:< Hello?
:< Hello?
:< Who is this?
:< This is Michael. Who is this?
:< Dad?
If you don't know what this is, you officially suck. Watch "Lost" immediately! Seriously, it is ridiculous. At the end of tonight's episode, my stomach was churning. Nothing freaks me out like a good scary kid. I still walk around saying "I am your daughter, mommy!" Movies use spooky kids because spooky kids work. And Walt is the new great spooky kid. Even messages from him on a computer are scary! I've never understood how blood and weird monsters are scary, but give me a black kid who talks backwards and I'm freaked out.
Um, did I mention that Lost is amazing? Have we ever seen anything like it? I used to think "Hunter" was pretty good in the late '80's, but Fred Dryer was no Locke (I can't hate on Hunter though, mostly because of that 2-part episode where McCall was raped by a guy named Raoul, and then Hunter tracked him down to Mexico and killed him. I STILL hate guys named Raoul.) I guess Twin Peaks had a nice little run, and I remember getting freaked out while watching it. But it spun out of control pretty quickly until it was just a tribute to David Lynch's drug use. Maybe some of you out there would throw out the X Files. Well, I never really watched the X Files, but the episodes I did watch didn't do it for me. But I'll give you that one, although I think that series did that thing I hate, where they have a "monster" of some sort every single episode that must be defeated. Any show with that I immediately don't like (Hello there, Buffy and Smallville).
The genius of Lost is the way they are keeping their shit together. It's so hard to do episode after episode and keep things from sucking (I'm looking at you, Desperate Housewives. I'm not looking at you, OC, cause you're dead to us).
Damon Lindelof is clearly a genius. And as Josh Schwartz has shown us, genius is not writing a good episode. Genius is writing a good episode, and planning out a whole series. I've never watched a TV show before and and felt like I had to know the end. But the cool thing about the show is that they do give you stuff, just not everything. There are answers, not every episode, but in a lot of episodes - just enough to give you faith that these guys know what they're doing and you'll be rewarded for your viewership.
As far as the new people, I love that African dude with the sort of affection I only save for Brandon Walsh and Noel from Felicity. Yes, Michelle Rodriguez bugs sometimes, but she's pretty good when she's hanging out with Charlie from Party of Five. I'm also aided in liking her because some writers I used to work with who also wrote for award shows used to go on and on about how, in person, the hottest girl ever is Michelle Rodriguez. So I like to closely examine her to see how that could possibly be true.
Anyway, I can't say enough about this show and I hope everyone is watching and loved the ending tonight the way I did, but that is all I will say for now...
:< Dad?
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Monday, November 28, 2005
Jake Reviews the Movie and Sacrifices a Goat
After seeing the film "In the Mix", Jake says that he thought there were some good "aughts", and he particularly enjoyed the "waba" scene, but overrall thought the characterizations were too stereotypical and the direction lacked imagination.
And as seen in this photo, he has done me a huge favor and sacrificed this live goat in order to free my spirit of the movie. And now I can move on...
Top of the World, Ma...Part III: The Final Frontier
The movie opened this past weekend, and this is the as promised final chapter of my trilogy where I wax poetic about the whole experience and then we never have to talk about it again (yeah!).
On the weekend that Star Wars was released to the world, George Lucas went to Hawaii with Steven Spielberg, and while they received phone calls about the astronomical box office numbers and insane lines for the movie, they mapped out what would become "Indiana Jones". On the weekend that "In the Mix" opened, I went to Mexico with Jake Sommer, checked the internet for the dismal returns and even worse reviews (a 0% on Rotten Tomatoes!), as together we mapped out the hotel for aughts (lights) and waba (water).
I can't believe it's finally over. I feel like I just finished my rookie year playing QB for the Houston Texans, got sacked 100 times, and replaced mid-season by a shittier QB who went on to lose the rest of the games while I sat on the bench. But now it's time to latch on to another team for a second season, and hopefully, the new squad will have a better offensive line and something of a running game.
First of all, the movie did not make a lot of money, which was disappointing because it would've been nice to have something successful come from all of my hard work, and also because I need the money. The reviews were brutal. A part of this is because the studio decided not to have special screenings for the critics. This pisses them off. A lot. This guarantees bad reviews. But honestly, the movie was made for 14 year old girls and middle aged white guys are not really supposed to like it. And honestly, bashing this film is kinda silly because it is fairly harmless. But of course, I agree with most of the reviews, or at least all of the ones that blame Ron Douchewood. (If you think that this is hindsight by me, please refer to my April 20th entry: http://notesfromahack.blogspot.com/2005/04/dying-for-dolly-sneak-preview.html).
So what has the experience taught me? What have I learned? Well, there is no doubt that I made a lot rookie mistakes. But I made these mistakes for a very good reason: I wanted to write a movie. Unfortunately, I didn't care what happened as long as the movie got made and that my name was on it. Thus, I put up with a lot of bullshit I shouldn't have. I didn't stand up for myself. I didn't argue for my ideas. And I didn't piss anybody off. These seemed like good ways to play it at the time, and honestly, they kind of worked. But I will never do any of them again. I now have a crappy movie under my belt, and maybe there will be others, but next time when they are crappy it will be because I wrote them crappily, not because I was forced to do things I didn't want to do or because other people did them for me.
That is the biggest lesson: stick to your guns, don't sell out, be an asshole sometimes, the other people actually don't know what they're talking about even though they are acting like they do.
If you would've told me 2 years ago that I would have a movie with my name on it released in 1500 screens, I would've said it was the greatest thing in the world. But here's the thing: I was an idiot 2 years ago.
On the weekend that Star Wars was released to the world, George Lucas went to Hawaii with Steven Spielberg, and while they received phone calls about the astronomical box office numbers and insane lines for the movie, they mapped out what would become "Indiana Jones". On the weekend that "In the Mix" opened, I went to Mexico with Jake Sommer, checked the internet for the dismal returns and even worse reviews (a 0% on Rotten Tomatoes!), as together we mapped out the hotel for aughts (lights) and waba (water).
The movie takes place in a world where all black men carry guns, all Italians are connected, and we get great lines like “You may run the family of New Jersey but you do not run me!” and “What’s your father gonna think when I tell him you’ve got a taste of Jungle Fever”. Really, who talks like that? (I swear I said the exact same thing when reading the "new" version of the script)
I can't believe it's finally over. I feel like I just finished my rookie year playing QB for the Houston Texans, got sacked 100 times, and replaced mid-season by a shittier QB who went on to lose the rest of the games while I sat on the bench. But now it's time to latch on to another team for a second season, and hopefully, the new squad will have a better offensive line and something of a running game.
In the Mix may mark the exact moment at which the “black”-talking white guy character becomes as moldy and inherently unfunny as the shuck-and-jive black sidekick character.
First of all, the movie did not make a lot of money, which was disappointing because it would've been nice to have something successful come from all of my hard work, and also because I need the money. The reviews were brutal. A part of this is because the studio decided not to have special screenings for the critics. This pisses them off. A lot. This guarantees bad reviews. But honestly, the movie was made for 14 year old girls and middle aged white guys are not really supposed to like it. And honestly, bashing this film is kinda silly because it is fairly harmless. But of course, I agree with most of the reviews, or at least all of the ones that blame Ron Douchewood. (If you think that this is hindsight by me, please refer to my April 20th entry: http://notesfromahack.blogspot.com/2005/04/dying-for-dolly-sneak-preview.html).
Director Ron Underwood, who's been going steadily downhill since "City Slickers" (Pluto Nash, anybody?), can't even stage a rudimentary shootout effectively.
So what has the experience taught me? What have I learned? Well, there is no doubt that I made a lot rookie mistakes. But I made these mistakes for a very good reason: I wanted to write a movie. Unfortunately, I didn't care what happened as long as the movie got made and that my name was on it. Thus, I put up with a lot of bullshit I shouldn't have. I didn't stand up for myself. I didn't argue for my ideas. And I didn't piss anybody off. These seemed like good ways to play it at the time, and honestly, they kind of worked. But I will never do any of them again. I now have a crappy movie under my belt, and maybe there will be others, but next time when they are crappy it will be because I wrote them crappily, not because I was forced to do things I didn't want to do or because other people did them for me.
I guess when you make what most industry watchers call the biggest bomb in movie history ("The Adventures of Pluto Nash"), Usher stars to look good to you, which explains why Ron Underwood took the directing gig here. Underwood ("Tremors," "City Slickers") isn't a reliable filmmaker, but he's way above this mess, and you can almost smell his straight-to-video panic in the theater air.
That is the biggest lesson: stick to your guns, don't sell out, be an asshole sometimes, the other people actually don't know what they're talking about even though they are acting like they do.
Neither actor is given a bit of help by Ron Underwood's atrocious direction or some of the most awkward camerawork this side of a student film festival. When Darrell and Dolly finally drop their guards and get out on the dancefloor, we're shown only their heads and shoulders; they could be treading water, for all we know. Similarly, when they begin making out, the camera weaves to one side to treat us to close-ups of Darrell's ear (so tantalizing!) and one of his cheekbones (straight from Heaven!).
If you would've told me 2 years ago that I would have a movie with my name on it released in 1500 screens, I would've said it was the greatest thing in the world. But here's the thing: I was an idiot 2 years ago.
In the end most people will blame Usher for In the Mix, which really isn’t fair. Instead that blame should go to director Ron Underwood who has brought us excellent films in the past like City Slickers, but more recently pictures of lesser quality like The Adventures of Pluto Nash. I suggest Underwood be relegated to more Tremors sequels until he either learns how to create a properly cheesy film or he gets so tired of movie making he loses all interest. Either way, Underwood should never be allowed to bring us another In the Mix.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
"Prison Break's Michael Schofield Has Sex"
--Written by: The Writer's of Prison Break
FADE IN:
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
The bald dude from Prison Break, MICHAEL SCHOFIELD, sits on a bed with a WOMAN. They start to kiss.
SCHOFIELD
Wait.
WOMAN
What is it? Is something wrong?
Schofield looks ominously off into the distance.
SCHOFIELD
This has to be done perfectly.
Schofield moves over to a nearby PROJECTER and turns it on. It shines a diagram onto a wall. The diagram outlines a secret compartment, and Schofield uses a small rock hammer to open it up. Inside are candles and two rocks.
He brings a candle over near the bed, and then starts to rub the two rocks together trying for a spark.
WOMAN
I have a lighter.
SCHOFIELD
No. This is the only way.
Schofield bangs the rocks together.
CHYRON: 10 Minutes Later
Schofield is still banging the rocks together. Finally, he gets a spark and lights the candle. He gets that satisfied smirk on his face.
SCHOFIELD
Now...where were we?
He turns back towards the bed and the woman is sleeping. He goes to nudge her to wake her up and then thinks better of it. Instead he reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the alarm clock. He sets it and waits.
CHYRON: 1 Minute Later
Schofield is still next to the sleeping woman. The ALARM CLOCK GOES OFF. She wakes up. Again, he gets that satisfied smirk.
SCHOFIELD
Now where were we?
They start kissing. Schofield's hands wander up to her bra.
SCHOFIELD
Hold on.
WOMAN
Now what?
Schofield pulls up one of his sleeves to REVEAL:
A tattoo of a bra clasp. He studies it.
SCHOFIELD
Okay.
They start kissing again. Schofield's hands go to the bra again and he easily undoes it. It's getting passionate. He is on top of her. His hands go to her jeans now. They fiddle around. His eyes open. He back off.
WOMAN
What?
SCHOFIELD
(frightened)
Button fly.
Schofield works his way down to the button fly. He examines it. Then he puts his forearm up to one of the buttons. On his forearm is a tattoo of a circle - it's the same exact size of the button. Schofield smirks.
SCHOFIELD
Just as I planned.
He takes a small wire from his watch and goes to work on the jeans. Very quickly they are unfastened. He pulls them off and starts kissing her inner thigh.
WOMAN
That feels nice.
SCHOFIELD
You haven't seen anything yet.
Schofield pulls off his shirt to REVEAL:
A giant tattoo of a VAGINA on his torso. He studies it for a second and then goes to work.
WOMAN
Holy shit!
Schofield smirks.
SCHOFIELD
That's what I thought you'd say.
Schofield sits up and reaches down into his sock. He pulls out a crude shiv made from a toothbrush. He uses it to cut off his pants.
He gets back on top of her and they start having sex.
SCHOFIELD
Do you have a mirror?
WOMAN
On the ceiling?
SCHOFIELD
No. A small mirror. One you can hold in your hand.
WOMAN
Yeah. Here.
She reaches into the dresser drawer and hands him a small mirror. He angles it over his shoulder so he can see the tattoo on his back, which is:
Pictures of sexual positions straight from the Kama Sutra.
Schofield finds one he likes and puts her leg up at the perfect angle.
WOMAN
You're amazing!
SCHOFIELD
Yes, yes I am.
He finishes and rolls over. He reaches over the side of the bed where there is a blanket. He removes it to find:
A small TOBACCO GARDEN. He gathers some tobacco, and then a roll of paper and starts making his own cigarette.
When he's finished, he sticks it in his mouth. Then he once again grabs the two rocks, and starts banging them together trying to get a spark...
FADE IN:
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
The bald dude from Prison Break, MICHAEL SCHOFIELD, sits on a bed with a WOMAN. They start to kiss.
SCHOFIELD
Wait.
WOMAN
What is it? Is something wrong?
Schofield looks ominously off into the distance.
SCHOFIELD
This has to be done perfectly.
Schofield moves over to a nearby PROJECTER and turns it on. It shines a diagram onto a wall. The diagram outlines a secret compartment, and Schofield uses a small rock hammer to open it up. Inside are candles and two rocks.
He brings a candle over near the bed, and then starts to rub the two rocks together trying for a spark.
WOMAN
I have a lighter.
SCHOFIELD
No. This is the only way.
Schofield bangs the rocks together.
CHYRON: 10 Minutes Later
Schofield is still banging the rocks together. Finally, he gets a spark and lights the candle. He gets that satisfied smirk on his face.
SCHOFIELD
Now...where were we?
He turns back towards the bed and the woman is sleeping. He goes to nudge her to wake her up and then thinks better of it. Instead he reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the alarm clock. He sets it and waits.
CHYRON: 1 Minute Later
Schofield is still next to the sleeping woman. The ALARM CLOCK GOES OFF. She wakes up. Again, he gets that satisfied smirk.
SCHOFIELD
Now where were we?
They start kissing. Schofield's hands wander up to her bra.
SCHOFIELD
Hold on.
WOMAN
Now what?
Schofield pulls up one of his sleeves to REVEAL:
A tattoo of a bra clasp. He studies it.
SCHOFIELD
Okay.
They start kissing again. Schofield's hands go to the bra again and he easily undoes it. It's getting passionate. He is on top of her. His hands go to her jeans now. They fiddle around. His eyes open. He back off.
WOMAN
What?
SCHOFIELD
(frightened)
Button fly.
Schofield works his way down to the button fly. He examines it. Then he puts his forearm up to one of the buttons. On his forearm is a tattoo of a circle - it's the same exact size of the button. Schofield smirks.
SCHOFIELD
Just as I planned.
He takes a small wire from his watch and goes to work on the jeans. Very quickly they are unfastened. He pulls them off and starts kissing her inner thigh.
WOMAN
That feels nice.
SCHOFIELD
You haven't seen anything yet.
Schofield pulls off his shirt to REVEAL:
A giant tattoo of a VAGINA on his torso. He studies it for a second and then goes to work.
WOMAN
Holy shit!
Schofield smirks.
SCHOFIELD
That's what I thought you'd say.
Schofield sits up and reaches down into his sock. He pulls out a crude shiv made from a toothbrush. He uses it to cut off his pants.
He gets back on top of her and they start having sex.
SCHOFIELD
Do you have a mirror?
WOMAN
On the ceiling?
SCHOFIELD
No. A small mirror. One you can hold in your hand.
WOMAN
Yeah. Here.
She reaches into the dresser drawer and hands him a small mirror. He angles it over his shoulder so he can see the tattoo on his back, which is:
Pictures of sexual positions straight from the Kama Sutra.
Schofield finds one he likes and puts her leg up at the perfect angle.
WOMAN
You're amazing!
SCHOFIELD
Yes, yes I am.
He finishes and rolls over. He reaches over the side of the bed where there is a blanket. He removes it to find:
A small TOBACCO GARDEN. He gathers some tobacco, and then a roll of paper and starts making his own cigarette.
When he's finished, he sticks it in his mouth. Then he once again grabs the two rocks, and starts banging them together trying to get a spark...
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Top of the World, Ma...PART II
New York, New York.
Okay, obviously the last post about the cast and crew screening and my "glamorous" life as a screenwriter was sarcastic. And some things were made up - I actually did not win that Madden 2005 game against the Packers.
But now it was off to New York for the real high fallutin' premiere of the movie, which from all accounts, was going to have much more fanfare than the screening on Monday and could possibly venture into glamorous territory. To Lions Gate's credit, they paid for my flight and my hotel. Of couse, they didn't mention that they were paying for my hotel and that they had in fact already booked me a room until I was there for a day, but it's the thought that counts, right?
This was an especially big trip for me because I hate to fly, and haven't been to New York in 20 years. Seriously, 20 years. Yes, I'm old.
My thoughts upon first returning to New York can best be summed up by this conversation I had with my sister upon first arrival: On one of the old, tall buildings that are everywhere in Manhattan there was a neon Blockbuster Video sign. But it wasn't in the form of Blockbuster's standard font, and it looked like it had been there since the '60's. Here is the conversation that ensued:
Me: "Is that a blockbuster?"
Sister: "Yeah. Stuff's weird here."
Stuff's weird here indeed. Okay, here we go. I arrived on Tuesday night with my family (I brought my mom, dad, and sister - my other sister couldn't make it. I brought them because I owe them everything and I am a good boy - and maybe also because Kristin Kreuk is lying when she says she just wants a guy "with a sense of humor"). The following events occurred on Wednesday, Novermber 16th, and all times are EASTERN STANDARD:
8:40am: My dad wakes me up. Now keep in mind I flew in last night, so this is 5:40am to me, but somehow my dad is like Lindsay Lohan at the Roosevelt after just doing a line of coke.
9:45am: Breakfast at the Mercer hotel with my dad. He says that he has "slept like a rock" and feels great. I asked him when he woke up and he says 7:00am (4am pacific!). I say that doesn't sound like a good sleep, and he says, well, I went to bed at 10 our time. I ask what time he normally goes to bed, and he says "10:30, 11".
Perhaps my dad can't understand normal sleep patterns because unlike me, he hasn't been unemployed since Charlie Manson was just Chazz, the guitar playing hippie.
11:05am: We walk down to Wall Street and outside of the stock exchange we find 5 cops in kevlar, holding giant machine guns with scopes. Good to know these guys are here keeping the place secure, while no one at the airport is checking the luggage. Cause as we all know, terrorists love to engage us face to face with guns instead of anonymously on air travel.
12:27pm: We head up to Madison Avenue and I take my jacket off because it's 70 degrees. The significance of this moment isn't discovered until the next day, when the temperature inexplicably hits 31 degrees and I freeze my ass off because I am from California and an incredibly pussy.
1:17pm: While in Niketown, I get a frantic call from Lions Gate: "Where are you? Why haven't you checked into your hotel?" My response: "What hotel?" Another interesting fact that they decide to reveal to me is that there is a fancy pre-party at a friend of the producer's apartment on Park Avenue, as well as a towncar that will escort me to all of the events...and all of this begins at 3:30pm. I look past the insult of not being told about all of these things and feel for the first time that I am working on an actual movie.
1:33pm: I personally insult my dad, travel guides, New Yorkers, and a waitress by ordering a plain grilled cheese on white from a world famous deli. I'm sure the food in New York is great and all, but when it comes down to it, their grilled cheese's taste pretty much like every other city's grilled cheese.
3:05pm: After being assured that my attire is not embarrassing, I get ready for the pre-party - grey pants, purple-ish collared shirt, cashmere sport coat, and black shoes. I am dressed way too nicely to be an actual writer, but know this: I don't tuck.
3:50pm: My personal towncar arrives! Who am I? How did I get here?
4:07pm: My dad jokingly asks what he "and Ush" should talk about. I tell him to mention how much he enjoyed Confessions Part II. My mom explains to him what that means.
4:56pm: Arrive at the pre-party at literally the sickest apartment I have ever seen. It's on Park Avenue on the 30th floor, and it's two stories. The view is absolutely ridiculous. Holy shit, this IS an actual movie.
5:07pm: Awkward mingling.
5:39pm: Chazz Palminteri arrives (second usage of Chazz). And just for your own personal information, every Italian guy you see playing a mobster in TV or movies, is exactly like the character they play. They are not acting, they really do say stuff like "Dot head".
6:05pm: I talk to Kevin Hart, who plays Usher's best friend in the movie. An interesting etiquette question arises: Some of the funnier lines in the movie are spoken by Kevin, lines in which I wrote. He really did a great job with them, now here's the question: do I bring up our collaboration (my writing, his delivery) and risk making myself sound like an asshole, or do I say nothing of it and just tell him how brilliantly funny he is. I tell him how brilliantly funny he is.
6:42pm: I thought 40 year old Virgin was funny, I thought Wedding Crashers was even funnier, but no comedy this year was funnier than this: my mom, sister, and I went upstairs to use the bathroom. We came back downstairs to find the room with the food empty, except for my dad and Usher...talking! Now my dad can't sing and he surely can't dance, and I have a strong feeling that he has never in his life had what could be described as "washboard" abs, but then again, Usher wouldn't know the price of copper tubing if it fell on his head.
6:50pm: Family members and others insist that I have my picture taken with Usher. Kevin Hart is there as well, and as I position myself in between them I say: "White guy in the middle!" Not a smile from either of them.
7:11pm: We are whisked off to the premiere. It is raining.
7:30pm: We step out of the car and there is some confusion about our tickets. A large bouncer type dude blocks me from going on the red carpet. Here is what is said:
Me: What do I need to go there?
Bouncer: Go around.
Me: What do I need to go there?!?
Bouncer: You need to be a VIP.
Me: I am a VIP.
Bouncer: Did you work on the movie?
Me: I WROTE the movie.
Bouncer: The person that wrote the movie already came through.
Me (yelling): She didn't write the movie!
7:32pm: Me and my family walk down the red carpet.
7:39pm: Emmanuelle looks amazing. Her boyfriend doesn't. Dammit, maybe she's the one girl who isn't lying when she says she wants a guy with "a sense of humor".
8:00pm: I watch the movie for the 3rd fricking time.
9:47pm: Ron Douchewood does that thing where he thinks he's complimenting me, but really he's shitting on me, but really he's actually shitting on himself because he's describing exactly how he fucked the movie in the ass. But I'm not bitter.
10:17pm: Arrive at the after party at Marquee. Open bar!
11:30pm: Buzzed.
11:55pm: For some reason, there are no celebrities at the party except for the people in the movie. I think we all know what this means: I will not be getting blown by Tara Reid tonight.
12:17pm: Drunk.
12:33pm: Usher dances a little bit at the after party, which for some reason is weird.
12:55pm: Try to get blown by girl who looks a little like Tara Reid. Doesn't happen, and now I realize she's nothing like Tara Reid.
1:45pm: Think about calling it a night, and then a terrible thought hits me: If i can't get laid tonight, at the party for the movie I wrote, wearing the cashmere coat, I may never get laid again.
2:35pm: Get back to the hotel. What a night. I check my phone - my agent still hasn't called me back.
Stay tuned for the last installment when the movie is released and I reflect on the whole thing, and then we never, ever talk about it again...
Okay, obviously the last post about the cast and crew screening and my "glamorous" life as a screenwriter was sarcastic. And some things were made up - I actually did not win that Madden 2005 game against the Packers.
But now it was off to New York for the real high fallutin' premiere of the movie, which from all accounts, was going to have much more fanfare than the screening on Monday and could possibly venture into glamorous territory. To Lions Gate's credit, they paid for my flight and my hotel. Of couse, they didn't mention that they were paying for my hotel and that they had in fact already booked me a room until I was there for a day, but it's the thought that counts, right?
This was an especially big trip for me because I hate to fly, and haven't been to New York in 20 years. Seriously, 20 years. Yes, I'm old.
My thoughts upon first returning to New York can best be summed up by this conversation I had with my sister upon first arrival: On one of the old, tall buildings that are everywhere in Manhattan there was a neon Blockbuster Video sign. But it wasn't in the form of Blockbuster's standard font, and it looked like it had been there since the '60's. Here is the conversation that ensued:
Me: "Is that a blockbuster?"
Sister: "Yeah. Stuff's weird here."
Stuff's weird here indeed. Okay, here we go. I arrived on Tuesday night with my family (I brought my mom, dad, and sister - my other sister couldn't make it. I brought them because I owe them everything and I am a good boy - and maybe also because Kristin Kreuk is lying when she says she just wants a guy "with a sense of humor"). The following events occurred on Wednesday, Novermber 16th, and all times are EASTERN STANDARD:
8:40am: My dad wakes me up. Now keep in mind I flew in last night, so this is 5:40am to me, but somehow my dad is like Lindsay Lohan at the Roosevelt after just doing a line of coke.
9:45am: Breakfast at the Mercer hotel with my dad. He says that he has "slept like a rock" and feels great. I asked him when he woke up and he says 7:00am (4am pacific!). I say that doesn't sound like a good sleep, and he says, well, I went to bed at 10 our time. I ask what time he normally goes to bed, and he says "10:30, 11".
Perhaps my dad can't understand normal sleep patterns because unlike me, he hasn't been unemployed since Charlie Manson was just Chazz, the guitar playing hippie.
11:05am: We walk down to Wall Street and outside of the stock exchange we find 5 cops in kevlar, holding giant machine guns with scopes. Good to know these guys are here keeping the place secure, while no one at the airport is checking the luggage. Cause as we all know, terrorists love to engage us face to face with guns instead of anonymously on air travel.
12:27pm: We head up to Madison Avenue and I take my jacket off because it's 70 degrees. The significance of this moment isn't discovered until the next day, when the temperature inexplicably hits 31 degrees and I freeze my ass off because I am from California and an incredibly pussy.
1:17pm: While in Niketown, I get a frantic call from Lions Gate: "Where are you? Why haven't you checked into your hotel?" My response: "What hotel?" Another interesting fact that they decide to reveal to me is that there is a fancy pre-party at a friend of the producer's apartment on Park Avenue, as well as a towncar that will escort me to all of the events...and all of this begins at 3:30pm. I look past the insult of not being told about all of these things and feel for the first time that I am working on an actual movie.
1:33pm: I personally insult my dad, travel guides, New Yorkers, and a waitress by ordering a plain grilled cheese on white from a world famous deli. I'm sure the food in New York is great and all, but when it comes down to it, their grilled cheese's taste pretty much like every other city's grilled cheese.
3:05pm: After being assured that my attire is not embarrassing, I get ready for the pre-party - grey pants, purple-ish collared shirt, cashmere sport coat, and black shoes. I am dressed way too nicely to be an actual writer, but know this: I don't tuck.
3:50pm: My personal towncar arrives! Who am I? How did I get here?
4:07pm: My dad jokingly asks what he "and Ush" should talk about. I tell him to mention how much he enjoyed Confessions Part II. My mom explains to him what that means.
4:56pm: Arrive at the pre-party at literally the sickest apartment I have ever seen. It's on Park Avenue on the 30th floor, and it's two stories. The view is absolutely ridiculous. Holy shit, this IS an actual movie.
5:07pm: Awkward mingling.
5:39pm: Chazz Palminteri arrives (second usage of Chazz). And just for your own personal information, every Italian guy you see playing a mobster in TV or movies, is exactly like the character they play. They are not acting, they really do say stuff like "Dot head".
6:05pm: I talk to Kevin Hart, who plays Usher's best friend in the movie. An interesting etiquette question arises: Some of the funnier lines in the movie are spoken by Kevin, lines in which I wrote. He really did a great job with them, now here's the question: do I bring up our collaboration (my writing, his delivery) and risk making myself sound like an asshole, or do I say nothing of it and just tell him how brilliantly funny he is. I tell him how brilliantly funny he is.
6:42pm: I thought 40 year old Virgin was funny, I thought Wedding Crashers was even funnier, but no comedy this year was funnier than this: my mom, sister, and I went upstairs to use the bathroom. We came back downstairs to find the room with the food empty, except for my dad and Usher...talking! Now my dad can't sing and he surely can't dance, and I have a strong feeling that he has never in his life had what could be described as "washboard" abs, but then again, Usher wouldn't know the price of copper tubing if it fell on his head.
6:50pm: Family members and others insist that I have my picture taken with Usher. Kevin Hart is there as well, and as I position myself in between them I say: "White guy in the middle!" Not a smile from either of them.
7:11pm: We are whisked off to the premiere. It is raining.
7:30pm: We step out of the car and there is some confusion about our tickets. A large bouncer type dude blocks me from going on the red carpet. Here is what is said:
Me: What do I need to go there?
Bouncer: Go around.
Me: What do I need to go there?!?
Bouncer: You need to be a VIP.
Me: I am a VIP.
Bouncer: Did you work on the movie?
Me: I WROTE the movie.
Bouncer: The person that wrote the movie already came through.
Me (yelling): She didn't write the movie!
7:32pm: Me and my family walk down the red carpet.
7:39pm: Emmanuelle looks amazing. Her boyfriend doesn't. Dammit, maybe she's the one girl who isn't lying when she says she wants a guy with "a sense of humor".
8:00pm: I watch the movie for the 3rd fricking time.
9:47pm: Ron Douchewood does that thing where he thinks he's complimenting me, but really he's shitting on me, but really he's actually shitting on himself because he's describing exactly how he fucked the movie in the ass. But I'm not bitter.
10:17pm: Arrive at the after party at Marquee. Open bar!
11:30pm: Buzzed.
11:55pm: For some reason, there are no celebrities at the party except for the people in the movie. I think we all know what this means: I will not be getting blown by Tara Reid tonight.
12:17pm: Drunk.
12:33pm: Usher dances a little bit at the after party, which for some reason is weird.
12:55pm: Try to get blown by girl who looks a little like Tara Reid. Doesn't happen, and now I realize she's nothing like Tara Reid.
1:45pm: Think about calling it a night, and then a terrible thought hits me: If i can't get laid tonight, at the party for the movie I wrote, wearing the cashmere coat, I may never get laid again.
2:35pm: Get back to the hotel. What a night. I check my phone - my agent still hasn't called me back.
Stay tuned for the last installment when the movie is released and I reflect on the whole thing, and then we never, ever talk about it again...
Monday, November 14, 2005
Top of the World, Ma
The life of a big time Hollywood screenwriter is extremely glamorous - especially when a movie you wrote is premiering. I know most of you can't even comprehend the glamorosity of what goes on in what I like to call "H-Wood", but since I happen to be a big time Hollywood screenwriter I believe it is my duty to share with you what it's like to be me, a big time Hollywood screenwriter, as my movie "In The Mix" is about to premiere.
MONDAY - DAY OF THE CAST AND CREW SCREENING AT THE ARCLIGHT
10:36am - Wake up.
10:38am - Put on sweatpants.
10:39am - Check email:
--Someone in fantasy basketball is offering me a trade. Reject.
--Netflix has received my copy of "Unscripted: Season 1".
--Netflix is sending me "The Notebook" (Shut up, I'm renting it for "a friend").
--Someone named Vaughn is emailing me with a film featuring Asian nymphettes getting "slammed". Investigate further, turns out it's a total lie - it's black chicks getting "slammed". Ponder mentioning this to the folks at the Better Business Bureau or at the very least "Dateline", decide against it.
11:04am - Call Agent. He doesn't take the call but the perky assistant promises he'll get back to me.
11:07am - Play Madden 2005 on XBOX and win my double elimination tournament using the Chargers. Drew Brees has a huge day, and I defeat the Bucs in a 27 - 21 upset.
12:05pm - Pack for New York.
12:06pm - Finish packing for New York.
1:16pm - Phone rings, it's not my agent, but it is someone asking for a guy named Shaun. Unfortunately, there is no Shaun here.
2:34pm - Check mail for unemployment check. It hasn't yet arrived.
2:37pm - Eat left over corn.
3:12pm - Google myself and discover I'm the only guy with my name who isn't a Doctor. Jews.
3:32pm - Organize a new Madden tournament with only the best teams so I can truly test my abilities. Play the Packers in the opening round.
3:50pm - Pause game to check phone to make sure it is working. It is. No calls.
4:25pm - Drew Brees overcomes 3 picks and Ladanian Thomlinson scores 5 TDs in a 45-42 shootout over the Packers.
4:32pm - Pull dishes out of the dishwasher and make one of my famous big salads (romaine lettuce, carrots, cabbage, cucumbers, celery and Wishbone Italian dressing). Delicious!
5:07pm - Check mailbox for unemployment check. No dice. But Nordstrom is having a sale.
5:32pm - Check phone to make sure it's working. Call voice mail just in case something has snuck through. Nope.
6:00pm - Iron the shirt I shall wear for the screening tonight.
6:11pm - Put on shirt, and discover that the buttons are missing from the sleeves. Find other shirt.
6:19pm - Depart for the 7:30pm cast and crew screening at the Arclight.
6:41pm - Traffic.
7:03pm - Traffic.
7:21pm - Traffic.
7:41pm - Arrive at the Arclight and self park in the structure and run to meet my friends. I retrieve our tickets and go into the theater, it is filled with people I don't know, but a few I do.
7:55pm - The movie starts, I think this is where the "so called" excitement is supposed to begin.
7:59pm - My name appears on screen. I would love to say it was a seminal moment in my life, but it appears along with "Story by" - so all I can think about is ways I can bring the WGA down. Fucking WGA. Bitta what, bitta who?
8:15pm - No excitement yet, rage though.
8:41pm - I start getting nostalgic about when and where I wrote stuff that I am now seeing on the ginormous Arclight big screen. Weird. Cool, I guess. Although I am just as impressed when "Mind of Mencia" comes on at 2 in the morning and it's the "Sean Juan Collection" episode.
9:40pm - The movie ends. The crowd applauds. Of course, all of them worked on it or are with people who worked on it. I go outside and mingle. Congrats all around. It's nice. People keep telling me how excited I am supposed to be. I'm not trying to play it cool, in fact, I wish I was. I can never properly explain what happened on this thing and why it's so hard for me, but let's just say that I kinda had my heart ripped out repeatedly over the last year getting this thing made, and now I just had to watch the movie version of it. I would be more excited if not for the gaping hole where my heart used to be and all the blood loss. But still, it's great that it got made and i'm lucky and grateful and it's a cool thing and blah blah blah.
9:47pm - Oh my God, boob girl is here!!! If you don't know who I am referring to, please see the "Wonder Years" entry. She's here. With my ex-girlfriend's best friend. I can't lie, she looks fucking amazing. We chat briefly. I do a quick visual search of her for any signs of a clown bag of coke, but I can't see one. Maybe she's cut back since 1999. Or maybe her boyfriend holds the clown bag.
10:05pm - My friends and I walk to a nearby bar and drink to the movie. Good times. I blow up my inner pain over the movie with a Russina, er, Irish Car Bomb.
11:15pm - Head home. Check phone - no calls from agent.
Stay tuned for part II, live from New York and the real premiere...
MONDAY - DAY OF THE CAST AND CREW SCREENING AT THE ARCLIGHT
10:36am - Wake up.
10:38am - Put on sweatpants.
10:39am - Check email:
--Someone in fantasy basketball is offering me a trade. Reject.
--Netflix has received my copy of "Unscripted: Season 1".
--Netflix is sending me "The Notebook" (Shut up, I'm renting it for "a friend").
--Someone named Vaughn is emailing me with a film featuring Asian nymphettes getting "slammed". Investigate further, turns out it's a total lie - it's black chicks getting "slammed". Ponder mentioning this to the folks at the Better Business Bureau or at the very least "Dateline", decide against it.
11:04am - Call Agent. He doesn't take the call but the perky assistant promises he'll get back to me.
11:07am - Play Madden 2005 on XBOX and win my double elimination tournament using the Chargers. Drew Brees has a huge day, and I defeat the Bucs in a 27 - 21 upset.
12:05pm - Pack for New York.
12:06pm - Finish packing for New York.
1:16pm - Phone rings, it's not my agent, but it is someone asking for a guy named Shaun. Unfortunately, there is no Shaun here.
2:34pm - Check mail for unemployment check. It hasn't yet arrived.
2:37pm - Eat left over corn.
3:12pm - Google myself and discover I'm the only guy with my name who isn't a Doctor. Jews.
3:32pm - Organize a new Madden tournament with only the best teams so I can truly test my abilities. Play the Packers in the opening round.
3:50pm - Pause game to check phone to make sure it is working. It is. No calls.
4:25pm - Drew Brees overcomes 3 picks and Ladanian Thomlinson scores 5 TDs in a 45-42 shootout over the Packers.
4:32pm - Pull dishes out of the dishwasher and make one of my famous big salads (romaine lettuce, carrots, cabbage, cucumbers, celery and Wishbone Italian dressing). Delicious!
5:07pm - Check mailbox for unemployment check. No dice. But Nordstrom is having a sale.
5:32pm - Check phone to make sure it's working. Call voice mail just in case something has snuck through. Nope.
6:00pm - Iron the shirt I shall wear for the screening tonight.
6:11pm - Put on shirt, and discover that the buttons are missing from the sleeves. Find other shirt.
6:19pm - Depart for the 7:30pm cast and crew screening at the Arclight.
6:41pm - Traffic.
7:03pm - Traffic.
7:21pm - Traffic.
7:41pm - Arrive at the Arclight and self park in the structure and run to meet my friends. I retrieve our tickets and go into the theater, it is filled with people I don't know, but a few I do.
7:55pm - The movie starts, I think this is where the "so called" excitement is supposed to begin.
7:59pm - My name appears on screen. I would love to say it was a seminal moment in my life, but it appears along with "Story by" - so all I can think about is ways I can bring the WGA down. Fucking WGA. Bitta what, bitta who?
8:15pm - No excitement yet, rage though.
8:41pm - I start getting nostalgic about when and where I wrote stuff that I am now seeing on the ginormous Arclight big screen. Weird. Cool, I guess. Although I am just as impressed when "Mind of Mencia" comes on at 2 in the morning and it's the "Sean Juan Collection" episode.
9:40pm - The movie ends. The crowd applauds. Of course, all of them worked on it or are with people who worked on it. I go outside and mingle. Congrats all around. It's nice. People keep telling me how excited I am supposed to be. I'm not trying to play it cool, in fact, I wish I was. I can never properly explain what happened on this thing and why it's so hard for me, but let's just say that I kinda had my heart ripped out repeatedly over the last year getting this thing made, and now I just had to watch the movie version of it. I would be more excited if not for the gaping hole where my heart used to be and all the blood loss. But still, it's great that it got made and i'm lucky and grateful and it's a cool thing and blah blah blah.
9:47pm - Oh my God, boob girl is here!!! If you don't know who I am referring to, please see the "Wonder Years" entry. She's here. With my ex-girlfriend's best friend. I can't lie, she looks fucking amazing. We chat briefly. I do a quick visual search of her for any signs of a clown bag of coke, but I can't see one. Maybe she's cut back since 1999. Or maybe her boyfriend holds the clown bag.
10:05pm - My friends and I walk to a nearby bar and drink to the movie. Good times. I blow up my inner pain over the movie with a Russina, er, Irish Car Bomb.
11:15pm - Head home. Check phone - no calls from agent.
Stay tuned for part II, live from New York and the real premiere...
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
2006 MTV VMA's
EXT. MIAMI - ESTABLISHING
South Beach. The ocean. Sunshine. Fake boobs. Hurricanes.
INT. MIAMI ARENA - NIGHT
Another year and another MTV Video Music Awards ceremony. All the usuals are there. It's the place to be and be seen. Celebrities mill around until the lights come back on: signaling that we're back from commercial.
CHRIS ROCK stands at the podium.
CHRIS
It's great to be hosting the VMA's again. I kinda feel like Marion Berry, but instead of getting caught smoking crack, I got caught hosting the Oscars. But crack is very similar to Oscar, cause Lindsay Lohan will suck your dick to get both.
(beat)
And now to give out the best Rap Video award, here is Terrell Owens and Mischa Barton!
TERRELL OWENS and MISCHA BARTON come out together and stand at the podium.
TERRELL
(wooden)
Hey Mischa, sorry the OC got cancelled, what are you going to do now?
MISCHA
(even more wooden)
I don't know Terrell, I heard the Eagles are looking for a wide receiver.
Crickets.
TERRELL
Okay, here are the nominees for best Rap video.
MISCHA
Kanye West, Heard 'em Say...
TERRELL
50 Cent, Window Shopper...
MISCHA
Dr. Dre, Detox...
TERRELL
And K-Fed, Y'All Ain't Ready.
MISCHA
And the winner is, K-Fed! Y'all Ain't Ready!
The crowd applauds. K-Fed stands up and goes to the stage. He's dressed exactly how you think he'd dress, and has a slight beard and of course, dreadlocks. Oh, K-Fed.
He gets up there and gives Terrell the black man's hug, then tries to makeout with Mischa. He grabs the award. The crowd is still clapping.
K-FED
Wiggaz please, wiggaz please.
The crowd dies down.
K-FED
I told ya'll y'all ain't ready! Wow, I don't know what to say. I guess first big ups to my babies mama, and my other baby's mama, and all my future baby's mamas, and all the previous not a-forementioned baby's mama's that y'all don't know about. I wanna thank camouflage, without whom which I wouldn't have shorts. I'd also like to thank wife beaters, who have not only provided me shirts, but have also made it socially okay to participate in such activity. Big shout out to J.Lo, who made name abbreviations such as "K-Fed" possible. Of course I couldn't have done this without my first girlfriend, who unlike me is actually black. And my first wife, the fat one, and of course, the current Mrs. K-Fed, Ashlee Simpson. I love you, baby! Let's get together and do a record, y'all ain't ready for that!
K-Fed goes off the stage, and Chris Rock returns.
CHRIS ROCK
I haven't seen a white guy that lucky since Kelly Clarkson won American Idol.
South Beach. The ocean. Sunshine. Fake boobs. Hurricanes.
INT. MIAMI ARENA - NIGHT
Another year and another MTV Video Music Awards ceremony. All the usuals are there. It's the place to be and be seen. Celebrities mill around until the lights come back on: signaling that we're back from commercial.
CHRIS ROCK stands at the podium.
CHRIS
It's great to be hosting the VMA's again. I kinda feel like Marion Berry, but instead of getting caught smoking crack, I got caught hosting the Oscars. But crack is very similar to Oscar, cause Lindsay Lohan will suck your dick to get both.
(beat)
And now to give out the best Rap Video award, here is Terrell Owens and Mischa Barton!
TERRELL OWENS and MISCHA BARTON come out together and stand at the podium.
TERRELL
(wooden)
Hey Mischa, sorry the OC got cancelled, what are you going to do now?
MISCHA
(even more wooden)
I don't know Terrell, I heard the Eagles are looking for a wide receiver.
Crickets.
TERRELL
Okay, here are the nominees for best Rap video.
MISCHA
Kanye West, Heard 'em Say...
TERRELL
50 Cent, Window Shopper...
MISCHA
Dr. Dre, Detox...
TERRELL
And K-Fed, Y'All Ain't Ready.
MISCHA
And the winner is, K-Fed! Y'all Ain't Ready!
The crowd applauds. K-Fed stands up and goes to the stage. He's dressed exactly how you think he'd dress, and has a slight beard and of course, dreadlocks. Oh, K-Fed.
He gets up there and gives Terrell the black man's hug, then tries to makeout with Mischa. He grabs the award. The crowd is still clapping.
K-FED
Wiggaz please, wiggaz please.
The crowd dies down.
K-FED
I told ya'll y'all ain't ready! Wow, I don't know what to say. I guess first big ups to my babies mama, and my other baby's mama, and all my future baby's mamas, and all the previous not a-forementioned baby's mama's that y'all don't know about. I wanna thank camouflage, without whom which I wouldn't have shorts. I'd also like to thank wife beaters, who have not only provided me shirts, but have also made it socially okay to participate in such activity. Big shout out to J.Lo, who made name abbreviations such as "K-Fed" possible. Of course I couldn't have done this without my first girlfriend, who unlike me is actually black. And my first wife, the fat one, and of course, the current Mrs. K-Fed, Ashlee Simpson. I love you, baby! Let's get together and do a record, y'all ain't ready for that!
K-Fed goes off the stage, and Chris Rock returns.
CHRIS ROCK
I haven't seen a white guy that lucky since Kelly Clarkson won American Idol.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Trapped in the Closet: Part 13
R. Kelly/The Narrator continues the saga...
In the music studio/
Workin' on the next chapter/
I can only hope that this one can produce as much laughter/
It's the next morning...after another night of fun/
I brought the girl from last night over for inspiration/
And I look down...she's still sleeping/
Her dimples so perfect I almost start weeping/
But then I get this feeling/
Can't really explain it/
I know what it is, but my attorneys tell me I can't say it/
It starts from the middle of my body/
And spreads all over/
I'm about to explode cause my cup runneth over/
But before I can do anything/
She opens her eyes and suddenly wakes up/
I quickly try and zip up/
Thank God she doesn't see/
That I was about to pee/
Dammit...dammit...dammit/
If I tried to do it now she wouldn't have it/
Cause even though she can't vote, join the army, or drive a car/
I don't think with this girl I'd get very far/
So now that she's awake/
I guess it's too late/
Back to work I go on this crap/
Meanwhile she puts her brace face in my lap/
But that's never as much fun/
As relieving yourself on a young one/
She stops/
There's a knock.../
Knock...knock on the studio door/
I hope it's a 14 year old whore/
We both look up and see/
A white dude looking at me/
And he looks pissed but not in that good way/
And I'm like why don't you just go away/
But he says that ain't happenin'/
I'm here to stop all this from happenin'/
And I say what/
And he says you know/
But I say I don't know/
And he says let me spell it out for you, man/
I've been your biggest fan/
And now you're ruining everything/
By doing this trapped in the closet thing/
It's fucking horrible/
And you're a laughingstock/
You'd a been better off getting caught sucking 14 year old cock/
But I have enough of this white boy/
Pull out my baretta/
And start to defend my embarrassing operetta/
I tell this white kid who thinks he's black/
That I don't deserve this attack/
Trapped in the Closet isn't what you think it is/
So you don't need to get so furious/
What I'm trying to say is/
This shit ain't serious/
The more they laugh and talk about what I'm doing here/
The less they remember what I'm doing here/
And what I'm referring to/
Is this underage girl I'm about to do number one to/
And I think this white boy finally understood/
That this Trapped thing was really all good/
Cause after it's over and everyone forgets about the peeing/
I can go back to being a genius and making good songs to sing/
And then he said to me/
But don't you see/
With all due respect, Mr. Kelly/
Yes this opera is worse than statutory rape/
Maybe they'll forget/
But before he can finish there was another knock at the door/
I couldn't help but once again hope for that young whore/
I accidentally said this out loud/
And the white boy heard me/
And he added how great an asian would be/
But back to the matter at hand, we got ready/
And we approached the door cautiously/
I had my baretta/
We slowly moved to the door/
We got to the door/
I nodded at him and he opened the door/
I held my gun tight/
He was prepared for a fight/
But before things could get too crazy/
My eyes widened, standing there buck naked was...Jay Z...
In the music studio/
Workin' on the next chapter/
I can only hope that this one can produce as much laughter/
It's the next morning...after another night of fun/
I brought the girl from last night over for inspiration/
And I look down...she's still sleeping/
Her dimples so perfect I almost start weeping/
But then I get this feeling/
Can't really explain it/
I know what it is, but my attorneys tell me I can't say it/
It starts from the middle of my body/
And spreads all over/
I'm about to explode cause my cup runneth over/
But before I can do anything/
She opens her eyes and suddenly wakes up/
I quickly try and zip up/
Thank God she doesn't see/
That I was about to pee/
Dammit...dammit...dammit/
If I tried to do it now she wouldn't have it/
Cause even though she can't vote, join the army, or drive a car/
I don't think with this girl I'd get very far/
So now that she's awake/
I guess it's too late/
Back to work I go on this crap/
Meanwhile she puts her brace face in my lap/
But that's never as much fun/
As relieving yourself on a young one/
She stops/
There's a knock.../
Knock...knock on the studio door/
I hope it's a 14 year old whore/
We both look up and see/
A white dude looking at me/
And he looks pissed but not in that good way/
And I'm like why don't you just go away/
But he says that ain't happenin'/
I'm here to stop all this from happenin'/
And I say what/
And he says you know/
But I say I don't know/
And he says let me spell it out for you, man/
I've been your biggest fan/
And now you're ruining everything/
By doing this trapped in the closet thing/
It's fucking horrible/
And you're a laughingstock/
You'd a been better off getting caught sucking 14 year old cock/
But I have enough of this white boy/
Pull out my baretta/
And start to defend my embarrassing operetta/
I tell this white kid who thinks he's black/
That I don't deserve this attack/
Trapped in the Closet isn't what you think it is/
So you don't need to get so furious/
What I'm trying to say is/
This shit ain't serious/
The more they laugh and talk about what I'm doing here/
The less they remember what I'm doing here/
And what I'm referring to/
Is this underage girl I'm about to do number one to/
And I think this white boy finally understood/
That this Trapped thing was really all good/
Cause after it's over and everyone forgets about the peeing/
I can go back to being a genius and making good songs to sing/
And then he said to me/
But don't you see/
With all due respect, Mr. Kelly/
Yes this opera is worse than statutory rape/
Maybe they'll forget/
But before he can finish there was another knock at the door/
I couldn't help but once again hope for that young whore/
I accidentally said this out loud/
And the white boy heard me/
And he added how great an asian would be/
But back to the matter at hand, we got ready/
And we approached the door cautiously/
I had my baretta/
We slowly moved to the door/
We got to the door/
I nodded at him and he opened the door/
I held my gun tight/
He was prepared for a fight/
But before things could get too crazy/
My eyes widened, standing there buck naked was...Jay Z...
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
My Wonder Years - A True Story
When I was 11 years old, I thought I was Kevin Arnold. "The Wonder Years" premiered just as I was entering the 6th grade, and the pilot episode was Kevin Arnold...entering the 6th grade. His best friend was Paul, my best friend was Steven. And Steven looked exactly like Paul. I mean exactly. When he would venture outside of our small town, people would ask for his autograph because they were sure he was the kid who played Paul. Kevin Arnold had Winnie Cooper, I had Christy Boyer. But unlike Winnie Cooper, Christy Boyer never gave me the time of day - this would be the first in a series of life insults that would lead me to become a comedy writer, but that's another story.
Anyway, the show seemed to mirror my life (except for course when Kevin would get chicks) - when Kevin would go to his first school dance, I'd go to my first school dance, and when Kevin would do shitty in school because of an asshole teacher, I would do shitty in school because I was lazy.
Now, if you ask any true Wonder Years fan what their top 3 episodes are, I'm pretty sure the 3 you would get the most are: 1) the pilot, where Kevin starts junior high and Winnie is suddenly hot, 2) the episode where Kevin breaks up with Becky Slater and she beats the shit out of him, and 3) the episode where Kevin goes on summer vacation with his family and he meets a ridiculously hot girl at the drive in and at the very end he touches her boob.
Number 3 was my favorite episode, and not just because of the boob touching (he may have been touching her heart, but her heart was sitting precariously right underneath her boob). The reason this is my favorite episode is because of the girl whose boob got touched. She was beautiful. And with her brown hair, olive skin, and willingness to let her boob get touched, she would become the template for almost all girls I've been attracted to since. I loved this girl, and so did many Wonder Years fans. They even had to bring her back in a heartbreaking episode a year later. I always remembered that girl, and everytime a rerun would come on, I would hope that it would be the boob touching episode. This happened when I was 13.
Flash forward 10 years. I'm in Italy. I meet a girl from Encino. Sara. We become fast friends. And one night, for some reason, I babble on about my love for all things Wonder Years (oh, I know the reason, I'm a huge dork). She says that her best friend was on the Wonder Years a couple times. Instantly I think of the boob girl, but it can't be. But I describe the boob girl and the episode and sure enough, that is her best fucking friend. Weird.
So I move to LA and start film school. Sara comes back to town (she'd been at NYU) and she invites me to a Halloween party and yes, boob girl will be there. This is it. My welcome to Hollywood moment, where you don't just fuck girls like the ones on TV, you fuck the girls from TV! I prepare myself. I meditate, do some visualization. And I remind myself not to mention the Wonder Years or my secret psycho love for this girl that I've kept inside for 10 years.
I go to the party, she's not there yet. I go in Sara's room and we hang out. And then, She walks in. I'm freaking out because she looks exactly the same! Exactly, except for now boob girl has woman boobs! What a bonus!
We are introduced. And her first words to me, I'll never forget them, are: "Do you have a dollar bill?" This caught me a little off guard but luckily, yes, I had a dollar bill! I handed it over. And then she said the second thing she ever said to me, which was: "Do you have a credit card?"
Okay, let me interject here with a little personal information: I don't do drugs. I've never done drugs. I've never smoked even a cigarette. Now, this has less to do with my high moral standards than it has to do with my unwillingness to try new things and my borderline Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't really care about drugs. I don't care if you do them, I don't care if anyone does them, but I have no curiosity or need to try them. I've never had soup or sushi, for Christ's Sake, you think I'm going to try coke? No. But besides never having done drugs, I was very naive as to the materials that are involved in doing drugs. So at this point I have no idea what's going on. Back to the story.
A little confused, I go back into my wallet and get my Visa card and willingly hand it over (boob girl from the Wonder Years has my credit card!). And then it happened. Of course, all of you know what's about to happen, but try and remember I had no idea that this was about to happen:
She pulls out a giant bag of cocaine. Okay, when I say giant, I mean giant. This was like a clown bag of cocaine. Like she got it from the gag drug paraphenalia store. It was enough to keep the Columbian army high for a month. And so, boob girl, starts doing lines of coke right in front of me. But hey, she was doing them with my dollar bill!
Welcome to Hollywood, douchebag.
ADDENDUM
Since that happened, I have randomly and repeatedly run into that girl. We somehow have multiple mutual friends who don't even know each other, and I will show up somewhere and she will be there. And surprisingly, even with the clown bag of coke, she always remembers me and we talk, etc.
But the reason I wrote this story is because I was invited to a Halloween party by my ex-girlfriend (who is completely unrelated to this story, but keep in mind, it was a Halloween party where I first met boob girl and now here she is invited to another Halloween party that I'm invited to).
I looked at the Evite, yes Evite, and whose name was on there? Boob girl. What the fuck? How does boob girl know my ex-girlfriend? Is fate trying to bring us together? Is there something going on cosmically between the two of us? Was the clown bag of coke just a plot device from some romantic comedy to keep us apart but we'll eventually be together and it will be a hilarious story (minus clown bag of coke and the "boob girl" moniker) to tell our kids?
I urgently call my ex-girlfriend: how do you know boob girl? Oh, she's Matt's (her best friend who she grew up with, Kevin to her Winnie, as it were) girlfriend. They live together. Oh, great.
Welcome to Hollywood, douchebag.
Anyway, the show seemed to mirror my life (except for course when Kevin would get chicks) - when Kevin would go to his first school dance, I'd go to my first school dance, and when Kevin would do shitty in school because of an asshole teacher, I would do shitty in school because I was lazy.
Now, if you ask any true Wonder Years fan what their top 3 episodes are, I'm pretty sure the 3 you would get the most are: 1) the pilot, where Kevin starts junior high and Winnie is suddenly hot, 2) the episode where Kevin breaks up with Becky Slater and she beats the shit out of him, and 3) the episode where Kevin goes on summer vacation with his family and he meets a ridiculously hot girl at the drive in and at the very end he touches her boob.
Number 3 was my favorite episode, and not just because of the boob touching (he may have been touching her heart, but her heart was sitting precariously right underneath her boob). The reason this is my favorite episode is because of the girl whose boob got touched. She was beautiful. And with her brown hair, olive skin, and willingness to let her boob get touched, she would become the template for almost all girls I've been attracted to since. I loved this girl, and so did many Wonder Years fans. They even had to bring her back in a heartbreaking episode a year later. I always remembered that girl, and everytime a rerun would come on, I would hope that it would be the boob touching episode. This happened when I was 13.
Flash forward 10 years. I'm in Italy. I meet a girl from Encino. Sara. We become fast friends. And one night, for some reason, I babble on about my love for all things Wonder Years (oh, I know the reason, I'm a huge dork). She says that her best friend was on the Wonder Years a couple times. Instantly I think of the boob girl, but it can't be. But I describe the boob girl and the episode and sure enough, that is her best fucking friend. Weird.
So I move to LA and start film school. Sara comes back to town (she'd been at NYU) and she invites me to a Halloween party and yes, boob girl will be there. This is it. My welcome to Hollywood moment, where you don't just fuck girls like the ones on TV, you fuck the girls from TV! I prepare myself. I meditate, do some visualization. And I remind myself not to mention the Wonder Years or my secret psycho love for this girl that I've kept inside for 10 years.
I go to the party, she's not there yet. I go in Sara's room and we hang out. And then, She walks in. I'm freaking out because she looks exactly the same! Exactly, except for now boob girl has woman boobs! What a bonus!
We are introduced. And her first words to me, I'll never forget them, are: "Do you have a dollar bill?" This caught me a little off guard but luckily, yes, I had a dollar bill! I handed it over. And then she said the second thing she ever said to me, which was: "Do you have a credit card?"
Okay, let me interject here with a little personal information: I don't do drugs. I've never done drugs. I've never smoked even a cigarette. Now, this has less to do with my high moral standards than it has to do with my unwillingness to try new things and my borderline Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't really care about drugs. I don't care if you do them, I don't care if anyone does them, but I have no curiosity or need to try them. I've never had soup or sushi, for Christ's Sake, you think I'm going to try coke? No. But besides never having done drugs, I was very naive as to the materials that are involved in doing drugs. So at this point I have no idea what's going on. Back to the story.
A little confused, I go back into my wallet and get my Visa card and willingly hand it over (boob girl from the Wonder Years has my credit card!). And then it happened. Of course, all of you know what's about to happen, but try and remember I had no idea that this was about to happen:
She pulls out a giant bag of cocaine. Okay, when I say giant, I mean giant. This was like a clown bag of cocaine. Like she got it from the gag drug paraphenalia store. It was enough to keep the Columbian army high for a month. And so, boob girl, starts doing lines of coke right in front of me. But hey, she was doing them with my dollar bill!
Welcome to Hollywood, douchebag.
ADDENDUM
Since that happened, I have randomly and repeatedly run into that girl. We somehow have multiple mutual friends who don't even know each other, and I will show up somewhere and she will be there. And surprisingly, even with the clown bag of coke, she always remembers me and we talk, etc.
But the reason I wrote this story is because I was invited to a Halloween party by my ex-girlfriend (who is completely unrelated to this story, but keep in mind, it was a Halloween party where I first met boob girl and now here she is invited to another Halloween party that I'm invited to).
I looked at the Evite, yes Evite, and whose name was on there? Boob girl. What the fuck? How does boob girl know my ex-girlfriend? Is fate trying to bring us together? Is there something going on cosmically between the two of us? Was the clown bag of coke just a plot device from some romantic comedy to keep us apart but we'll eventually be together and it will be a hilarious story (minus clown bag of coke and the "boob girl" moniker) to tell our kids?
I urgently call my ex-girlfriend: how do you know boob girl? Oh, she's Matt's (her best friend who she grew up with, Kevin to her Winnie, as it were) girlfriend. They live together. Oh, great.
Welcome to Hollywood, douchebag.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)