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What I Learned While on Vacation With My Mother in Oregon

1.) I smirk like Michael C. Hall. Not in pictures, not to people, but in those little self-gratifying “a-ha” moments which typically occur in public and most likely make me look smug. The problem is, I hate that smirk. I hated when he did it on “Six Feet Under” and I hate how he does it on “Dexter”. Why did I develop this problem? Why?

2.) This is the first time I’ve seen my mother in 9 months and I was confused and disappointed to discover that the phrase, “Cool beans!” comes out of her mouth after each excitable moment. I casually mentioned to her that it’s not 1998 anymore but she says she can’t help it. I love her nonetheless.
3.) Some breed of fly has taken over coastal Oregon. They swarm onto you by the dozens and stick to your body. It makes you realize what rotten fruit must feel like.

4.) Oregon is way too clean. Look, I lived in the state where three of the dirtiest beaches in the country are located. I’m used to a little poop in my drinking water. My first introduction to Venice (more…)
September 23, 2009 by
Writing

I Left My Stomach in Oregon

I’m sick.
Sicker than dirt.
No, wait.
Sicker than a dog.
I take my first real vacation, well, almost ever, to the Oregon Coast and I get sick exactly two hours after I land in Portland.
Mouth ajar, snot trickling out nose, mumbling intelligible words to my mother.
“What did you just say?!” she barks.
“Slememenemen”, I respond back.

Then after eating at Mo’s about three hours ago, I get cramps.
So right now I’m being a whiny little bitch.
I can’t close my mouth and my stomach sounds like whales mating.
Enjoy these pictures below. I’m too weak to explain fully what they are. First person who figures out what they’re from gets…uh…a coupon for 75 cents f(2) Morningstar frozen food items.

I’ll give you a hint.
It’s something from your childhood (unless you’re an old person).


September 22, 2009 by
Writing

Crosseyed and Painless

Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to the taco stand for the third day in a row…
It’s Friday and it’s raining in Austin! What a marvelous day! Mama Jewess is coming into town this weekend (before we embark on our trip to Portland), I’m mostly moved in to my new place, and I’m trying to think of ways to avoid talking to the guy I last dated who will be walking into my office in 80 minutes. I was going to run an “errand” while he is here and put Mannequin Baby or Glenda in my place. Any suggestions would be nice.

Today I posted my first post on East Austinite.
East Austin is the South’s version of LES. Except instead of punks and graffiti artists, it’s men who love their bikes more than women and women who love American Apparel more than men. Wait, I guess that could qualify as LES too. Well, you won’t see a bunch of dudes with beards playing techno-folk on a front porch in New York, will you?
Anyways, I’m really excited about joining the East Austinite team. Their blog is the (more…)
September 11, 2009 by
Writing

Home is Where I Want to Be, Pick Me Up and Turn Me ‘Round….

I’ve been working a lot. A LOT. So I’m recycling old stuff. I’m sorry. Here you go.
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I wrote an essay arguing the quote, “You can never go home again”. I stated that Thomas Wolfe didn’t know what the hell he was talking about and you can indeed go home again. In fact, I wrote that home can be in multiple places and I took the opportunity to quote my favorite Talking Heads song in the title, “Home is where I want to be, but I guess I’m already there” (I will use any excuse to quote Talking Heads in my writing).

Actually, I think I’m the one who’s full of shit. I’m 25. Why I thought I was an expert on this matter is beyond me.
As I write this, I’m in Upstate New York at the “home” I grew up in. I’m visiting from where my current “home” is in Austin, TX. However, I’m missing my “home” in L.A. where I have left most of my large possessions and a brick-walled studio apartment in Koreatown. So, one could say that my heart is in three places- New York, California, and Texas. (more…)
September 10, 2009 by
Writing

Robert Evans’ Skank Tried to Slug Me

I had completely forgotten about the above statement until today, when I was talking to Adrian about the wonderful documentary THE KID STAYS IN THE PICTURE. If you’ve never seen it, it is the documentary-style adaptation of Hollywood producer Robert Evans’ autobiography of the same name. Evans was and is a colorful character, having epotimized Hollywood cool in the 1970’s (he was married to Ali MacGraw, friends with Jack Nicholson and produced THE GODFATHER, CHINATOWN, and ROSEMARY’S BABY) and Hollywood down-and-out in the 1980’s (he was convicted of trying to buy cocaine and linked to the murder of an investor).

Here is a little backstory…
I was a featured player on a barely known TLC reality series called “Going Hollywood”. The show chronicled the day-to-day adventures of three fresh-of-the-bus interns working at Robert Evans’, Method Man’s, and my boss’ respective production companies. My role was to help show our intern, Ian, the ropes. Ian ended up working at our company after (more…)
September 8, 2009 by
Writing

Au revoir, mon Ranch

You were one of the lead characters in the chapter I wrote about Los Angeles.
When I left that vague city behind me, you were mostly what I thought about. A entity of substance floating amongst the vapid ghosts of my memories.
Remember the nights when we’d stay up late talking, your whole body creating music, art; you expelling an intricate web between the souls that came to you for inspiration?
And though everything about you was slightly unhinged, I found comfort in your lack of symmetry.
How do you mourn a house? Especially one that was completely annihilated by a fast and purposeful fire? Do you grieve for it like you would a person? Dwelling on the fanciful memories that blow the subject up like a balloon, wildly out of proportion and heavy on the heart?
In every way, The Ranch was what you set out to make it, Kevin. It was that place. The place where artists and musicians and filmmakers came and did what they did best- create. I know you wanted so much more for it, but (more…)
September 4, 2009 by
Writing

Hipsters on a Boat

The other day, the entire office committed a minor coup d’etat and decided to have a boat party.

See? Look how much FUN we’re having!

It got even better when Ben took off his shirt.

I brought my bondage gear…


And Cameron and Leah approved. Oh YEAH.
People held hands….
And danced, danced, DANCED!
But then violence broke out.
And a hurricane swept through.
People started to jump ship.
And fearing a shipwreck, ate everything that they could get their hands on.
But then God shone down his beautiful rays.
And we sailed off onto the rainbow of love.
September 3, 2009 by
Film, Pop Culture

Top Eleven Kids in the Hall Skits

I used to pretend I was Buddy Cole. It seems fitting that I would pretend to be an extremely effeminate bar fly who loved wearing a velvet jackets and loafers with no socks at fifteen years of age.
When I wasn’t Buddy, I was Kathy with “K”. Or the Chicken Lady.
Sometimes I’d pretend to be Jocelyn the French-Canadian prostitute (I wanted to be as pretty as Dave Foley). Once I was Sir Simon Milligan AND Hecubus. Needless to say, as a teenager, I was obsessed with the Kids in the Hall. I forced all my friends to watch the show with me and reenact every episode.
I’m sorry.
I’ve been lucky enough to see the guys live four times, including an intimate, four-night only gig in Hollywood last year. I’ve also met them a few times, but the only thing I can remember is when in 1998, my bumbling high school boyfriend said to Dave Foley, “That really sucks about Phil Hartman.”. Dave stared at him, open-mouthed, then said, “Uh yeah, sure sucks that he was killed, huh?”
While I work on my (more…)
September 2, 2009 by
Writing

Woodstock Is The Same Age as Jason Bateman

 

Bathtub time is reserved for either listening to Hall & Oates and crying or coming up with ideas for new blog posts. One action does not necessarily inspire the other, but this morning the two converged. As I contemplated how much Daryl Hall really fucking loved Sara, I thought of the Woodstock Music Festival which celebrated it’s 40th anniversary this weekend and had nothing to do with Hall & Oates whatsoever. In fact, Daryl Hall and John Oates had only met two years prior to the legendary concert. I guess the awesomemulletmoustache duo came to mind because my mother loves them and she loved every single band that played at Woodstock. So in my mind, Hall & Oates played at Woodstock because my mother would have wanted them to.
My mother was nineteen years old when Woodstock took place in an upstate NY farm not far from where she grew up. She’s the only person over fifty that I talked today so I asked her her experiences with the festival.
“Oh yeah, I didn’t go.” (more…)
August 19, 2009 by
Writing

It Was a David Bowie Kind of Day

“Dude, the DP for Labryinth totally had a thing for Bowie’s junk”, I said.

Jennine didn’t even think twice before putting the giant, knee-high sock in the crotch of her overalls. I might have fallen in love Jennine at that moment.


Emily didn’t seem too happy about pretending to be the heroin-crazed, Nazi-loving, hallowed-out cheek David Bowie.
Thomas Newton doesn’t have anything on you.

“I’ve never seen a crotch do what yours is doing right now”, Emily said.
She was giving my crotch way too much credit.

August 18, 2009 by