Crash

It was a little after 7:00 pm. I was in my apartment eating dinner and watching MSNBC when there was a loud BOOM and the entire building shook.

My apartment complex is unstable and far from soundproof. If someone at the other end slams a door, the entire building shakes and everyone can hear it. At this point, I’m used to noises that seem stronger and closer than they really are, so I continued eating as though nothing happened.

I would have continued to ignore it, but a few minutes later my roommate came out of her bedroom and said, “Dude, I think someone just hit the building!” She went downstairs to take a closer look. Meanwhile, I ate.

A few minutes later, my phone rang. The roommie informed me that someone did - in fact - hit the building. No longer able to ignore current events, I decided to check it out… after I finished eating.

When my plate was empty, I grabbed my jacket and digital camera and went outside to investigate. The scene was simple. An alleyway full of police cars, ambulances and fire trucks. A woman, presumably the driver, being attended to by the police and paramedics. As I soaked in the scene, I took pictures. I then asked a few questions to the witnesses to piece together the events. I felt like I was a journalist again.





The woman from apartment number 17 drove home from work. Though the rain had stopped hours ago, it was still very wet outside. When she turned into her carport, her foot slipped off the brake pedal and the car plowed straight into the wall. The setup of the complex has the carports directly below and behind apartments, so she broke a hole into the bedroom of an apartment on the first floor.



Scene of the accident.





The good news is that no one was injured. The bad news is that her car is really jacked up and the apartment she hit is in bad shape. In addition to the hole in the wall, the car destroyed the main power and water lines, so the apartment was dark and completely flooded. Firemen ran in and out of the apartment to dump buckets of water with trash cans and whatever else they could fill. They eventually just shut off the water for the entire complex.

Tough to say what will happen now. One thing is for sure, Mario and his girlfriend (the people from the damaged apartment) will need to find a new place to stay for a while. There is a lot of commotion in that apartment right now, and I can only assume there will be a lot more of that in the days ahead as crews work to fix the damage.

The water will stay off through the night and into tomorrow, so it looks like that hot shower I wanted will have to wait. Also, I drink a lot of tap water, so with the water turned off in the middle of a very thirsty night, I had to hit up the local gas station/mini-mart for some drinks.

Not really a good night for anyone.

But on the bright side, at least dinner was good.


Currently in Rotation: Pop
Noisettes – “24 Hours”


Taken from the album Wild Young Hearts

Death and Taxes

A playlist dedicated to Brittany Murphy (1977-2009). All songs are from movies she starred in.

1. No Doubt – “Just a Girl” (featured in Clueless)
2. Garbage – “Sleep Together” (featured in Cherry Falls)
3. Pharcyde – “Runnin” (featured in 8 Mile)
4. India Arie – “Promises” (featured in Don’t Say A Word)
5. Notorious BIG – “Unbelievable” (featured in 8 Mile)
6. Basement Jaxx – “Do Your Thing” (featured in Just Married)
7. Stan Getz – “Autumn Leaves ” (featured in Sidewalks of New York)
8. Lily Allen – “Shame For You” (featured in Love and Other Disasters)
9. Earth Wind & Fire – “Boogie Wonderland” (performed by Brittany Murphy in Happy Feet)
10. Showbiz & AG – “Next Level (Nyte Time Mix)” (featured in 8 Mile)
11. Radiohead – “My Iron Lung” (featured in Clueless)
12. Rufus f. Chaka Khan – “Tell Me Something Good” (performed by Pink in Happy Feet)
13. Carly Simon – “That's The Way I Always Heard It Should Be” (featured in Little Black Book)

Currently Listening to: Hip-Hop
Notorious Big - "Unbelievable"

Taken from the album Ready to Die

Oh, Chariot!

A few days ago, I finally dropped off my car at a body shop in Ontario to repair the damaged door from my hit and run encounter. In need of a set of wheels to get around in the meantime, I called up Enterprise for a rental car. They picked me up and took me back to the agency in Pomona, where I filled out the paperwork to get a ride for 7-10 days. All good, right?

Hell No! I hate this car so much it's a shame.

I got a red Chevy Cobalt sedan. Don't let the name and appearance fool you. It may say Chevy, but I’m pretty sure it’s made by Tonka or Mattel. This car is so unstable and rickety it feels like a toy. I’m positive that if I got into a minor fender bender in this car, not only would it be totaled, but a brown paper bag would pop out of the steering wheel instead of an airbag.

It’s also a gas guzzler. I requested a small car so that fueling up wouldn’t be an issue, but it seems like every time I drive around the corner, I’m already down a quarter of a tank. And speaking of which, isn’t it customary that the agency give you a car with a full tank? The Cobalt STARTED at a quarter of a tank.

Isn’t it also customary that they spritz the car with some nice scents, like “new car smell,” to at least give you the illusion that you’re driving a vehicle that hasn’t been abused by a thousand other people before you. The Cobalt smells like cigarettes. I don't know who decided to hotbox with their Marlboros, but the car reeks of tobacco ash.

Another question: don’t they usually clean out the cars before giving them to you? Today I went Christmas shopping and, for the first time, looked into the backseat of the car. I was kinda floored by what I saw. In the back cupholder was a McDonald’s cup, filled with Sprite. The Sprite had been sitting in there for so long that it was leaking from the bottom. On the back seat was a barbecue dipping sauce. What the f**k! Did they hit up the drive-thru window right before giving me the car? I’m just thankful the barbecue container wasn’t opened, or that there were no Chicken McNuggets scattered around the trunk. Which leads me to...

The trunk on the Cobalt is a pain in the a**. I put my Christmas gifts inside the trunk at the mall (because for some reason, the backseat seemed like a bad idea). But when I got back to my place, the trunk wouldn’t open up. I spent almost ten minutes trying to put the key in and wiggle it around in random ways. I felt like the car was holding my stuff hostage. When it finally opened, I took my stuff out, closed the trunk, then tried it again to see if the stuck trunk was a one time thing... I still haven’t been able to get it open.

By no means do I hate Chevys. When Tom, Ari and I went on our road trip through Canada and the East Coast, we did the entire trip in an Impala. I drove 98% of the time and afterwards, I really felt like the Impala was a dope ride. But I can’t say the same about the Cobalt.

But then again, perhaps the fault lies not with Chevy, but with Enterprise. After all, I highly doubt that the soda, barbecue sauce and cigarette scent came from the factory.

Either way, I’d much rather have my Corolla.

PS – That reminds me, I found out that instead of being stuck with the rental car for 7-10 days, it’ll be more like 18 days thanks to holiday delays for ordered parts.

Eff My Life!


Currently in Rotation: Pop

Keane – “Is It Any Wonder”
Taken from the album Under the Iron Sea

Muddy Waters

Sunday morning began with my usual routine: a bowl of oatmeal and NFL football. I couldn’t watch all the games because I had to work in the afternoon, but I figured I would enjoy it while I could. About an hour before I was supposed to leave for work, my stomach started acting funny. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn’t willing to call out of work for a bad feeling, so went anyway.

The first half hour of work was okay, but then I started sweating and having trouble breathing. I went outside to get some air, but it was useless. I was unable to do anything productive, so my supervisor told me to go home. I went to clock out, but suddenly my stomach started going crazy. I ended up running into the manager’s office, grabbing the nearest trash can and filling it with vomit.

Sometimes throwing up makes you feel better; it’s like your body’s own quick fix. After I threw up, I felt better, so I told my supervisor I was willing to stay. But the feeling was short-lived; a few minutes later, I was worse than before. I got dizzy and nauseated, so I told Eminem (Emily M.) that I could no longer work. She called over my supervisor, who once again told me to go home. But at this point, I could barely walk, so I just sat where I was for ten minutes.

When I got the strength, I made my way to the bathroom. But this time, I felt a strong attack of diarrhea coming on, or as Dave Chappelle would call it, mudbutt. For my entire life, I have been strongly against sh**ting in public restrooms. Sunday was one of the few moments I had to make an exception. I threw down my pants, hopped my ass on the seat and held on for dear life. It was rough. I felt something like Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting, or maybe Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber.



Post-mudbutt, I had the urge to vomit again. I started filling up the toilet before it could even finish flushing.

I eventually managed to leave work, but I knew that I had a very small window before I would have another attack. I’m not even sure how I drove because everything was a blur at that point. I just know that instead of going to my apartment, I went to my parents’ house, where they took care of me for the night. From when I got there until I went to sleep (6pm-1am), my night consisted of throwing up every 20 minutes and occasional mudbutt. At one point in the middle of the night, I got so dehydrated that I could no longer feel anything below my elbows or knees. I was completely empty. At the beginning of the night, I thought it was either food poisoning or a stomach bug. By the end of the night, I was convinced that it might be malaria or cholera.

I spent yesterday slowly recovering, just hoping that I could hold down food. Today has been the same. My stomach still isn’t right, but stuff like this rarely resolves itself overnight. I suspect the culprit was food poisoning, most likely the peach preserves I put in the oatmeal. I didn't know it at the time, but I found out later that the delicious jelly was hella old.

For the last few weeks, I thought I was so fortunate because I was pretty much the only person at work who hadn’t gotten sick in November or December. The joke was on me. I not only got sick, I got it worse than anyone else. I’m gonna try to return to work tomorrow. Let’s hope that goes better than the last time.


Currently in Rotation: SynthPop

La Roux – “Colourless Colour”
From the album La Roux

Necessary Roughness

Earlier this evening in New York City, Mark Ingram of the University of Alabama was awarded the Heisman Trophy for being the best collegiate football player in America. I give him props, but I respectfully disagree with the win. I don’t believe he was the best running back in the country, let alone the best overall player. To be sure, he is a very talented player on a great team; but based on his statistics and what I’ve seen from him this season, I can’t call him the best player in the nation.

The Heisman trophy has always suffered from legitimacy issues due to regional bias, out-of-touch Heisman voters, priority of team records over player stats, and other political nonsense. In the case of Ingram, the latter two biases were definitely in effect.

The fact that he was on an undefeated team played a huge role in his consideration over other running backs with better stats but on teams with worse records. But more importantly, from the midpoint of the season, everyone in the media kept talking about how no one from Alabama had ever won the Heisman, thus crowning him as the great hope to win the award. Every game was about how this “storied program” has never had a Heisman winner. I believe this pervasive line of logic swayed votes, a way of further boosting the legacy of the Alabama Crimson Tide program.

There was also a lot of talk about how the winner this year would most likely NOT be a quarterback, regardless of how good they played. Since 2000, a QB had won every year, except in 2005 when Reggie Bush of USC won the trophy (and he could have very easily lost to another quarterback in Vince Young of Texas). The voters were somewhat tired of quarterbacks winning the award, so it was almost a given that a player of another position would win this year.

By no means do I intend to diminish Mark Ingram’s achievements, but rather point out the flaws of the Heisman balloting. The voting is so political and subjective that it pretty much guarantees the best players will have a difficult time getting nominated, let alone win.

This is why I place higher priority on the position awards, such as the Biletnikoff Trophy (best wide receiver), the Jim Thorpe Award (best defensive back), the Doak Walker Award (best running back) and the AP Player of the Year. Interestingly enough, of the five Heisman candidates this year, Mark Ingram is the only one to not win a position award.

So who would I have voted for? Although I’ve been on the Colt McCoy bandwagon for two seasons, I can’t overlook Ndamukong Suh of University of Nebraska. This guy was not only the best college player in the nation, but he’s the only one in this group who I am also 100% positive will have an exceptional career ahead of him. The rest of the guys may or may not become good NFL players, but barring injury, Suh is a guaranteed franchise player. Colt McCoy would get my No. 2 vote and Toby Gerhardt would be my No. 3.

Question: If you had a Heisman ballot, who would you have picked?


Currently in Rotation: Samba

Seu Jorge – Life on Mars
Taken from the album: The Life Aquatic Studio Sessions

A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Now you're looking for the secret. But you won’t find it because of course, you're not really looking. You don't really want to work it out. You want to be fooled.

- Cutter, The Prestige


If I asked you two weeks ago, “Which African American celebrity has the most hoes on the planet?” you would probably spew out a long list of rappers, actors and pro ballers, but nowhere on the list would I find Tiger Woods. The thought would never cross your mind, even though he’s rich, famous, and fairly good-looking. I wouldn’t blame you, either. Tiger Woods is a bland, stoic everyman who shows no personality unless he pulls off a thrilling feat on the golf course, which is usually limited to a scream and an arm-pump.

Fast-forward to now, after an embarrassing car accident and domestic dispute, when it was revealed that Tiger Woods had us all fooled. Apparently he had more skanks than a Tijuana strip club. The wedding band on his ring finger didn’t stop him from dipping in cookie jars all over the globe. He may not be at Wilt Chamberlain status (20,000 served!!!), but with no fewer than a dozen women allegedly tied to him after just a few days of investigation, it would appear that he has enough skeletons in his closet to fill a graveyard. Suddenly the wholesome, family-oriented guy we all thought he was proved to be just another womanizer. The only way things could get worse for him is if he were slapped with a paternity suit.

I’m not gonna criticize Tiger for getting some booty on the side. By no means do I endorse or condone infidelity, but I understand that it happens, especially when you’re as rich and popular as he is. Hell, I’m a poor nobody and I gotta fight the ladies off with a shovel. I imagine that Tiger Woods’ life is something like an AXE Body Spray commercial: he enters a room and the girls jump on him like wolves or… umm… tigers.

What surprises me is how many of the plain, quiet, seemingly humble athletes get into trouble. Tiger isn’t alone. For example, I used to think Marvin Harrison was the best receiver in the NFL. I also thought he was professional football’s most boring person. But out of nowhere, he was implicated as the gunman in a shooting, and America suddenly became aware of his secret thug life. Dude never showed a troublemaker streak before, but sure enough, he was a pistol-packin’ gangster.

Steve McNair was the model of athleticism, humility and leadership in the NFL. He was one of their poster boys, a real role model. But after he was killed in a murder-suicide involving his deranged mistress, we discovered he was no better than the worst.

And I think you all remember what happened to Kobe Bryant a few years back.

All of these guys were among the best in their respective sports, but all were very quiet and workmanlike. They all lived very private lives that most believed wouldn’t be worthy of a TLC reality TV show. But then they all got caught up in scandals and the truth came out: these guys are all Jerry Springer material.

When I was younger, people used to say that it’s always the quiet ones who surprise you. I never saw too much of that back in the day, but in my adulthood, I can say it’s definitely true. I guess people with secrets just grow more adept at keeping their secrets hidden, and thus know how to fool us all.

I used to like this old commercial with Kevin Garnett (I think it was Adidas, but maybe it was Gatorade) where he says in the middle of a postgame interview: “You were fooled. You thought it was all about me, but it wasn’t.” I liked the commercial because it highlighted one of the most fascinating aspects of sports and celebrity, which is the tendency of fans to see greatness in athletes as long as they perform well and smile. Neither one of those things really indicate how a person is on the inside. Yet fans, the media, and even athletes perpetuate the notion that an upstanding life in sports equals an upstanding life outside of sports.

In this case, KG had it right. We were fooled.


Currently Listening To: Pop
Duffy – "Warwick Avenue"

From the album Rockferry

Entourage

A few observations from a night out in Pasadena.


1.) The Pasadena peeps (aka, HMH crew and GEt-aLonG-gAnG) will also hereby be known as The Partystarters. We got the party started at the Langham when we invaded the dance floor and everyone else followed us. We got the party started again at Ixtapa, when we hijacked an empty dance floor and got it crackin’. Good job, team!

2.) I got mauled by three cougars on the dance floor at Langham. I felt like such a manwhore. This trio of middle-aged women came out of nowhere and … well, I don’t wanna talk about it. But I didn’t get it as bad as Mike Wall, who got groped by a pair of very aggressive cougars in Ixtapa. I swear, the women were on the prowl on Friday.

3.) I found out the next day that the Langham is one of the few places in the L.A. area to appear in the Michelin Guide. For those who are unfamiliar, the Michelin Guide ranks the absolute best hotels and restaurants in a given city by a rating of one to three stars. Of the thousands and thousands of restaurants in the LA area, only about 40 or 50 appear in the guide, The Langham being one of them. I take pride in being a culinary thrill seeker, yet I’ve only been to four or five places that are in the guide. Now I got one more.

4.) If you ever want to feel insecure about your car, drive to the front entrance of the Langham. Porsches, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Bentleys, Maseratis, and every other luxury car you can imagine but can’t afford are lined up in the front.

5.) Russell was the surprise of the night. Who knew that dude could salsa dance like that?

6.) Judging by some of the photos that have surfaced from Friday, I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe I had more to drink than I originally thought…

7.) But then again, that’s what happens when you have an unrestricted open bar. When they told us that the bar closed at 9 p.m., we all started ordering drinks and bringing them back to the table. But instead of actually drinking what we had, we just kept going back for more until we had completely stockpiled drinks for the night. It was like watching squirrels hording acorns for the winter. You would have thought we were on the verge of prohibition the way we were stocking up.




8.) Long Island Iced Teas, dirty martinis, cosmopolitans, Midori sours, Merlots, rum and Cokes, whisky sours, Cabernet Sauvignons, gin and tonics, Appletinis. I estimate that in this picture alone there is three or four hundred dollars worth of booze on the table, and that’s just what we had at the end of the night. I haven’t seen this much liquor since the days in Northern Cali when we used to go to World Beat, Avaron and Bellagio.

9.) My new favorite song is “It’s Raining Men,” by the Weather Girls. My second favorite is “I’m So Excited,” by the Pointer Sisters. Don’t ask, just know it relates to the night. (By the way, if you’ve never seen the video for “It’s Raining Men,”, you have to check it out right now. They just don’t make videos like this anymore).

10.) Despite all the drinking, no one threw up. I thought Maggie Roq would, but she held it down. That let’s me know I’m hanging with some pros.

11.) Props to Jon for graciously hosting the after-party. Watching the Victoria’s Secret Show over pizza and vodka shots was a fitting end to the night.


Currently Listening To: House

Dragonette – I Get Around (Midnight Juggernauts Remix)

Black Rain, Pt. 2

Traditionally, employees on Black Friday wear black (as if we need reminders of what day it is). My employer decided to break from the mold and have all employees wear red t-shirts. It’s bad enough that I hate wearing red, but to make matter worse, there was a peace sign on the back made of random doodles. Above it were the words “Santa’s Little Helper”.

First off, there is nothing peaceful about Black Friday (as those who shop on Black Friday or those who read my last blog entry already know). Black Friday is chaotic, busy, exhausting, brutal, and sometimes, violent. A peace sign doesn’t quite symbolize the day. A more appropriate symbol would be boxing gloves or a sword.

Second, Santa’s Little Helper? Really? If I were a 9 year-old boy eager to share his Christmas list, wearing a shirt with the words “Santa’s Little Helper” would really make my day. But as a 29 year-old man, I get no pleasure from such a thing.

I had to jazz up my uniform by adding a little black. Actually, it was a lot. I wore the red shirt over a black button-down and under a black coat. I also had a black hat, black jeans, and black shoes. The all black business-casual attire mixed with a little red made me look like the long lost member of Alkaline Trio.

Call me a non-conformist if you like, but I had to do it. And in the end, I liked the outfit, so I guess it was worth it. But best of all, with the coat on, nobody got to read the shameful words on my back.

Currently in Rotation: Punk
Alkaline Trio – Time to Waste

From the album Crimson

Black Rain

Yesterday was Black Friday, the day I had been dreading for weeks. Despite having worked for four years in an industry that considers it to be the jumpstart to the holiday season, I have always had mixed feelings about the day. On one hand, it gives a huge sales boost to businesses and is very exciting from both a consumer and overall economic standpoint. But on the other hand, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it frequently highlights the worst side of humanity.

Every year there are stories of rowdy customers getting into arguments, shoving matches and even full-on fistfights, all in the name of buying TVs and toys. I saw this first hand four years ago when portable DVD players left a few customers bruised and blooded at my old job. Are they great deals? Absolutely! Are they worth fighting over? Not really.

I’d never get in a fight with someone over something I have to buy. MAYBE I’d fight over something free, but even that would have to be something huge, like a house or a car. Yeah, I’d hit someone with a baseball bat for that sh*t. But joking aside, I speak from the standpoint of someone who places little to no value on material goods. To me, a flatscreen TV, no matter how big, doesn’t matter (and if you don’t believe me, come by my apartment and check out the size of my TV).

However, I figure that to someone who doesn’t have a lot of money and values material things, they’d be more than willing to fight over unaffordable goods that are suddenly made affordable for one day only. Also, in order to get the item, you have to stand in line for hours in advance (and in the case of Best Buy and Wal-Mart, days in advance). Long lines already make people angry, but imagine waiting in line for hours for something you never get because supplies run out. Factor in a bad economy and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

The one thing corporate America knows well is that when people are bored, they shop. Give America a day off work and, after going to the movies, Americans will go to the mall to blow a few bills on random stuff. That’s why I understand why Black Friday exists. It’s not only set during a day off, but it happens when people are with friends and family and sometimes out of town, thus more likely to shop in large groups and for large quantities of stuff.

Economically, it makes sense. But from a personal standpoint, I seriously question whether or not it’s really worth it in the end. Most sales are repeated, especially when it comes to clothes. “One Time Offers” rarely exist, and if you look hard enough, you can find anything at a good price. Some stores have decent doorbusters (free gift or great discount to the first few people inside), but even those aren’t overwhelming incentives when you play the odds. Yet most consumers don’t question whether or not it’s worth it. They just wake up, shop hard, go home, and celebrate the Blu-Ray player they drop-kicked an old lady to get, completely unaware that it will be available for a comparable price in a few weeks.

This is why I’m convinced that for consumers, Black Friday isn’t really about the prices. It’s more about the environment. It’s about the struggle. It’s about the stories of success and failure. It’s about the victorious feeling from getting what you want, especially when you go gladiator on someone’s ass to get it. It’s about competition, both between businesses and between customers.

This why I hate Black Friday. And this is why I love Black Friday.


Currently Listening To: Hip Hop
Jay-Z – “Empire State of Mind”

From the album The Blueprint 3

Quantum of Solace

After I got off work a few days ago, I drove out to Santa Monica to meet up with Andre and Thomas, a pair of movie producers with whom I’m currently collaborating on several projects. We met at Loews Hotel on Ocean parkway, site of this year’s American Film Market. For those who aren’t familiar, AFM is a global gathering of filmmakers, producers and distributors, a place where many independently made films get picked up by bigger studios to be packaged, marketed and released for a mass audience. For them, it was business as usual; for me, it was a learning experience.

Actually, before I continue, I should reintroduce myself since most of you reading this have no idea what I’ve been up to over the last few years.

Hello, my name is Aaron Ellis, and I’m a screenwriter… Or maybe it would be more appropriate to call myself a struggling, semi-discovered writer.

________________________________________________

Upon graduating from college, I started writing screenplays. After several years of writing for a newspaper, I decided to make screenwriting my career goal. I walked away from journalism and spent the last few years working low-maintenance day jobs so I would have the free time to write as much as possible.

While it would be fun to pretend like I’m living it up as a successful Hollywood scribe, I’ve never been one for putting up a front that I can’t maintain. Truth is I’ve spent six years writing screenplays that few people have read and fewer appreciated, regardless of how good they were. Every time I went forward, I ran into a brick wall. Every time I got high, I got kicked back down to reality.

Roughly a year ago, my buddy Tom introduced me to Andre, a producer he knew from business school. Being the persuasive homey he is, he convinced Andre to read some of my scripts. Dre read them and liked them, which led to a breakthrough opportunity. He asked me if I was interested in taking a writing assignment. The project involved adapting a Japanese short story (which shall remain nameless) into an American film (his production company specializes in adapting East Asian anime, manga, short stories and films for Western audiences). I accepted the assignment before I even read the story. That could have been a major mistake, but after I read it, I knew for sure that I had just gotten in on a good thing.

The last year has consisted of learning the ropes and struggling to stay afloat. I’ve worked on countless loglines, synopses, summaries and treatments of the project so that it will be perfectly presentable and pitchable when it’s time to get funding from studios. And though I’m biased, I gotta say, the movie will be f**king awesome if we get it made.

It’s been an exciting process, but the wheels of the studio system turn slowly, and now that we’re in a down economy in which the film industry, a place of excessive spending, has been hit very hard, the process is taking much longer than it would have four years ago. I wish it were as simple as a countdown to the big payday and career jumpstart, but that’s not the case. Everything is indefinite and far away.

The main reason I’m writing this is to update most of you on my life. I know I seem like the coolest bastard alive (mostly because it’s true), but there’s a lot of hard work and sacrifice that goes on behind the scenes. Also, I’m really sick of fielding bullsh*t questions from stuck-up morons who think I’m a loser because they don’t understand why I walk this path. If I wanted a 9-to-5 and an ordinary life, I would have had it years ago. But I demand something else, something different. You may not understand it, but try to respect it.

_________________________________________________

The meeting with Andre and Thomas went well. We had a lunch at Cucina Italiana and developed a strategy for generating studio interest in our project. After discussing the strategy and eating a good meal, I parted ways with them. They had meetings with various producers and distributors. I had time to kill, so I walked along the boardwalk to the Santa Monica Pier, where I indulged in some junk food. I stood at the pier with a cone of frozen yogurt and watched the waves rush to and from the shore. At that moment, I felt pure solace, like everything would be okay.

When it was time to leave, I returned to the streets and walked back to my car. When I got there, I saw a white piece of paper under the windshield wiper. It was a fifty dollar parking ticket, courtesy of the city of Santa Monica.

And once again, I got kicked back down to reality.


Currently In Rotation: Deep House

Blue Six – “Sweeter Love”
From the album Beautiful Tomorrow

Built From Scratch

Most of you already know that I’m not a creature of convenience. When given the option to do a task the easy way or the hard way, I’ll usually choose the latter. If it’ll save a few dollars (or hell, a few nickels), I’ll choose cheap over practical. I’m the kind of guy who is willing to do things by himself whenever possible, even if it means having to put in a lot more time than if I had help. I guess you could call me a caveman.

My most recent step on the path towards inefficiency is brewing coffee. I have a fancy Cuisinart coffee maker that can be programmed to do anything I need, but over the last few months, I’ve hardly plugged it in. I started reading about easy ways to make coffee without a machine, so I gave it a try. As of yesterday, I think I finally perfected it.

To make it, you start by heating water in a small pot. You then put a coffee filter in a strainer, measure out the coffee grounds (the norm is about two tablespoons per six ounce cup), and dump them onto the filter. After that, you pour the hot water over the beans (I use a ladle for this) and let it drip through the strainer into a cup or bowl.

Presto, coffee.

Coffee is a very simple drink: it’s hot water poured over ground, roasted beans. But the details of making it well are tricky. The water isn’t supposed to boil, but it should get close. The coffee beans should be ground and brewed within a small window to get the best flavor. Measuring out the right amount of grounds per cup to fit your likings takes time. And espresso is a whole different topic. I’m still figuring out some of that stuff, but I think I’ve mastered the basics.

Right off the bat, I know this process won’t appeal to a lot of people. For one, if it doesn’t have whipped cream, steamed milk and flavored syrup ala Starbucks, most folks don’t want it. Second, for people who are short on time in the morning and drink coffee on the go, this would seem tedious (although I assure you it’s very quick). Another downside is that it’s harder to make large quantities of coffee. And of course, most people would rather pay for it or have a machine do the work.

But for me, a single guy who doesn’t mind wasted time and effort and enjoys the occasional afternoon cup, the process works.

Sooo... anybody need a coffee maker?

Question: Have any of you brewed coffee without a coffee maker? How’d it turn out? Got any useful tips for me?


Currently in Rotation: The Veronicas – “Untouched”

From the album Hook Me Up

Finger Lickin' Good

A little over a month ago, I went to the LA County Fair and spent the day eating as many random foods as possible between rounds of laying down bets on the Fairplex horse races. One of the first things I ate that day was yam fries, and I don’t know why, but it really stuck with me. I tried them and it was love at first bite.

It’s no mystery that The Fair specializes in unusual foods. I mean, where else in the world will you find a place that specializes in deep fried foods (frog legs, ice cream bars, twinkies, Oreos, Snickers) next to a booth that specializes in chocolate dipped foods (strawberries, bananas, cotton candy, bacon; and yes, they did serve chocolate-dipped cotton candy and chocolate-dipped bacon)? So knowing that, I figured the yam fries was something I wouldn’t see again, or at least not until the next County Fair.

But A few weeks later, I ate at an Italian restaurant in Claremont and, to my surprise, they had yam fries on the menu. I ordered it and, like before, it was good. With two fixes in my bloodstream, I needed more, and so I started cooking yam fries on my own.

The recipe is simple. You cut up a yam and fry it (or deep fry it) the same way you would French fries. Once they’re done, you season them with, cinnamon, sugar, powdered sugar, honey, maple syrup, or melted marshmallow. Personally, I like all of the above.

I encourage all of you to give it a try. It won’t change your life, but it might change your thoughts about fries.


Here’s my most recent batch, topped with cinnamon and sugar.








Question: Do you have a favorite county fair food?




Currently Listening To: BritPop


Keane – Everything’s Changing and Lily Allen – Everything’s Changing

Do The Right Thing

Several weeks ago, I woke up early in the morning, got dressed for work and left my apartment. I left at 4:30 am, so it was dark outside. When I got to my car, I pushed the button on my clicker to unlock the door and pulled the handle. For some reason, the door wouldn’t open.

I tried it again. Push the button, pull the handle. Once again, the door wouldn’t open.

It was then that I looked down and saw a giant dent in my car door. Evidently, some jackass hit my car in the middle of the night and damaged it bad enough that the door can’t open from the outside. And of course, the f**ker didn’t leave a note. No insurance info, no “sorry that I hit you,” not even a napkin with a fake phone number on it. I got the old hit and run; the hit and split; the smash and dash.









As you can imagine, this has made getting into my car a real pain. I’ve spent the last few weeks jumping through the window like the Dukes of Hazzard.






Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but not by much.

Yesterday I visited my insurance company and they appraised the damage. They crunched a few numbers, estimated the damage and cut me a check to help get it fixed. Soon I’ll be searching for a good local body shop to replace the door and repaint several parts on the driver’s side.

When I spoke to the insurance guy, he gave me a shocking statistic. In the thirty years that he’s been in the business, he has filed over 75,000 claims. Of all the hit and runs he’s encountered, he says he could count on both hands the number of times that the dasher actually left a note behind.

It’s so weird to me. I know that if I ever hit someone, I would at least leave a phone number or something. But apparently I’m a total sucker for thinking that way. Nobody does the right thing.

I’m curious to know something. How many of you have been involved in a hit and run? Did the other person leave their contact information behind (or if you were at fault, did you leave your contact information behind?).


Currently In Rotation: Punk

AFI – Miss Murder

Golden Girl, Pt. 2

Three days after an epic Halloween weekend, I met up with Chris, who hosted the memorable party in Ontario. I planned on skating around the issue of the drunken, naked Golden Girl, but he was eager to talk about her because he had an interesting update.

As I figured, she didn’t remember a thing about the night before. She was sick and hungover all through Sunday. On Monday she was still sick and got worse. That night she checked herself into a clinic, where the doctors ran a series of tests on her. The tests had two major reveals.

The first was that her blood tested positive for cocaine. I can’t say I was too surprised to hear that: Chris and I strongly suspected that many of the people at the party were high on something other than life and cheap liquor. I figured a narcotic was at work (cocaine is a stimulant, not a narcotic, but close enough). I guess the combination of the coke and all the liquor was too much for her to handle.

The other big reveal was that she was pregnant. Yeah, seriously.

I hear she spent all of Tuesday in tears while trying to figure out what to do about the baby. Personally, I have my doubts about her being mommy material right now. But then again, I once said the same thing about Nicole Ritchie and she seems to be a decent mother.

You never know. Some people change… sometimes, anyway.


Currently in Rotation: Hip Hop/Electro

Kid Cudi f. Kanye West & Lady Gaga – "Make Her Say (Afrojack Remix)"

Golden Girl

Halloween weekend just passed, and if I had to rank this year among Halloweens past, 2009 would be the second best of all-time. Friday night was dinner and clubbing in Pasadena with group of supercool, borderline alcoholic doctors, while Saturday night was split between Beena’s party in Chino Hills and Chris’ party in Ontario. There were lots of highlights, but one in particular deserves mention.

Before I share this story, I should offer a disclaimer: if tales of drunken debauchery aren’t your cup of tea, you might wanna close this window and read some news stories on MSNBC instead. This is not a story about mankind on his best behavior.


Around 1 am, I got to the party in Ontario. I stepped out of my car, walking with a cane and a nice gangster limp. But I wasn’t dressed as a pimp; I was Dr. House from my favorite show, House, MD. I had the cane, the sport coat, a stethoscope, and even a bottle of Vicodin (sorry, no pictures).

When I arrived, everyone was already really drunk, particularly the girls. Nonetheless, I had a good time hanging out with everyone. After a taking shots, playing many rounds of beer pong, and grooving to some funky jams, I hung around ‘til around 3 am. When I sobered up, I said my goodbyes.

I went into the garage to say bye to Chris and the rest of the crew, then went back into the house to leave. When I got into the hallway near the bedrooms, I noticed a really drunk girl standing there like she was about to pass out. I walked closer, but then realized that she was naked. Completely naked. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I asked her. “Can I help you?” The moment I spoke, she started urinating – while still standing – all over the hardwood floor.

Yeah, that happened.

I went back into the garage and informed the host.

Aaron: Dude, uh, I don’t know how to say this but… there’s a naked a girl peeing on the floor in the hallway.
Chris: What the f**k! Who is it?
Aaron: I don’t know. The girl with the lightning bolts on her cheek.
Chris: S**t! Why didn’t you stop her?
Aaron: What am I supposed to do, catch it?
Chris: We gotta handle this.
Aaron: Great!


We go back inside and she’s still in the hallway, still standing, still naked, and somehow, still peeing. Other people overheard me talking to Chris, so they ran inside to see the naked girl who is, quite literally, pissy drunk. Chris rounded them up and sent them away so they wouldn’t see her like that, while I grabbed her by the arm and tried to take her to the bathroom. The girl, who looked like she had no idea what was going on before, suddenly started struggling, so getting her to the bathroom became a real chore. As if it weren’t hard enough to move her along while trying not to step in the liquid gold all over the floor, now she decides to put up a fight.

Oh yeah, and she’s still peeing.

Chris and I finally drag her into the bathroom and she slams and locks the door behind her.

I felt bad that the girl made such a mess, so I agreed to help him clean it up. I rounded up a mop and bucket, filled it with water and cleanser, and started mopping up the hallway. Since hardwood floor gets ruined if it takes on too much water, we had to dry the floor as we went along. So everywhere I scrubbed, he followed it up with a towel to soak it up. When we were done, the hallway was spotless and odor free.

Job well done.

We went to dump out the water and put away the goods, but then we realized that the bathroom door was open. I peeked inside and the girl was gone, but she left her mark. I guess she never got on the toilet. Instead, she just peed all over the floor and went somewhere else, perhaps in search of her clothes. All I know is it looked like the Yellow River in there.

Back to work for us.

By the time we finished, nearly everyone who was still left at the party was passed out. Chris and I went outside and chatted about our Fantasy football teams. I congratulated him for throwing a wild party and left left. When I got home, I took an extra long shower. Though I didn’t get a drop of pee on me, something about being surrounded by that much urine just makes one feel, well, a little unclean.

A part of me wonders if she remembers any of her drunken behavior now. Probably not. If I ever see her again, I won’t remind her, but I’ll probably call her Golden Girl at least once, even if she doesn’t know why.


Currently In Rotation: Indie Pop

Mozella - "Freezing"

The Walking Dead

A few years ago, I killed off my online existence. Networking sites were deleted, pictures were erased and blogs were abandoned. I had my reasons at the time, though if you were to ask me now, I'd struggle to recall any of them. I'll just say that I wanted anonymity, so I decided to lay low in my own form of social exile. This is not to say I became a hermit in the physical world; far from it. But online, I was a ghost, a mere vapor trail of blog entries and jpegs.



Today is All Souls Day, or as some would call it, Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). It's fitting, since I've now come back from the dead. Thanks in large part to a handful of friends who were very persistent over the last few years in getting me back onto a social networking site, I've been resurrected. I don't know how long this will last, but for now, I'll enjoy my return to the online life.