need of a diaper change.
This morning, I woke up bright and early so that I could take in the beauty of a summer morning in Los Angeles.
That's a lie. You couldn't get me out of bed at 7:30 am just for beauty. But I will get up for the beauty of my atomic blue Honda Civic coupe.
I picked up my car from the body shop this morning after getting some repairs for a minor fender bender(I'm a good driver, I swear. He hit me.) When I got in the driver's seat, I was pleased to see that in addition to fixing the dents, the shop had washed, waxed, and vacuumed my car. But one thing did not please me. Go on, ask-what could I possibly be unhappy about, when my car is like new?
That new car smell.
So I know that alot of people really like "that new car smell," enough to go buy a spray bottle of it. But the truth of the matter is that the new car smell is far from good.
That smell that we crave is actually the result of certain chemicals found in the vinyls, paints, and plastics in the passenger compartment of a new car. The fumes that are released from these materials can cause headaches, nausea, even dizziness and sore throats. Apparently, these same compounds have been found in new buildings as well as new cars, so if you've ever felt sick in a new office building, it was probably more than a case of the mondays.
Many researchers have discussed the carcinogenic properties of these chemicals as well. I know, I know, everything causes cancer these days. But this is something that we can potentially avoid, by trying to use different materials or at least just airing out our cars.
Japanese automakers have been attempting in the past two years to cut down on the use of these toxins, and they have succeeded, at least marginally. By implementing better standards for their cars, they may be able to prevent an unneccessary tumor or two.
So next time you buy a car, revel in the beauty of a crisp morning by rolling down your car windows.
You can revel in the car too, just don't sniff it.
Wine is my favorite alcohol. It has a mystique for me. I feel like beer is the drink of the masses and much hard alcohol is more prescriptive than recreational. This is not to say that beer and spirits can't be classy or mysterious but, to me, that magic is quintessential to wine--cheap or bad wine is merely a bastardization. Beer and spirits can make their home pretty much anywhere on the Chain of Being but wine is meant to have elevated status.
I used the word quintessential. I didn't realize my affection for that word until three years ago when I was in the shower. (That sentence might imply that I only shower every three years. It's not true. I shower at least yearly.) A little background: my time in the shower is my time for reflection, introspection, and general mental wandering. A good chunk of that third category is devoted to thinking about why words mean what they do--I'm basically a naked, non-researching etymological detective. So here is the result of Detective Naked's ponderings on the word "quintessential":
The word is comprised of two parts: quint + essential. A passing familiarity with Latin unmasks "quint" as five or fifth. "Essential" is just the adjectival form of essence. So we're looking at a fifth essence. What da heck?
The answer lies in medieval mysticism. Along with the four more observable elements (earth, wind, fire, and water), mystics and scientists (often the same thing at that point) believed there was a fifth element. Some called it spirit, some called it ether, but the gist of it was that it was the most integral, true part of everything. Sort of like qualia. I think. I still don't really understand qualia. Look it up and tell me what you think.
Well, off to enslave myself to the man for petty cash. Toodles.
Lindsay's Flingo on Wine Wine leaves a bitter taste in my mouth this week, as I realized last night my bottle of Night Owl from Trader Joe's had gone bad. (Not that I was surprised; it was two weeks old, and not particularly good to start off.) Regardless, wine is the topic of the hour, but ah...Joni Mitchell. Joni Mitchell is what we should really be talking about.
Joni Mitchell is epic. I've been listening to her since I was...er, quite small. And my father before me has likewise been listening to her since he was...er, quite small. In addition to being a family favorite, Joni Mitchell is also: 1. Canadian 2. a chain smoker 2. 63 4. really freaking awesome. 5. oft described as the male Bob Dylan (dare I say...better?)
Alas. She is great. But what does this have to do with wine? Wait for it...wait for it...
So, on her 1971 album Blue (my favorite album), she sings 'A case of you,' the gist of which is:
'I could drink a case of you, and I would still be on my feet.'
I'll avoid heavy handed lyrical analysis...and here are some youtube videos. en-JOY!
For some reason, I'm obsessed with the idea of wine bars. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I grew up in the Sonoma Valley, surrounded by wineries. Maybe it's because I spent my elementary school years snacking on sour grapes with my best friend in her dad's vineyard. Maybe it's because I associate beer with dive bars and sleazy men. Wine is more classy. What more could you ask for?-- I mean, it's a bar! But for wine!!
Despite my penchant for wine bars, I had never actually been to one. Until last week, when I ventured down to the "sacred corner" of Culver City (a Trader Joe's and an In-n-out within a few meters of each other? That's sacred in my book.) to visit Vinum Populi. It's a wine bar, and it just so happens to be the hippest place I've even been to. Which isn't saying much. But still.
The coolest thing about Vinum Populi is its lack of pretentiousness. Oh, and its shiny chrome wine dispensers. You walk in, buy a card, press a button, and start drinking. No need to deal with snooty sommeliers. Insert your card into the shiny contraption and select a variety of wine (which starts at 75 cents an ounce!). The machine automatically deducts the cost from your card. Vinum has mostly Italian and Spanish red wines, with a few whites to choose from as well. And if you feel the need to know what a $200 bottle of wine tastes like, you can even spring for the $12.00-an-ounce varieties. In my opinion, $10 on the card is plenty enough to try a bunch of different wines (and get a little buzzed in the process).
At 9pm on a Tuesday night, the crowd was a pleasant mix of college students and working professionals. I didn't feel too young or too old (or too poor, for that matter). It's the kind of place that would make a perfect date, I think. Vinum serves food too, but why bother? In-n-out's right down the street! A wine bar and a cheeseburger? That's the way to my heart.
Vinum Populi 3865 Cardiff Avenue Culver City, CA 90232
For those of you who are not big wine people, there is still hope! Here are two twists on classic wine, brought to you from the Burgundy region of France.
Burgundy, on the eastern side of France, is home to great red wine, Dijon mustard, and some pretty beautiful small towns. White wine is not what they're known for, but they can step it up when needed.
In the summer, when all you want is something crisp and light, the Dijonnais drink kir, which is a mix of aligoté(a cheaper white wine) and crème de cassis(currents in English). If you mix two parts aligoté and one part cassis, you get a very sweet, refreshing drink that goes great with a light salad or just by itself.
If you can't find an aligoté, you can substitute any other white wine, but something fruitier usually works best. The aligoté is a pretty light, mild wine, so if you can match that, go for it.
And if you're looking to go a little classier, try two parts champagne and one part cassis...et voila! You have kir royale.
This marks the first wine reviewing of my life, as well as the most expensive wine purchased in many moons. Clos du Bois Sauvignon Blanc.
And let me tell you...this wine, made with grapes from the North Coast (a region with varions in soil and climate) is crisp, displaying citrus aromas with grapefruit and melon flavors. It's a perfect compliment for shrimp, scallops, or a garden salad.
But we had it with Fusilli Pesto and Cappricio, and it was still a tasty, light, very enjoyable bottle. I fully recommend.
