Ho Ho ho! Greetings and a late Happy Holidays to all. I hope Time Whore came and slept with all your parents…maybe even left a gift for you!

Happy Holidays. That generic term should be PC enough for everyone, right? God forbid, I actually wish someone a Merry Christmas and they’re Jewish, or a Happy Chanukah and their African American—I can’t imagine how crushing and satanic that would be. But seriously, sometimes the reactions are absurd: “What are you saying? That I look Christian? Are you actually wishing me good tidings? You piece of goyim shit.” Anyway, I don’t really get what the big deal is…why we can’t just go out and wish people Happy Kwanza or Native American Day. But maybe I’m old fashioned. Maybe I’m too “missionary style” for this world.

Anyway, I digress. The real point of this story is actually much more pointless. It’s about my new favorite word. One that I use all the time now…actually to the point where I almost can’t control it. It just comes out. I blurt it out. Even I think I say it too much. And it’s not a common word. In fact, I’m pretty sure I made it up. Maybe not, but I’ll sure as hell take credit for it. I use it for everything—nouns, adjectives, verbs…even as a whole sentence. And it works. It says it all. Are you ready? Can you handle it? Ok, here it is…

Doodycakes.

Ahhh, yesss! Yes. Yes, yesss. That sweet word. Say it again. Doodycakes. I want you to repeat it to yourself. Slowly at first, then faster, until it really hits home. Doodycakes. Doodycakes. Then sing it in a song…. (more…)

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I broke my own cardinal rule recently, and was immediately punished for it. Always keep your car door locked. It was such an innocent mistake. I was just running into the grocery store to pick up a bottle of liquor as a gift before my friends birthday party—five minutes!!—maybe not even, and…I left the car unlocked. In a good neighborhood. Well-lit parking lot.

I didn’t even notice it that night, but the next morning, when I went out for a casual drive, reached for my sunglasses—and they weren’t there. “That’s weird” said I. They are always here. And then I start checking around. And I notice things are all messed up.

My CDs look all jumbled, the faceplate on my CD player was jiggling like someone had fucked with it, and there was a bunch of shit from my glove compartment on the floor. And here was the kicker: I look down…and all the loose change in my console was gone. Damnit! That was my meter money, you bum! And it was painfully clear—I’d been robbed. (more…)

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One of the perks of living in this crazy town—and you can’t get it anywhere else—is the occasional celebrity encounter. It’s what we all talk about, what we all hope for—what we all remember. Forget Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears. I don’t want to see those attention whores. They get enough undeserved admiration from idiots all around the country—and it’s bad enough I have to read about them every time they fart and someone smells it.

My attention is better spent on the B and C List celebrities. They are really what makes this town sparkle. And they are everywhere. People you see and say, “Wait, Isn’t that_______?” And you’re not sure because the last time you saw them was 10 years ago playing a supporting role in “Harry and the Hendersons”. But they are the lifeblood of this business. And more importantly, they provide the most memorable encounters.

It’s funny. You grew up watching these people—admiring them, looking up to them. So when you see them for the first time in real life, you are fully expecting it to be in some amazing, heroic moment. Them rescuing a scared kitten out of a tree, or giving CPR to Marine–bringing him back to life, or giving the Pope a wedgie.

But it never happens like that. (more…)

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Listen, Mr. FancyPants expensive restaurant. I’m on to you and your bullshit prices for fountain soda. “Violated”, “UnAmerican” and “Horse Shit” are a few words I’d use to describe a recent trip to a high-end restaurant on the Sunset Strip. Fuck em—it was Le Petit Four. A place probably well above my stature, but hey—work was buying it, so I picked the best place I could.

I had ordered a Coke—you know, the red, white, and blue of fountain sodas. America in a carbonated liquid form. It was refreshing, cold—I regret to say—slightly watered-down. And while eating, the waitress came over and said “Wouldya like another, honey?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll take a refill.” And don’t call me honey.

Now I should note now: these weren’t big-boy cups, they were slightly smaller than normal. I’d describe them as “fat-cat cups”. Aristocrat Chalices. You know, the type of glasses that put aesthetic appeal before functionality. (more…)

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Artist: Blackalicious Song: A to G

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I just got back from my 5 year High School Reunion. I know, 5 years. It’s nothing. But hey, they tricked us into it by having it at a bar the day after Thanksgiving. I was in town. And there’s not much else to do in my hometown. So…bar it is.

So what do you do at a 5 year reunion? Well, one thing you don’t do is get black-out drunk and puke all over the girls bathroom. I’m looking at you, redhead in my class. Sure, I get a kick out you losing control and embarrassing yourself. But come on idiot, you’ve been legally able to drink for three years now. Show some control.

So what did I do? Well—I’m an asshole, so I begin the night by a few quick hellos to put out the feelers – you know, get a gauge of what’s happened to these people. Where they’re at, whether they’re still cool.

And then come the superlatives:

“Most likely to turn into the fifth moon of Jupiter” went to the girl who must have gained a thousand pounds. All in the waist. Wowza. It seemed like no matter where I was in the room, I slowly gravitated towards her.

“Most likely to blow you in the puke-covered women’s bathroom. And then blow your friend” goes to the girl who has transformed from high school sweetheart to turbo-slut. Strangely, she also won “Most likely to polish a doorknob with her ass.” Oh, where that mouth has been.

“Most likely to drunkenly eat 20 chicken wings and leave the bones scattered throughout the room” went to me. I apologize. But they were too damn delicious.

“Most likely to be go on a steroid induced frenzy and beat his wife” went to that skinny kid that now has traps like a WWF wrestler. Eeeaasy fella. Ask the bar tender for a whey protein martini.

“Most likely to cry at any given minute, especially in the presence of a Dashboard Confessional song” went to that kid that is now full-blown emo. Yes, you with ripped jeans and jet black hair covering your eye. I noticed. Don’t cry. Things are going to get better. (more…)

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