What January 11th Means To Me: Pretty Theives

Last summer, a close friend of mine sublet her Parisian apartment to this girl ...

...Who ended up robbing her blind, while taking photos like the above in her apartment. 

We should all be so lucky.   Only in Paris. 

That's all I got today.  What more do you need?

What January 10th Means To Me: 90210

My friend's blog made mention of the 90210 soundtrack this morning, and it got me thinking about my fav show from my teen years. 

I grew up in the 10920 Zipcode (I used to love this fact.  A hell of an anagram).

Now, with partial thanks to 90210, I now live in 90038.

Tons has been written on the expansion of cable television, and with it, targeted programming to pretty much every demographic imaginable.  Due to all the choices we have to watch, along with the rise of the internet and the DVR, appointment television is essentially dead, making it hard for networks to find iconic shows that not only are accepted by an entire generations, but also defines them.

But when I was growing up, Beverly Hills 90210 was that show. No, it was THEE show.  The show that had me calling my buddy during commercial breaks to quickly discuss what just happened, and what the future might hold. Sure, it dealt with hot bed issues such as rape, cheating, drugs, and other situations most other shows wouldn't touch, but it's "risque" programming was not why we loved this show.  We loved it because it made a complete fantasy world seem incredibly accessible.  It was escapism at it's purest...especially for 13 year olds sitting in their living rooms when it was freezing cold outside.  It depicted LA/BH as a type of panacea, a device that clearly burned itself into my brain as it, no doubt, partially motivated me to move here (even if only on a subconscious level).

Obviously, most of the 90210 audience wasn't from Beverly Hills, or Los Angeles for that matter.  When you're young, especially during the period when I grew up, there was nothing sexier than Hollywood.  After all, most TV shows seemed to take place there, while glorifying it, and movies were made there.  It was glamorous. It was where all the action went on. It's where girls like Kelly Taylor lived. That's what life was about.  It was a universe that seemed as foreign as Mars to most, but one made understandable because the  90210 creators successfully made the audience the main characters of the show. 

Brandon and Brenda Walsh, the shows literal main, teenaged characters, represented everyone who didn't live that lifestyle.  They were two "normal" kids from Minnesota trying to find their footing in this hyper realistic environment, and they gently waded in waters that none of us were accustomed to, while allowing us to live vicariously through them.  Their best friend, Steve, had a famous mother.  Their other friend, Dylan, lived in a hotel and rode a motorcycle (and had cool hair before it started receding like a lake during a year long draught).  Kelly was just hot and otherworldly to most of us boys with thick braces and bad acne.  Hell, even their high school looked like a college campus and featured a newspaper (run by the Ancient Andrea Zuckerman...*** funny story to follow) that seemed to rival the New York Times in resources.  Palm trees swayed, great parties often occurred, a sexy adult lifestyle for teenagers was clearly established.  Essentially, it suggested that if we moved to Beverly Hills, our lives would be 15x more exciting than they were.  Brenda and Brandon constantly questioned their new environment, had apprehensions about it, and were awed by it much in the same way we would be if we were the one's experiencing it.  They generally didn't dive into any situation headfirst, and were always hyper aware of the absurdity (for lack of a better word) of their situation.  Their reactions made the transition seem plausible. 

And though this world might have seemed overwhelming, there was a MAJOR detail that grounded it all:  The Peach Pit!  Even though these kids seemed adult, sometimes engaged in "adult" activities that would seem unimaginable to someone not used to the lifestyle, the episodes often ended with the cast sitting in their comfortable 50's style diner sharing malts and grilled cheeses.  In retrospect, it was a brilliant touch because this detail, above all else, grounded the show in a reality the rest of us non BH kids could understand.  It made the entire environment seem like something we could  feel comfortable in because all of us had similar experiences in diners, Friendly's, whatever.  No matter what hijinks we might get into, we know we'll end the night eating french fries with Nat (and, really, whats more comforting than that).  Even though the show got soapier as time moved on, it generally remained positive, somewhat funny, sexy, and, most of all, safe.   And, strangely enough, the entire viewing experience satisfied a social need for "dorkier" thirteen year olds who were 1) not accepted into the "cooler" circles of their high school and or 2) too scared by it.  It provided an outlet to feel "cool" even if you weren't.  Again, escapism at it's finest. 

That's why I miss watching this show...but what I miss more is being 13 years old and watching this show.



*** The funny story.

Nesting doll...for those who don't know.

I was in Prague a couple of years ago, and found, deep in the corner of some gift shop, a 90210 nesting doll.  Once I saw it, I knew I had to buy it for the aforementioned friend that I used to make the phone calls to.  So, I grabbed the doll and handed it to the gruff, old Czech shop keeper (picture Hagrid from Harry Potter...seriously) who looked like he hadn't smiled in 16 years.  He started opening the nesting dolls to make sure they were all there.  He opened the main one, revealing a smaller one with Jason Priestley's likeness. Satisfied, he grunted.  He opened that one to find one with Shannen Doherty's.  Again, he grunted.  He opened the Shannen one to find a smaller one with Jennie Garth's face painted on it.  The same grunt.  Finally, he opened the last one to reveal the smallest part of the doll: One with Gabrielle Carteris's picture on it.  He squinted one eye and held it close to inspect it.  Suddenly, a big smile graced his bearded face and he said .... "Andrea!" a few octaves higher than I figured his voice could go.  I couldn't help but laugh, and immediately hoped he wouldn't be offended.  After all, Eastern Europe, Hagrid...who knows. 

90210...making the world a smaller place.

What January 7th-9th Means To Me: Weekend Thoughts

Ever have one of those weekends where you just don't remember what you did?  Not because you were drunk, but because your memory sucks it was mostly mundane?

Welcome to my weekend!  I'm not complaining though, my next few will be quite busy.

Anyway, here's some random thoughts:

1) Denver Broncos Victory

 Epic game that saved an otherwise boring wildcard weekend.  Fantastic team win for the Broncos, but lets face it, no one wants to talk about the Broncos, they just want to talk about Tebow.  So, lets do that.  When Tebow throws like he did last night, he's incredibly difficult to stop because you have to account for his running (and the Broncos read option).  The blueprint to stop him over the past couple weeks was to play a press man cover-1 (or cover zero), thinking he was unable to beat the man coverage with his throws.  He proved them all wrong yesterday, and it's back to the drawing board for defensive coordinators.  I don't think the Broncos will win against New England next week, but I do think they have a punchers chance (played them well a few weeks ago until the Broncos pissed away the game with careless fumbles).

Also, many questioned whether the Broncos should move forward with Tim as their starting quarterback.  He did prove he's capable of sublime games last night, so now it's an issue of consistency, which is only born from experience and repetition.  He's earned the right to be the Broncos unquestionable starter next year, and I'm excited to see what he can do with a full off-season.  I'm not claiming he'll be the next great thing, but let's remember the conversation about Tebow started with, "can he win games in the NFL?"  He just beat the best pass D in the NFL, in a playoff game, amidst rumors that he'd be benched.  Pretty impressive stuff. 

2)  So, What Do You Do? 

There's a cafe in my neighborhood that I frequent enough for the lady behind the counter to immediately ring up my order before I say a word (which is common for me, as I've mentioned in other posts).  She never really engages me in conversation, but she did this weekend.  While waiting for the credit card payment to process, she asked me "So, what do you do?"  I said, "excuse me," to which she responded, "you come in here a lot, so I wondered what you did for a living."

Um, OK.  I can see how that's relevant.   Only in LA.

3)  I discovered the Rabbi at my old temple (where I was Bar Mitzvah'd) was fired years ago because...of a foot fetish issue!

This really needs no comment.  It speaks for itself.  Thankfully, I was an asshole in Hebrew School, never gave more than half a shit, so I certainly never participated in extra curricular activities that would have put me in one-on-one situations with him. Plus, I don't like my feet touched. 

See Mom and Dad?  There's another good reason why sending me to Hebrew school was dumb. 

4)  Thank you, Mr. Barista, for putting peppermint flavoring in my caramel latte.

Great ideas often come from mistakes:)  No sarcasm, I actually enjoyed it quite a bit.  Methinks I'll get it again.

5) To the asshole in the huge SUV who yelled at me for walking "too slow" through the intersection...while I had the walk signal.

That's all!  Have a good Monday.

What January 6th Means To Me: Another Edition Of "How You Found My Blog!"

There's a lot going on in politics these days, the Republican shitshow primaries have started (and are already entertaining), the economy actually seems to be gaining a bit of steam (200,000 jobs this month...a better sign), but each time I write about politics, most of your eyes just completely glaze..  And I suppose you have a point.  You could just read the New York Times or capable political bloggers for any sort of meaningful insight. 

I'll stick to what I'm good at: 

Meaningless, annoying noise

On that note, on to the fun!

So, in case you don't know how this works, I dig into the blog's stats page and discuss some of the Google searches that lead wayward readers to my humble musings.  And there are some good ones this week, so let's begin! 

1) Skin Flaking In Anal Region

Dr Brett says ...

Use more lube? 

I often get these medical searches and feel bad when these frustrated people find themselves on my blog.

As far as this one is concerned...all I can say is that I'm really sorry.   I wonder if the searcher got excited when they saw the title of my blog and was all "FINALLY!  A WHOLE WEBSITE DEDICATED TO MY FLAKING ANUS PROBLEM!"  Then they clicked it and was subjected to my BS.  However, I think "skin flaking in the anal region" is probably a fantastic metaphor for my writing.  Either way, because of what I just typed, I look forward to finding a "FLAKING ANUS PROBLEM" search in the coming weeks. 

2) I'll Pick You Up At A Whole Ordeal

I'm with you, Blanche

I can't even begin to imagine what this person was searching for.  I thought maybe it was the title of some indie movie I hadn't heard of.  But when I cut and pasted the phrase into Google, guess what was the first thing that popped up?  Me!  (I win!)  Then, I thought maybe this was something that a person meant to email a friend ("Cool, we're on for Saturday night?  Should I drive? I'll pick you up at a whole ordeal!"), but mistakenly put it into a Google search. 

3) This Girl Named Whitney Long Blonde Hair With Blue Eyes And Works

I have no clue who this person is searching for, but I hope its some random girl he stood behind in line at Target.  Like I picture this dude staring at a beautiful girl and thinking, "how can I talk to her..what's she buying? Maybe I can start up a conversation about that...toilet paper? Hmm...I could suggest a softer brand, but she probably doesn't want to hear about the skin flaking in my anal region." Then her phone rings and she answers, "Hey, it's Whitney...no, I can't, I have to work today."  And with that, she was out of his life.  To the Google, he thinks!  After all, what's not to love? She has long blonde hair (woo!), blue eyes (woo!)...and a job! (triple woo!).  I'm sure he'll find her. 

4) Fuck Old People Hard

I don't want to know.

5) Fuuuuuck You Denmark You're Gay

C'mon, Dad, stop using Google.

It's just weird to me that someone would type in that search. Like, if you had a negative experience in Denmark (and judging by all the U's, let's assume they did), why not type in "bad experiences in Denmark" or even "Denmark sucks."  Then again, maybe the guy standing behind Whitney in line at Target was named "Denmark," and that's just her response to him.  She's mean.

6) Brett Sills Sucks

This Weeks Most Popular Search? 

 "Zack Morris." 

Still got it

Have a great weekend everyone.

What January 5th Means To Me: Farewell To The Two Shows That Made Me Miss New York

Oh, Bored To Death and How To Make It In America...we hardly knew ye. 

It seems like hundreds of television shows use New York as a backdrop, while simultaneously attempting to create a character out of the unique city that specializes in both creating and crushing hopes and dreams, while duping you into feeling that your entire pursuit is, in fact, romantic.  After all, Frank Sinatra crooned that if one could "make it there, (they) could make it anywhere," and there is truth to this as New York has this embedded mystical quality that rises like warm steam (or nitrous oxide) through sidewalk cracks and intoxicates its citizens, causing them to think that its canyons are actually some kind of concrete Garden of Eden (just have one five-minute conversation with anyone who lives in New York and you'll know what I mean).  But although small screen depictions of New York mostly fail, HBO shows like Sex And The City, and the recently cancelled, low rated half hours Bored To Death and How To Make It In America actually did capture complexity and exhilaration of living in the city that doesn't sleep.

By all accounts, How To Make It In America was not a great television show. At all.  It featured strange subplots that created an abnormal jigsaw puzzle that never quite fit, resulting in a half-hour of disjointed storytelling, starring a strange, yet somewhat interesting stew of Bryan Greenburg, Victor Rasuk, Luis Guzman, and Kid Cudi, that was compelling enough to watch, but never satisfying enough on an emotional level.  It was, perhaps, unintentionally introduced to audiences as a replacement for Entourage, except the show never approached the fringes of "funny," and actually never really tried.  And, unlike Entourage, which exhibited just how fun a celebrity's life can be, while creating a fairy tale of Hollywood where a character's biggest problem is the size of his calves (I'll miss you, Johnny Drama), How To Make It In America was all about the hustle of trying to even get a sniff of that success.  The two main characters, Cam and Ben, are poor, but never hungry, on the precipice of failure, but never deterred, and in a sense, How To Make It In America became a show about dream survival for an entire generation who inherited a shitty economy, and less opportunity, but still retain hope (perhaps out of naivete) that they, too, can follow their creative pursuits. It provided a three-walled safe house where failure seemed admirable, and success perhaps inevitable, which easily allowed us to effortlessly live vicariously through them, even if their daily trials and tribulations weren't all that interesting, in a world (fashion design) that most of us don't really know or care about. But even though this all sounds depressing, and I suppose at times it was, they successfully, and subtly, characterized New York as that sexy place, where "only the strong survive."  Though Ben and Cam never got their "Crisp" fashion label into Barney's, they still seemed to be able to tap into a fun, NYC subculture that gave their pursuits credibility and would provide them motivation to keep going.  With constant use of cityscapes and street shots, How To Make It In America proved that the hustle can still be fun, and spoke to a generation that continues to dream and be optimistic, even while getting kicked in the teeth.  In this way, it's kind of like an anti-Entourage, or the "realistic" Entourage for the unemployed.  Either way, we'll never know if Crisp jeans will become popular. 

Bored To Death, another love letter to New York, is a completely different animal from How To Make It In America, though also succeeded at using New York as a character that seemed to play an active role in the show's constant calamities.  Also, unlike HTMIA, Bored To Death was, by all means, a quirky, hilarious, smart, and subtle thirty minutes of television, even if it was more of an acquired taste.  The mixture of Ted Danson, Jason Schwartzman, and Zach Galifianakis created for one of the best ensembles on television, and though the plot lines were often beyond absurd, they did seem to make sense in their small world that seemed completely plausible thanks to the mystery/assumed possibility of New York.  Whether dealing with an S&M club raid, the opening of a Brooklyn organic restaurant, a shootout on the docks, or Mommy and Me meeting in Central Park, the show expertly used the heightened reality of New York and tapped into the thought process that hundreds of strange and unknown subcultures do exist, and that exploring the vast seedy underbelly of America's most popular city is as interesting as it sounds.  Whether or not any of these crazy subplots were inspired by actual truth is completely irrelevant because the world created within the show, mixed with preconceived notions of New York as a city of endless possibility, allowed for the insane storylines to exist and added extra layers to an already sophisticated brand of comedy.

All the above said, it's not a shock that both these shows were cancelled.  They either didn't attempt to appeal to large audiences or failed in their quest to do so.  But they both did capture the idiosyncrasies, possibilities, and sexiness of New York, and I, personally, would have loved to see where more time would have lead them. 

What January 4th Means To Me: Potatoes

Here's a quiz.  For a brief moment on Monday night, what did me and the below have in common?

Oh, to be Irish in the mid 1800's

Answer?  Everything.

Ever have one of those weekends where it just seems like nothing goes right?  Everything from the serious (like health, career, love life) to the not-so-serious, like choosing the wrong exit lane in a pay parking garage, and getting stuck behind a guy who tries to pay his ticket with an argument?   That was last weekend for me.  Just one enema of a weekend.  But even though I was prepared to just punt the sadness and lick my wounds, I decided to put all my energy and hopes into one thing (I am a gambler, after all).  There was one simple idea that would make it all better and catapult me into a week of awesome:

Oh yes, potatoes.   But not just any potatoes, those wonderful potatoes from the California Chicken Cafe.  I'm not sure what they put in them (oil, garlic, and magic?), but I love them.  In fact, they are the only reason I even go to that restaurant.  And my body agrees.  In fact, just the thought of them?

Actual footage of my taste buds upon the thought of the potatoes

Sure, I also buy a some bullshit wrap and a side of fruit, but that's just for show and the sake of balance. I really just want the potatoes. And each time I eat that meal, I ration the potatoes so it's my last bite.  I make sure to eat half the wrap and some of the fruit before I even dig in to the potatoes, just so I can stare them down, make my mouth water, and deprive myself as if that will somehow make them taste better.  Like I earned their love. 

Early last Monday, towards the end of the aforementioned shitty weekend, I decided to make a last stand. If circumstances, bad luck, and BS had prevailed for most of the weekend, I'd fight back. I decided that, not only would I get the potatoes that night, I would do something bold.  Something I'd never done before.  I'd get the bigger size. Yeah, that's right.  I'd eat more potatoes than I previously ever had. And it was all I could think about all day.  In fact, I went to lunch with my friend R and just stared at my food with pity. And though I knew R was telling me about her Christmas vacation, all I could hear was..





Anyway, finally, after putzing around for a few hours, the moment had come: potato time. I high tailed it to the cafe, walked up to the counter where the girl immediately started inputting my order (I'm beyond predictable), but I said "you know what, lets get the bigger size of potatoes today."  She gave me a daring look (no she didn't), and a few minutes later, I held a bag with my wrap, fruit, and, most importantly, a large container of potatoes. 

And that's when things got weird.

After about 7/8th's of my walk home, I was visited by a ghost.  The ghost of the great Harry Houdini. And, feeling this presence, I glanced at my bag only to notice that something was just a bit off.  I inspected the clear plastic bag. Wrap? Check. Fruit? Check. Fork and napkins? Check.  Potatoes?  Where the FUCK were the potatoes. Now, when I left the restaurant, I knew they were in the bag, hell, how could I miss them, I got the bigger size, remember?  You know that brief moment of surprise, where your mind doesn't quite grasp reality, and you think ever so irrationally?  That was me in that moment.  My thought wasn't "hmm, did I forget the potatoes?" it was "where are the potatoes hiding?"  I searched every nook and cranny of the bag, as if the potatoes shrunk themselves to the size of a pea and were hiding somewhere between two slices of honeydew.  And it was during that search that I saw it.  The hole in the side of the bag...

inconsolable

Which quickly became...

Fuck it all.

If the fruit had fallen out, I would have shrugged.  Had the wrap fallen out, well, I would have been used to that because the restaurant slathers it in mayo 25 percent of the time, rendering it inedible to me.  Why couldn't the fork and napkins have escaped?  I walked back to my apartment completely defeated, and ate my wrap and fruit with contempt, as if their jealousy had pushed the potatoes out of the bag.  Then I showered, curled up in bed with a pillow, and cried. 

Truly, a modern day tragedy. 

Universal, Paramount, Miramax, Fox, Fox Searchlight, Summit...the rights to this story are officially on sale. 

Let the bidding begin. 

What January 1st-3rd Means To Me: Weekend and New Year Thoughts

Happy new year, everyone.  Here are my pointless observations of the weekend:

Hey, so I guess another New Year's Happened:


Same Old Shit. 

New Years is one of those holidays that makes me wonder about humanity.  Many consider January 1st as some sort of "fresh start," as if the clock striking midnight actually eliminates any sort of problems you had only minutes before.  It doesn't.  That said, there is something cathartic about watching the ball drop, and something mildly intoxicating about the communal celebration of the New Year.  It's just strange that people wait till this day to find a sense of false motivation ... which leads me to...

THE RESOLUTIONISTS ARE BACK!

Ah yes, the gym cup hath runneth over with new people in search of a better body in 2012.  I've discussed them before, and true to form, there they were early Monday morning blocking me from the front desk with all their sign ups and questions.  I could just see them all only a week earlier, staring down that 4th piece of cake while commenting to their friend, "well, might as well enjoy it now, because I'm gonna start dieting after New Years!!!   TEEEE HEEEEEEE HAAAA HAAAAAAA!"  Then, I figure they both sponteanously sing RESOLUTION to the tune of that "Revoltution" song from the early 90's. You know the one I'm talking about?  Unfortunately YouTube doesn't either, but I swear it exists. 

Regardless, these people are generally gone by February and the gym returns to normal. 

NEW YEARS MEMORY:

Just about midnight on the East Coast, an old buddy of mine texted to inform me it was the 10 year anniversary of the time he had horrible diarrhea on New Years.  If anything is worthy of celebration, I suppose this is it.  That evening, a decade ag,o starting innocently enough, with his purchasing of an egg salad sandwich at a diner, and ended a few hours later with a whirlwind search for an available toilet. After deciding the line for the bathroom at the club was too long, after being denied by the local McDonalds who told him he'd have to buy something first, after a futile search for a vacant alley to do this business, he decided to cut the long line for the club bathroom and deal with the consequences (which apparently was a minute long tirade courtesy of the people he cut).  For me, that night, I spotted a cute girl that I had been waiting hours to talk to.  Finally, she freed herself long enough from her friends for me to engage her in conversation, but that fateful conversation was soon rudely interrupted by my sick buddy, post poo, slamming me on the shoulder while saying "WE'RE GOING!"  I turned to the girl, shrugged, and said "duty calls," a double entendre that was only humorous to me.  I still tell him, to this day, that I'd probably have married that girl, and he ruined everything.

Anyway, that friend is now married with two kids (and another one the way), but I'm still pleased that his first thought this past New Years was not to kiss his wife or children, but to text me about a shit he took ten years ago.

COUPLE MORE NOTES ON COMMERCIALS

A few days ago I was hating on recent commercials, but wanted to mention two more.

Time Warner Commercial Where Guy Oversleeps: 

I'm not sure if this commercial is local, but it has to be the most retarded thing airing on television. In the ad, a sleeping guy is rudely awaken by a phone call informing him that people are "at the gate" (his house?) and that he "better have the presentation ready."  Panicked, he quickly jumps out of bed, downloads three things (what could this have to do with a presentation?) and gets dressed.  Then, he rushes back to his computer to put the finishing touches on his "presentation," which is the downloading of what appears to be ... a movie ticket! Yes, a movie ticket! What a strange presentation! What does this guy do for a living, I'm dying to know. 

My guess is (well, I hope) that this was some kind of stock footage and the "presentation" bit was stupidly added afterwards.  It's the only explanation.  Either way, they couldn't come up with anything better to show that the Time Warner cable modem is fast? 

Sloane From Entourage...Is This The Only Work You Can Get?

There's a national Budweiser/NBA ad featuring two rappers (who I guess I'm supposed to know?) that excitedly sing about Budweiser to the tune of "12 Days Of Christmas."  Anyway, the commercial features festive set pieces with the two dudes singing, and Luke Wilson chiming in every so often (about basketball and beer or something).   Interestingly, two of the frames feature Emmanuelle Chriqui (Sloane) simply pointing at people with this nod that suggests "yeah, that's right."   And that's it.  It's one of those strange moments because she's instantly recognizable, yet filling the role of some glorified extra  Get that money made, I suppose.

Oh yeah, it was hot in LA this weekend.  I love 80 degree weather in January.

Keep Calm And Carry On.