Self Absorption at Discount Prices.

Photo

Fri, 24 May 2013 17:18:27 -0400

My friends Rachel and Tim made me an album cover. Now I just...

Mon, 20 May 2013 13:21:16 -0400

My friends Rachel and Tim made me an album cover. Now I just need to write 10-12 ballads with ghost/forest metaphors.

Smoke Break

Mon, 20 May 2013 03:12:00 -0400

(I almost never write short stories. This is one of them)

Casey ashed her Capri onto the rim of a dumpster outside of Pheasant, the best restaurant in a two and a half mile radius of itself. Thanks to a write up on a popular food blog (unfortunately or perhaps adorably named Small Plates, Big Words), the restaurant was positively slammed this evening and Casey, being the best and most oft requested server, was warn out. She was quite aware of how she looked leaning against a well lit brick wall, impossibly tiny cigarette hanging lazily from her perfect mouth, eyes darting from her phone to her apron as she noticed more and more errant bits of amazing food stuck to it. A grain of rice, a lone piece of arugala, a patch of sauce. She looked stunning and also filthy at the same time. She had gotten progressively better at killing time ever since she started working at Pheasant six months prior, after a bad breakup left her rudderless and a hasty move left her penniless.

The dinner rush was hell on her feet and she’d taken up smoking the smallest and most adorable cigarettes she could find in order to escape the chaos of the restaurant for a few extra minutes a night. It was only when she stopped moving, however, that she was able to fully internalize just how much her feet hurt, and the restaurant’s owner, Albert, refused to let her wear sneakers. A doughy Italian stereotype of a man, Albert thought sneakers looked plain, and insisted his servers were supposed to, in his words, “look like dessert.” Not surprisingly, Albert himself was no prize, and would look exactly like Super Mario if you put him in a red cap and overalls. Not slightly, exactly. His repeated attempts to incorporate Casey into his marriage with his beautiful, strange, artist wife Rita were always met with a resounding no, but every day she thought about it a little more. Some wine, maybe dancing, no doubt a heavy dose of MDMA because, as Albert would put it, “We’re old, be we are not dead!”

Truthfully, the real reason any of this ever crossed Casey’s mind was not because she was deeply in need a sexual reawakening at the hands of an older, worldly couple, but rather because Albert always bragged about having so much cash in his house, he was running out of hiding places. He was an amateur poker player who would take long stretches of time to go to Vegas for “practice.” He’d come back bleary eyed and sleep deprived and he’d take it out on the staff, but never Casey. He seemed to delight in telling her about all of his winnings in an effort to charm the apron off of her. Not a shift went by without him bringing up his, “dirty money.” In fact, he mentioned the obviously laundered money and it’s various locations so many times in his poor attempts to flirt with her, she had begun compiling a list on her phone’s notepad. At first they were obvious: taped behind a framed photograph, in a dummy coffee can with a false bottom in the pantry, lining the sides of a fifty pound bag of dog food in their three car garage. But as the weeks wore on, they got more and more elaborate: Sealed in an airtight plastic bag inside the pool filter, stuffed into a hollowed out leg of the kitchen table, and, ironically, crammed into Rita’s bizarre, ugly, and as-yet-unsold piggy bank sculpture that was proudly displayed in the foyer of their impressive Miracle Mile home. It was intended as a comment on American consumerism, but ended up looking like rejected concept art from a Tim Burton movie. The best part of all of these stories were that they always ended the same way, with Albert guffawing at himself until his face was flushed red while exclaiming, “I don’t even count it! I just toss it and walk away!”

Casey would spend these cigarette breaks turning it over and over in her head. How she’d walk up his long driveway with purpose in the black dress Albert had left in her cubby on her birthday, just two weeks after she’d begun to work there. The intricate lace up back would be a two person operation, and it was so impossibly low cut that she felt like a horny preteens sketchbook drawing of a woman the one time she tried it on. The designer was Deborah Turkington, who Casey had never heard of in her life. Albert had told her she was all the buzz during Fashion Week in Milan, but it looked more like it would have been all the buzz in an after hours hookah bar in Glendale. Nevertheless, she would put on her tacky, sexy little dress and a pair of shoes that looked like stilts, clip-clop up their ridiculous driveway, and, clutching a charmingly cheap bottle of wine, knock delicately on the door. She’d be relaxed, effervescent, and flirtatious. She’d regale Albert and Rita with stories of her days in college, about her bisexual roommate and her affair with a professor. And even though neither story was true, they were what a forty seven year old man wanted to hear. And she would deliver the goods until both of her hosts were good and drunk, and then, with a graceful flip of her hair, she’d say, “shall we move this to a smaller, darker room?” And then, if her timing was correct, and it always was, that’s when the Xanax in their wine would start to take affect. They’d fight it, both too stubborn and eager to admit they were too drowsy to take the party to it’s logical next level, and invite her to the master bedroom. Or the Jacuzzi. Or the den, which they’d dubbed “The Couch Room,” because a soft leather sofa wrapped completely around the walls. It didn’t matter what room. After 10 or so uncomfortable minutes of pawing around in the semi dark, a sweaty hand squeezing a breast, a hot stubbly neck kiss, a tongue in an armpit, they’d be asleep in an eager, aged pile, Casey’s Easter Egg Hunt could begin. She’d sweep each of the thirty-four locations, taking three bills from each: one with the highest denomination, one with the lowest, and a third from the middle. If she hit every hiding place, she estimated she could have anywhere from eight to twenty thousand dollars. Then, she’d leave a pair of underwear on the chair next to their bed with a note: “Crazy night! Thanks for being such great hosts! Love, Case.” The requisite winking smiley face would also make a cameo.

She’d played it out like that so many times that she could watch it like a movie whenever she wanted. She fantasized about that money enough that she could feel the weight of it in her hand. She imagined herself organizing it in stacks, from smallest to largest. She pictured her car loan vanishing, the cardboard boxes and Craigslist Ikea furniture in her studio apartment changing into beautiful fancy adult things. And she could get her mortifying, awful tattoo removed. Some girls get dolphins on their lower backs, Casey had a Marlin below her belly button. She still holds a grudge against tequila for that one.

Suddenly a voice broke through and interrupted her elaborate fantasy. “Hey, table four is whining for you, again. I think they want you to sell them on the flourless chocolate cake.” Casey looked up to see Ryan, the handsome-ish busboy smiling at her. She looked down at her cigarette and saw mostly ash and filter. She put it out on the wall and followed him back in. “You always look like you’re on another planet on your breaks, What do you think about when you come out here?” He looked at her expectantly, and with a sarcastic grin, she shot back, “you, dreamboat.”

This is my favorite picture of myself.

Mon, 20 May 2013 02:40:00 -0400

This is my favorite picture of myself.

wow. yes. okay.

Thu, 16 May 2013 16:10:11 -0400

wow. yes. okay.

i just deleted a self effacing yet still annoying post where i complained about a few things that have happened to me lately, and even after adding a layer of (requisite) ironic detachment, i still think it's unfit to post because holy shit, who the fuck am i to complain about anything at all when everything is pretty much great and i'm doing some fun things and i'm able to eat food and drink drinks which are the best things you can eat and drink so i guess what i'm trying to say is that i apologize for the entry you didn't have to read because i deleted it and now that i'm saying that i realize that i could have just not posted it and no one would have ever known but now you know that i acted like an ungrateful little shit in the privacy of my own lap (writing this on a macbook that is 4 years old but it is still mine i own it i paid for it and i get to use it whenever i want that's luxury baby) but now that that's over and done with i think we can all move on, call it a day, and wait patiently for 15 new episodes of arrested development to arrive on netflix, which feels like a crazy thing but it's actually happening and i've never been more excited to spend 7.5 hours glued to my couch. good talk.

Wed, 15 May 2013 21:21:00 -0400

noel: The happy ending of Manic Pixie Nightmare Girl!!!! Noel...

Tue, 14 May 2013 19:25:36 -0400

noel:

The happy ending of Manic Pixie Nightmare Girl!!!!

Noel and I had a real fun picnic. Nothing weird happened!

Things I Am Confused By #35246477

Mon, 13 May 2013 19:35:00 -0400

Females with Twitter handles like “TitsDragon” or “MisterGrandma” who have 12,000 followers, an avatar that’s a close up of a mouth or a tank top and a hand holding a footlong hot dog, tweets about like going on a date when you have a yeast infection, a jokey location like “in my cleavage,” and no URL link. Who are you? Are you comedians? Writers? Actors? Bored people? What’s your end game?

Iron Man III (SPOILERS)

Sun, 12 May 2013 18:15:00 -0400

I love Iron Man. I love Robert Downey Jr. When I went to see Iron Man II a few years ago at a Thursday Midnight screening at the Arclight in Hollywood, Jon Favreau and RDJ were THERE and they surprised the audience with an intro. I leapt to my feet and gave an almost involuntary standing ovation. I also vaguely remember yelling “you’re our greatest living actor!” So, I’m on board for Iron Man.

The third movie was the first time I felt like I was either too old for superhero movies, or that this particular one was spectacularly lazy and/or manipulative. Either way, Irom Man III didn’t do it for me. And that’s okayI I’m an adult! I don’t have to see every blockbuster movie (anymore). It wasn’t a total loss. There were some fun moments, some dumb moments, and some REALLY tacked on Christmas moments. It was not unwatchable. Adam Pally has a really fun cameo in it toward the middle that made my UCB heart swell three times it’s size. My biggest takeaway though, was a moment toward the end. If you haven’t seen the movie, don’t read any further. It will spoil the ending and it won’t make any sense to you. There. Warning over!

At the end, the person to actually defeat Cillian whatever his fucking name is (Guy Pearce, looking weirdly fake tan perfect like a guy with his own Bravo show about a dog manicurist or something) is Pepper Potts. She is in the second or third stage of some treatment to become a super soldier trophy wife with lava running through her ridiculously toned body (we know this because she is in a sports bra for the last 45 minutes of the movie because why should a woman be allowed all of her clothes in a movie like this?). Anyway, she saves the day and it’s sort of cool. Then she and Tony Stark embrace and it’s kind of a cool moment because now she’s a superhero too! Are they going to be a team and fight evil together? Nope, Tony basically says, “thanks for saving my life, now let’s get those superpowers out of you ASAP!” So, her screen time as a hero is basically one minute long, and then she gets to go right back to running her boyfriend’s company while he goes out and does cool shit with his overly manicured facial hair. It bummed me out almost as much as not seeing Sam Rockwell dance in this one. I definitely missed that.

Milestone (aka BOOBS) 2013

Fri, 10 May 2013 04:35:00 -0400

Milestone (aka BOOBS)

2013

hugewiener: There was a party on May 3rd at the University of...

Wed, 08 May 2013 17:55:24 -0400

hugewiener:

There was a party on May 3rd at the University of Southern California with the majority of attendees being African-American and Hispanic USC students. The party was registered with the school, and there was another party directly across the street being attended by mostly Caucasian/White students. Both parties had similar noise levels according to dozens of accounts from both sides (source).

Two cops arrived to the party with the minorities and told them to lower their noise level; the party’s host told the attendees to go inside the house and they resumed the party in there with lower volume. A few minutes later the cops came back and students began leaving, and the cops arrested the host. More and more cops began to arrive and soon a helicopter came. All of this was while the students were filing out and more and more cops entered the home; furthermore, the white party continued across the street and some officers even went there to tell them to stay inside and safe. A white student told reporters that “basically they didn’t stop our party at all. They had no problem with us.” (source).

As the minority students saw all the cops and attempted to leave, some were tased, and some were slammed to the ground and arrested. Many resisted on the grounds that they had no idea why they were being arrested seeing as they were leaving peacefully and were over the drinking age (the party required ID). Even more cops arrived (source)(video).

Later that night at about 4:30am, a resident at the house where the white party was thrown was awoken by thudding. He rose to see two LAPD officers trying to speak to his roommate. They ordered him to wake up everybody in the (co-ed) house and as they did so they stumbled into two female residents shirtless and asleep, and one of the officers simply stared. (source)

The reason that they were in that house was to gather statements about how LAPD acted correctly against the minority students but the students at the white party’s house gave factual statements that did not incriminate the minority students how the officers wanted. They have complained about their home being entered without a warrant in the middle of the night but have yet to hear back.

On Tuesday USC will have an open forum in regards to the racial profiling that happened (at the party and in the past) at the school but that is not enough; this has to be more than a local issue and should be made known nationally. USC has issues with racial profiling and it is time that it stops. Anyone can help by signing this petition and making it big. (Photograph source)

Hey look. A six week old kitten who is sleepy. How are things...

Wed, 08 May 2013 04:56:18 -0400

Hey look. A six week old kitten who is sleepy. How are things allowed to be this small?

Adam Sandler Calls Kevin James In 2006: A Transcript

Tue, 07 May 2013 16:34:00 -0400

KEVIN: Hello?
ADAM: Kevin? Hey, it's Adam Sandler.
KEVIN: Hey, man! How are you?
ADAM: Good! Good. Big King of Queens fan, buddy! You're funny, man!
KEVIN: Thanks! Aw, that's nice to hear.
ADAM: Yeah, I love your comedy. So funny. Real good, limber, fat stuff.
KEVIN: What?
ADAM: Nothing. Anyway, I was talking to the other Bad Boys of SNL--
KEVIN: --wait, the what?
ADAM: The Bad Boys of SNL. You know, Schneider, Spade, Rock.
KEVIN: Oh yeah, that was the name of a VHS tape, right?
ADAM: Yeah, yeah. It had all of us. Our classic skits. Farley too.
KEVIN: Oh man, Farley, what a talent.
ADAM: I know, bud. So limber and also fat.
KEVIN: What?
ADAM: Nothing. Listen, you wanna do a movie with me? We play guys who pretend to be gay or something. The guys and I were talking. It's time for a new limber fatman. Whaddaya say, Chris?
KEVIN: My name is Kevin.
ADAM: No, totally, Farls.
KEVIN: Dude, what? My name is KEVIN JAMES.
ADAM: Sure, sure. Listen, do you want to make 200 million dollars in the next 10 years?
KEVIN: Um, I think so!? What's the catch?
ADAM: You have to let me and the guys call you Chris and you have to pal around with all of us in our mansions like we've all been friends since the late 80s.
KEVIN: Man, I don't know what's sadder: that request, or the fact that I am 100% in.
ADAM: It's a tie, Chris. Just like the red bowtie you wore in the Chippendales sketch.
KEVIN: Man...
ADAM: Shabbidydoo!

(Sandler hangs up the phone and finishes gluing Kevin's face on a 1993 SNL cast photo. Kevin turns on a DVD of Tommy Boy and starts taking notes).

Im not playing this show tonight because Harvard and Stone is racist against rap music.

Tue, 07 May 2013 14:52:31 -0400

mikeeaglestinks:

I admit that I use the term ‘racist’ loosely.

In the past i’ve said that my android phone is racist against emojis and that Instagram is racist against Twitter. Aside from it simply being humorous to me, it points out the absurdity of an entity choosing not to operate alongside of another entity categorically rather than for reasons of quality.

Last night I got a phone call explaining to me that a series of messages between the manager of Harvard and Stone (the venue) and the show’s organizer resulted in my removal from the show. Apparently this series of messages began with the manager asking if there were any rap or dance acts on the show, and ends with the organizer being told explicitly that due to a policy against rap acts that ‘Open Mike Eagle would not be allowed to play the show.’

As I write this, I feel very disappointed.

Disappointed not for any lofty, humanistic, or idyllic reasons though. I tour the entire country. You hear these kinds of notions in more rural areas. I’m never any happier to hear them and every time it happens I check my cell phone clock to make sure its not 1989. But these notions still do indeed exist.

I’m disappointed as an individual. Disappointed because i was looking forward to this show, i’d been promoting it, i stood to make a little money, and i need the practice for this festival I’m playing at the end of the month.

Disappointed because this opportunity was taken away from me when i haven’t done anything wrong.

I’m not a violent person and i don’t promote any negativity in my music.

A knife fight has never broken out in the audience during my They Might Be Giants mash up.

This whole thing is very embarrassing.

Not necessarily because i thought that LA entertainment would be past this. But because i have to have this sensitive conversation with my family and fans. Embarrassing because I can’t talk about how all this went down in an honest way without saying how I really feel about it.

Im fucking offended. Because whats basically being said to me is that the manager of this bar doesn’t care if i promoted. Doesn’t care about the little money I was supposed to make. Doesn’t care that I’ll look like a jackass to anyone who comes there to see me.

What he’s saying to me is that since i’m a rapper, he doesn’t care about any of this. But if I was any other kind of musician then he would care.

Thats why I feel like the word ‘racist’ is appropriate. I’m being punished for being part of a category. And while I don’t want to pretend I know enough about this man I haven’t met to attribute his prejudice to racial stereotypes, I do wonder if he would have made the decision if he’d looked at my videos or whatever he ‘checked out’ and saw a white man holding a microphone.

I can’t imagine that he actually listened to anything that I said.

Man, fuck Harvard and Stone. Fuck their overpriced drinks, their terrible clientele, their annoying doormen, their suspendered “mixologists,” and their archaic attitude toward rap music. Gross.

Staffing season

Mon, 06 May 2013 15:33:00 -0400

gregwhite:

Speed dating for writers.

Yes, very much so.

I’m the Macguyver of this laundry game. No second trips...

Sat, 04 May 2013 21:30:08 -0400

I’m the Macguyver of this laundry game. No second trips for me.

Happy Star Wars Day!

Sat, 04 May 2013 15:42:46 -0400

Happy Star Wars Day!

I hope the tackiness of me posting this is offset by the...

Thu, 02 May 2013 14:09:00 -0400

I hope the tackiness of me posting this is offset by the goofiness of how awful this squatting, blurry Sarah Chalke screen grab is. And if it’s not, hey whatever! It’s my first onscreen written by credit! I’m taking a free pass on this one. Thank you in advance!

Mr. 3,000 over here.

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 19:01:27 -0400

Mr. 3,000 over here.

Some bro at the car wash is mean muggin’ me. Do something,...

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 03:19:05 -0400

Some bro at the car wash is mean muggin’ me. Do something, dude.