Get Off My Lawn! (Goddamn Kids)

Many of you already know this.  I have no desire to have kids.  None.  Don’t like ‘em.  Nothing against them, I’m sure your kids are great, just have no desire to have my own. 

My good friend from home, Jacob, and his wife Courtney have a four month old named Noah.  My cousin Melissa, with a little help from her husband Jake, recently squirted out their own spawn named Sawyer (if he becomes friends with a Huck, I’d keep a close eye on those little fuckers).  I offer them both my deepest congratulations and the best of luck.  In the great words of Jacob’s father, “Once you have kids, you’re life is over.”  Some dad. (Just kidding. Mr. D is awesome.)

From my side of the wall though, I don’t honestly see what the big deal is.  I mean, I guess it’s great to have your own kids, but I don’t see why people are so amazed when two people make a kid.  Honestly, I think it takes a lot more effort, and is a lot harder, to NOT make a kid.  I mean, shit, give me a chance and I bet I could get a woman pregnant real quick.  Not that I want to; farthest thing from it.

IF if if if if if, I ever decide to have a child of my own, I want to adopt.  I feel the time honored tradition of passing on ones genes and “the family name” are over.  The idea of family in this day and age, with same sex couples and raising children from third-world countries, is so different, the old ways are outdated and unnecessary.  It’s way more important to love the person you are raising.  “Wait until you have kids of your own.  It’ll be different.”  Well, what if it’s not.  What if I meet someone, have a kid, and I can’t stand the little bastard and end up hating this little piece of person.  And now I’m stuck with him/her. 

On the radio the other day, Heidi from the wildly popular afternoon talk radio show on 97.1 Frostly, Heidi, and Frank made this analogy (bear with me, I don’t remember it exactly):

I have two cats.  I love them both equally.  Now the first cat, which I bought at the pet store, likes me, but is a little anti- social, not only with people who come to visit, but also with me.  Her owner.  My second cat, I adopted.  When I went to the shelter to pick her out, she peeked at me through the cage, mewed at me, and reached her little paw thru the cage trying her damndest to get to me.  I brought her home and she shows me everyday how appreciative she is that I rescued her.  Not that my other cat doesn’t do this, but the one I saved from the shelter I think knows what I did, and she knows that because I picked her out, I really wanted that cat. 

~~~~~~

I think adopting a child is like that.  It’s great to have a kid of your own, but if you adopt a kid, you have to go thru years of background checks and really work to adopt.  You have to prove you are capable of taking care of it.  You go thru a lot and you know you want that child more than anything.  And I think that kid will love you way more knowing you took a chance by bringing them into your home to love.  They know you wanted them and that makes a huge difference.

To solidify that response, a few days after that, I overheard the craziest conversation.  I was scouting a dance studio for Parental Control.  A beginner ballet class let out.  One of the students, a girl who was probably around six years of age, was having a conversation with another member of the class about her parents.  The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, because when my ears perked up, I heard the first little girl say,

My birth parents didn’t love me.  They had me and gave me up.  I lived in an orphanage until I was five, then these other people adopted me: my real parents.  And they love me a whole lot.  They really love me.  My birth parents just had me and gave me up.

Wow. Her birth parents, as she called them, obviously didn’t care for her, or weren’t ready to be parents, or whatever the reason.  And here’s this six year-old-girl who was intelligent enough to realize her “real” parents wanted her and loved her more than anything.  That really struck me.  And it confirmed my decision to adopt kids instead of having my own. 

Again, I don’t want kids.  But if for some reason if my idea about that changes, I think I want to be at a point where I really want to have a son or daughter, and I really want this kid to know I tried my hardest and worked my ass off to be their father.

Just because I’ve gone away, doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever… 

This Is Your Life

It sometimes still boggles my mind. 

I am returning to Philly this weekend for the holidays, and I will be grabbing drinks with my college buddies Saturday night.  I will be hanging out with a teacher, a state working, an investment banker, and an accountant. My cousin Melissa’s first kid was born last week.  People I know are engaged, married, and starting families. 

And then there’s me.  From those people, I have chosen an inherently different path.  I take weekend trips to New York City simply to celebrate a birthday.  I go clothes shopping with a semi-famous musician.  I will be spending a Sunday night getting drunk with a few of my best friends in a small Eastern Pennsylvania town that’s known for the hi-jinks which happen there on a daily basis. 

It’s pretty amazing.

I had only one dream from the moment I entered high school: to work in the film industry.  I sidestepped that a bit and got into reality TV, but close enough.  I lived that dream before I graduated college.  Everything from there on out was, and still is, a bonus.  I have met people I thought were unapproachable, I go drinking with people who are from all over the world, I have to opportunity to wear cut-off jeans to work everyday and it’s acceptable.  I get shit from people in my office if I decide to wear sneakers instead of flip-flops to the office. 

My weekend:

I hit up a happy hour with a friend from Santa Cruz who's cousin grew up best friends with my roommate.  In the past, I would have looked thru my small town beer goggles  and tell you that such a connection was impossible.

I hung out with two very RAD females, a pro-surfer, the DJ from House Of Pain, and a short, chubby comedian, and together we pull a prank involving the destruction of a $5000 “tobacco waterpipe” on Melrose Ave., well, that’s bullshit.  I get paid for this? Come on.

Dirty Penny stayed in my apartment.  A throwback hair band who are totally legit, and amazing musicians, and great friends spent two days at my place.  We drank until 3:00 AM Thursday.  I got to see them play at the legendary Whiskey A Go-Go on Hollywood Blvd. Friday.  I got put on the guest list to see Dirty Penny at the Whiskey A Go-Go.  We partied like rock stars until 7:00 AM, slept for five hours, got up and continued drinking. 

My life is pretty awesome. All friends alike.  I just mention the above situations with larger than life accomplices because they are larger than life.  But don’t get me wrong.  My “normal” friends are pretty epic too.  Both industry and college alike.

I don’t know where I’m going with this.  Just had a great weekend.  That’s all.  

Can you hear me scream (SCREAM)… Can you hear me shout (SHOUT)…

It's The First Time I Got A Man For My Birthday

Johnny kept asking all weekend, “Is it gay to say my best birthday present ever is a dude?”  I must have heard it at least thirty times; which is oddly appropriate because this past weekend, my roommate, Johnny Martini, celebrated his 30^th birthday in Brooklyn, New York.  And, thanks to his amazing girlfriend Bruno, I was able to be there to help him celebrate.

The week before Thanksgiving, we (and by we, I mean Parental Control) did our Vignette shoot at Bruno’s apartment.  After we were done, she asked me if I was planning on going to New York for Johnny’s birthday.  I told her sadly, I couldn’t afford a flight, especially since I was flying home two weeks later for Xmas.  To which she replied, “Well, what if I paid for you to go?”  Well shit.  Bruno informed me she had enough airlines miles saved up, she could fly, herself, Roger, and me to NYC for Johnny’s bash for free.  It would Johnny’s present to have Roger and I be there to spend his birthday with him. 

In the end, Roger didn’t go because he simply did not have the money to go out in New York; it’s a little pricey.  Johnny told Bruno not to go because she would have to miss two days of work and he would be home a week later, so she should save money and make money.  So I made the trip alone. 

I had to work all day Friday; we were shooting a Reveal Day on PC.  We wrapped around eight, I grabbed the shot tapes, and headed for MTV.  I made it home in enough time to grab a shower and chill for about two hours before Bruno picked me up for the airport.  We departed The Hotel around 10:30.  My flight was at 11:55 PM.  Late.  Good old red eye. 

I arrived just in time to get thru security and board the plane.  I missed hearing my section being called to board the plane, not because I was late, but because I was in the middle of a chapter of the book Angler I was reading.  I went and asked the man behind the counter if he called my seat to be boarded and like a dick with a horrible accent, he says, “Ugh, yes.  Get on the plane. Geez.”  Thanks dick.  Way to make me want to fly your airline (American) again.  Dick.

I took some sleeping pills knowing full well this five hour flight might be the only sleep I would get before getting snoggered Saturday night.  Well, unfortunately, the plane got delayed for like a half hour, so my groggy ass was too tired to read, and too uncomfortable to sleep due to an upright seat.  To top it off, some jit-bag British actor from Orange County kept talking to anyone who would listen about his acting troop, and where they performed, and discussed the evolution of his beer palette, and how he likes cold beer now even though he was raised in Ireland on warm beer.  Who gives a rat’s ass?! It’s 12:15 AM, I got a big day ahead of me. I need to sleep.  The bastard couldn’t even wait to get into the air to get an alcoholic beverage.  He got out of his seat and bothered the airline staff until he got a free beer, then showed it off to everyone like he was twelve, bragging to his friends, “Look what I snagged from the Old Man’s liquor cabinet.” 

Once in the air I slept the whole time.  Thank god.  I woke up the next morning at 8:30 as the plane was descending onto the cold JFK airport runway below.  My adventure was poised to begin.  I made my way to the AirTrain per directions from Bruno.  This little train transports it’s passengers from any terminal to the subway lines.  After a quick fifteen minute jaunt, I stood on a platform waiting for the A-train member of the New York Metro Subway system.  From the A, I transferred to L-train to make my way to Brooklyn to Dooner’s place, where Johnny is staying.  This was the first time I rode on the NY subway, and I must say, I know I only took three trains total, but the subway was a lot easier than I expected.

At 10:15 AM I reached the point of no return at Graham Ave. in Brooklyn, a mere ten minute walk to my final destination.  My palms were sweating in anticipation as I Google mapped my route via my iPhone.  Soon, I found myself around the corner, sniping Dooner’s front door from behind a brick apartment building.  I called Bruno to let her know I was there.  Bruno told Johnny the previous day he would be receiving a birthday care package the following morning around ten.  He thought he was getting cupcakes; boy, he was way off.  The plan was as follows: Bruno would now call Johnny to say his delivery was there, he would walk downstairs, and viola I would be there, pink bow on my head, and birthday card in hand.  Simple.  Well, Johnny decided to leave him phone on silent, so he never received her call.  Apparently (luckily), he got bored waiting for the “delivery man” and walked downstairs to take his laundry to the cleaners.  So even though he never received the call, he still hit his mark. 

I expected a rampage when he opened the door.  Instead I got a barely audible, “What the fuck?  How the… Wait… What are you doing here?  I can’t believe you’re here.”  A girl followed him down the stairs, witnessed this all go down, and from Johnny’s delivery, she probably assumed two long-lost gay lovers were reunited and she would have to listen to their love making all day thru the thin walls of her apartment.  Johnny read Bruno’s card and began to realize I was his birthday present from his girlfriend to which he first stated, “I got a man for my birthday.  This is the first time I got a dude for my birthday.  This might be my greatest birthday present ever.  Is that gay?”  Maybe a little, buddy. 

After a quick reunion on the ground floor, we headed to floor three to the apartment where Johnny said Dooner was still asleep and I needed to fuck with him.  Camera rolling, I tip-toed over to Doon-dog’s bed and right as I was about to spring into action, he used his Spidey sense to realize there was danger brewing, he rolled over, looked at me, and said, “I knew you assholes would be here.”  He eventually got out of bed and the three of us repeated the “dude-what-are-you-doing-in-Brooklyn-I-can’t-believe-you’re-here” scenario before snapping a few photos, calling Bruno to tell her how shit went down, and then headed out for brunch at a nice little bar called Harefield Road. 

Brunch supplied nothing more than a discussion of the previous events, the planning of it, the strategy for the evening, and a quaint discussion with the bartender about how I could get my will tattooed on my ass in fine print, making my last “screw you” to everyone involved being hunched over my ass with a magnifying glass reading my last wishes. 

The rest of the afternoon consisted of a short two hour nap, meeting up with Johnny’s hometown buddy Juice (K-C what!), and taking a short trip to Penn Station to pick up Joanna Korman, who was excited to see everyone.  Our showers became an exercise in aversion when Juice dumped oatmeal on Johnny, Johnny dumped ice water on me – twice, and I gave Dooner a nice little fruit basket which he tried to top with shaving cream.  I “accidentally” grabbed his face towel to clean up.  Although, he got me last, I had the last word because after I left, Dooner used the same towel I used to clean my ass to wipe off his face.  Gotcha bitch!

Dinner was a chore.  Five people trying to figure out a place to go in New York City proved to be a lot harder than we expected.  We were like teenage girls sitting around twirling our hair continually asking, “What do you want to do? I don’t know. What do you want to do?”  After a few nicely placed phone calls, Johnny, Dooner, Juice, Joanna, and I settled on and made reservations at a little Peruvian restaurant called Pampa for dinner.  It was a good thing we made those reservations too because when we got there the whole place was empty save for the forty wait-staff members running amuck.  Seriously, the place couldn’t have been much bigger than Dooner’s apartment, but it seems like there was a whole army of help there to serve the fifteen tables present.  Waiters aside, the food was pretty good and not horribly priced.  I enjoyed my meal and filled up pretty quickly.

As an added little bonus, it began to snow.  Very lightly, but was the first snowfall in the city and it made a nice little addition to the whole mood of the evening.  We continued our trek down to the subway where we caught the L-train, traveled a few stops, and made our way to Williamsburg to an amazing indoor beer garden named Radegast Hall & Biergarten.  I believe the smallest beer you could order was like thirty-four ounces or something retarded like that.  Dooner told me any beer I order would be worth while.  I ordered some Dunkel something-or-other and made the very wrong assumption each beer came in similar sized mugs.  Nopers.  The bartender slugs over a mug that’s gotta be at least fifty-five ounces.  I mean Christ, the thing weighed thirty-five pounds and I needed two hands to hold the thing in fear if I tried to muscle it with one hand my wrist would break and I would be out one gi-normous brew. 

I surprised everyone there as well and did it as creatively as I could think of.  I walked up to Joe Child,I brought him his mail, turned around and walked out.  Joe DeVito was with him, so he just yelled at me and asked what asshole let me into his city, or some bullshit. Haha.  Josh Richards walked in and sauntered the wrong way away from our section, so I walked up to him, put my arm around his shoulder, and escorted him to where we were sitting.  He took three steps, stopped, and looked at me like, “What the fuck?!” and planted a huge kiss on me.  Nice.  Mike C. had the best reaction.  I was coming back from the bathroom and walked by saying, “Hey man, good to see you.”  He looks at me, does this head shake triple take, spread his arms and bellows, “What the fuck are you doing in this state!?!”  I got the physical reaction I expected, but the statement was hysterical.  Do I really spend that much time in Venice?

It was an amazing night.  We drank until 4:00 AM (because bars are open much later in NY).  Dooner and Josh postulated during the course of events that bar goers have about a seven minute window between 2:00 and 2:07 AM to decide to call it a night.  If you don’t leave then, you’re in for the long haul.  You don’t decide at 3:30 you’re going to call it night, at that point you wait out last call in hopes you leave the bar with as many clothes as possible and without urinating all over yourself after trying to take a leak as you wobble around like a tower of jell-o. 

We made it back to Dooner’s via a ten dollar car service where I entertained everyone in the back seat with my discussion of all the world’s events with the driver. 

The next morning we all awoke extremely hung-over probably because we went to bed at five and woke up at ten.  But it was totally worth it.   We returned to have brunch at Harefield.  Then Johnny escorted Joanna back to Penn Station and I went back to Dooner’s to watch the first half of the Eagles/Giants game. (We killed them.  Where the hell has that been all season?)  At the half, I said my goodbyes, thanked everyone, and hopped a quick subway over to Union Square in Manhattan to meet my cousin Kristin and her boyfriend Danny there to have some coffee and catch up.  We probably haven’t seen each other since our cousin Melissa’s wedding in 2007, so almost two years.  It was great to see her.  After, we took a quick photo in the Square, and I made my final subway ride back down to JFK to catch my flight home. 

Johnny’s 30^th birthday weekend has so many great memories, and hopefully I caught most of them here.  The rest I’m sure will be discussed this weekend over many, many imported beers when Johnny returns home.  I have his girlfriend Bruno to thank for all of it.  She could be the best girlfriend ever.  Possibly. 

But seriously, thank you Bruno, you’re (our) boyfriend loved his present. 

Earlier this year I predicted, “2008 is turning out to be a great year.”  After this past weekend, and everything I wrote and you read, 2008 turned out to be an incredible year.  So little of it is left, but this past weekend couldn’t have been a better way to begin ushering the year on it’s way.

We hold our hopes like cigarettes, then leave them dying in the grass…

It's Never Too Late For A Bad Idea

After constant hounding from my dear, dear friend Lauren, a.k.a. L-Ron, a.k.a. Party Monster (taking that name back), I decided to make my first return trip back to good ol’ Santa Cruz.  I would be joined by one Pascual Murderface, which made for a very nice little vacation.

The drive north only took about five hours from Burbank and we arrived on 41^st Ave. around 9:30 at night.  Once we got into town, we swung by Trader Joe’s to catch Benji off guard who was ecstatic to see us; he said it made his work-day much more tolerable.  We hugged and played grab ass for a few minutes and then got introduced to a new SC friend: a nice little alcoholic beverage known as Simpler Times Beer, only $3.99 for a six-pack.  We then took a little memorial drive through the Cruz towards downtown where L-Ron resides.  After a joyous reunion with L who, other than about five minutes in October, I haven’t seen since August, we began drinking. She has a great little apartment right behind the Quizzno’s. 

Our night involved meeting up with Munchie, who happened to be in town for one night only where we walked over to Ocean Ave. and visited L’s favorite hideaway, The Jury Room.  There, over many two dollar PBRs, we caught up and met a lot of her local friends.  Benji met up with us when he finished work and brought his lovely girlfriend Lindsay out as well.  Munchie drug everyone back to her hotel room, but I decided to head home with L, which turned out to be the better decision b/c every else partied until like five AM.  Shortly before passing out for the night, I was treated to a verbal lashing by L for wearing basketball shorts to sleep.  I think she called me an east coast asshole that liked listening to Hatebreed.  Thus ended Day One.

Day Two began with blunch at the Saturn Café, a vegetarian diner.  Easily one of my favorite places to eat, not only in Santa Cruz, but anywhere.  I got me an extremely delicious faux BBQ chicken sandwich.  After breakfast, we sauntered around downtown for a bit, stopped into this little hippie shop, where I made probably the best impulse buy ever; a book entitled No Regrets: The Best, Worst, & Most #$%*ing Ridiculous Tattoos Ever.  It has some of the worst ideas for tattoos I have ever seen.  So funny though.

After that, we made our way over to Capitola to watch a surfing competition.  We stopped into the Bay Bar for a quick pint where I ran into Crystal, one of the bartenders.  She couldn’t believe I was there.  She did a little double take and greeted me with a nice, “What the hell are you doing here?”  Next, we walked to the end of the beach path to watch the long board competition. As we were walking, to my utter delight, Jenny Useldinger just happened to be in town from Maui surfing in the competition.  She is a really talented surfer, and super cute to boot.  We caught up a bit before she took to the waves.  It was amazing to watch her surf.  Lindsay and her mom were helping to tally up the scores, so we hung out with them for a bit as well.  We walked around Capitola village a bit and L-Ron said she can’t wait to take her parents there when the come to town to visit next. 

Next, we made our way to the tattoo shop.  Apparently, the night before while were at The Jury Room, I told Pascual and Lauren the story about how when we were filming Rad Girls in Santa Cruz this past summer, a few of us decided to get pink hearts tattooed on our middle fingers to remember the trip, but when it came time to getting the work done, the artist went M.I.A.  Pascual said we should do it, and L-Ron said we can’t write a check we can’t cash, so Saturday afternoon, L-Ron’s new man, Paul, hooked us up quick appointments at Kalifa’s Tattoo shop where he works.  We filmed the whole thing and you can check out the video here. CLICK HERE!

For dinner we got Subway, and spent most of the rest of the night watching movies in L’s apartment.  Save for a quick trip across the street to The Catalyst to see Spanky Savage from the killer hair band Dirty Penny.  We stayed in all night.  It was great to see Spanky; we haven’t hung out since last time they were in LA back in early February.  The reunion was short and sweet, but will continue in a few weeks when Dirty Penny headlines The Whiskey in Hollywood on December 12.  YOU ALL BETTER BE THERE!!!

Day three took us down to the Santa Cruz boardwalk after breakfast at the Chill Our Café, another top food spot (breakfast burritos as big as your forearm).  We walked around and snapped a few photos.  The best one was of the three of us standing on the train bridge, which is a famous spot from the movie The Lost Boys.  We took a little driving tour of UC Santa Cruz to see where Lauren is going to school.  The campus is beautiful and overlooks all over SC. I challenge you to find a more serene campus.  Next we made our way back to Capitola and the Bay Bar to partake in my weekly tradition: Sunday Funday.  To my surprise, Crystal was not behind the bar, but instead, my great friend James, who is like my musical equal, ran the taps.  We hit it off super well back when I was filming Rad Girls because we pretty much have matching iPods (and taste in music).  We spent most of the afternoon and early evening just bullshitting and putting back pints to our hearts desire. 

Oh, and some dude tried to kick my ass.  While James and I were discussing new bands we’ve come across for each other to check out, some dude walks right up to me and says to me, “What’s up?”  I looked at him for a good fifteen seconds trying to place him, figuring it was someone I met over the summer.  I ask him what’s up back, and he’s like, “You got a staring problem?” At this point I’m a little confused.  I know the bar is small, but I don’t even remember looking at him once.  Apparently, I was staring at the juke-box which was behind where he was playing pool.  He told me to “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”  Really?! You’re going to get in my face for possibly staring at you and then using the most clichéd lines to intimidate me?  What a tool.  James yelled at him and made him to apologize to me. It was great.

After closing our tab at the Bay Bar, James and I made plans to meet up later that night to catch up more.  I dropped L and Pascual off at The Jury Room, and I went back and took a little nap knowing full well that if I went with them, I never would have made it all night.  I watched a little Rocky III before picking the two of them up and bringing them back to the Batcave.  Pascual managed to pass out on the couch for the rest of the night, only awakening to give us money for pizza. 

After dinner, we slapped a note on Pascual and L and I headed to meet James and Benji over at Castaways for a few last-night-in-town beers.  It was a nice little wrap up to a perfect weekend.  The only bummer was not seeing Jenny U. the rest of the trip.  We tried to meet up, but we kept missing each other. 

I couldn’t have asked for a better bit of relaxation.  I love going into that town; a calm seems to always roll over me.  Such a great attitude and feeling hit when I am cruising down Route 152 over the mountains, hitting the home stretch into town.  I can’t explain it, and you can’t know it unless you go there yourself.  So take a break and make a trip, it’s totally worth it.

It never quite feels the same…

A Really RAD Premiere

I’ve always been proud of what I do for a living.  Even when I’m on a job I hate (fucking Mobile Home Bitch-Slap), I know I could be stuck behind a desk typing numbers into a spreadsheet for a living, waiting for the perfect moment to go postal on my boss when he asks me to work on Saturday for free.  I’ve worked on some pretty great shows.  If it wasn’t for Viva la Bam I wouldn’t have made the life-long friends I have now.  Viva was more than a job, it was an era, which changed and directed my life in an amazing direction.  Punk’d transitioned me into Los Angeles and kept me afloat while people I knew couldn’t make it in this tough city. 

Last night though, I experienced the culmination and start of one of the proudest projects I’ve ever had the opportunity to work on.  At 9:30 PM, Benji, Chris S., J-mar, Pascual Murderface, Ramona Cash, Munchie, Darling Clementine, Michelle, and myself, along with four hundred of our closest friends and family from all over the country waited impatiently at the gate of Cinespace on Hollywood Blvd. for the premiere of Season 2 of RAD GIRLS. 

It was truly and honestly a night to remember.  Everyone dressed to impress, even me. (Thank Benji’s girlfriend, Lindsay.  She made me put on pants, a nice shirt, and a tie).  There was an open bar all night and the booze flowed like water from a Roman servant’s clay pot. 

Inside the screening room, we had our own little reserved section for cast and crew.  We were definitely playing the roll of celebrities on this windy Sunday night.

I remember watching people anxiously crowding into the screening room as I stood there with Chris, getting each other pumped up for what was to be unleashed upon the audience. To open, J-mar and the head of MavTV Rob Stevens gave a little speech acknowledging each one of us individually.  And then the fun began.  The crowd’s response was perfect.  It was one autonomous cringe, laugh, and groan at all the right parts.  Listening to the crowd go insane for what they watched gave me such a sense of pride and accomplishment for what our little group did.  I mean, we lived everything up there.  It wasn’t a well oiled machine with filming permits and grueling daily schedules, but at the same time, there were days so physically and mentally grueling, your body would collapse at night from exhaustion.  Watching Ramona boxing thirteen-year-old Matthew Vasquez, Clementine trying to wake surf behind the Shaun and Jennie Moss’s boat in Jacksonville, Florida while squid get thrown at her, all three of the Girl running around the country in burkah’s, and Munchie drinking her freshly excreted urine got the most amazing and perfect responses.  (I know, weird to get a puffed chest over, but it was brilliant.) 

After the viewing, our crew (and subsequently the crowd) lost their minds in cheers.  Our little reserved section proceeded to pile-on each other like we were in Little League and we just won the big game.  I went and found all my friends who came with me to see what they thought.  Their reactions were all pretty consistent: all loved it and were super grateful I invited them along to share such an important night.  I spent the rest of the night working the room and getting wasted.  So many people came up to me and offered their congratulations and support, I felt like I was on course to win an Oscar. 

It really was a staggeringly proud night for me.  I can’t say it enough.  Other than the episodes still needing to air, Season 2 of RAD GIRLS I think almost officially comes to a close.  But as we all know, the beast that is RAD GIRLS never really ends.  We’re always kinda working on it; coming up with gnarlier ideas or snapping a gross/sexy clip of the Girls in public.  RAD GIRLS isn’t so much a TV show for those involved, it’s a life all it’s own, and every chance we have to depart from the normal everyday rigmarole, we’re all ready to live all that is RAD.

Here we go… Think about the promises that kept you walking wandering in time…

Attack! Of The Ampersands

First.  I have to give a huge shout out to my hometown: Philadelphia.  We did it baby!!!  2008 WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS!!  After twenty-eight years without a World Series win, and twenty-five years without any sort of title in any sport, the Philadelphia Phillies beat the Tampa (Devil) Rays in five games to take home the Commissioner’s Trophy. 

It’s a moment I will remember for the rest of my life.  I was (unfortunately) stuck in traffic on the 10 freeway trying to get off an exit to find a bar to watch the end of the game.  When the last pitch was thrown, I went ape shit in my car.  People around me changed lanes to get away from the commotion I was making in The Blue Flash: screaming out of open windows and blaring the horn.  The whole idea of the win didn’t hit me totally until the next day when I got to work and began looking through photos on Philly.com, to which, and I’m not afraid to say it, I began to cry.  If there was ever a time I missed being home, it was right then.  A moment suspended in time.  I received many text messages and photo messages the following Friday from the parade down Broad St. honoring our new heroes. It’s truly an amazing moment and probably one of the proudest of my life. 

Okay, I’m done being gushy.

Go see Zack & Miri Make a Porno.  The new Kevin Smith uber-comedy is another great piece of film from the legendary Jersey boy.  For those who don’t know, the story follows two below poverty-stricken friends Zack and Miri who are so broke they decide to get a group of friends together and make a little home made filth.  I don’t want to give too much away, but there is a moment in this movie, which is probably the grossest I’ve seen in a long time, but it’s also one of the funniest I’ve seen in a very long time.  I haven’t laughed that hard at a single joke in years.  The dialogue is true KS; completely juvenile, but laced with so many smart references, it makes you wonder how you can be laughing at a dick joke that alludes to an 18^th century philosopher. 

Saturday night I went to see She & Him at the Wiltern.  “She” is actress Zooey Deschanel (who is my number one) and “Him” is legendary guitarist M. Ward.  My friend Kathleen went along for the ride since I had an extra ticket.  Zooey has such a distinctive and amazing voice.  It’s not an out of this world, kill-your-kids-to-hear-her-sing voice, but it has this weird little… I can’t really put my finger on exactly what it is, but it’s definitely unique.  And very beautiful.  And M. Ward, well he’s M. Ward.  They played a killer set, I got to hear all of my favorite songs by the duo (and their backing band), and I fell in love with Zooey all over again.  I wonder if she’s single?

In case you’ve been in a coma for the last week, Tuesday was Election Day.  And finally after a long hard battle, Barack Obama & Joe Biden beat John McCain and his dumb bitch of a VP candidate Sarah Palin (pronounce paul-in b/c she doesn’t deserve to have her name said correctly) 364-163 in electoral college votes to capture the presidential victory.  I’m really excited for his term to start.  After the last eight years of complete hate and distaste and misery for our government and it’s leader(s), I’m finally excited and proud to call myself an Amerikan again.  Hopefully Obama can live up to all expectations.  Sadly, like any politician, he is going to have many people who are dipping their hands in his pot, and he’ll have to compromise one thing or another, but I feel for the most part, he will stick to his beliefs and help resurrect our country not only in face globally, but also internally (i.e. economically, etc.). 

And now onto the biggest ampersand of them all: Coheed & Cambria.  This week, The Avalon in Hollywood was hosting Coheed & Cambria’s Neverender phenomenon.  CO&CA is a progressive rock band from New York who bases their music and albums around telling one central story.  Each album from start to finish tells a different chapter of the larger tale. 

The Neverender is a four-night concert event.  Each night, Coheed will play, in order, one album, from start to finish, in it’s entirety.  I’ve been waiting for this show for about five months.  I had tickets to nights one and two. 

Night one was The Second Stage Turbine Blade.  I really want to give you the details, but the story is so involved, and you probably won’t understand it.  It’s a really great sci-fi story which I so complex, I can’t fathom how singer Claudio Sanchez conceived it.  It was an amazing, once in a lifetime show.  I got to hear songs I haven’t heard play since I first saw Coheed six years ago back when I was in college and first discovered them.  Songs like “Junesong Provision” and “Devil In Jersey City” sounded so amazing.  What’s crazy about the whole thing if you think about it is I’m sure when a band tours, they practice the songs they are playing on that tour and that’s it.  Coheed & Cambria had to practice and know every song in their catalogue. 

Night two was In Keeping Secrets Of Silent Earth: 3.  I didn’t make it.  My favorite album by one of my favorite bands.  The title track in fact, I believe, is one of the most perfect songs ever written, and I missed it.  “Al The Killer.”  Missed it.  “A Favor House Atlantic.”  Missed it.  “Three Evils.”  Missed it.  Fuck you.

The reason:

Due to Proposition 8 not passing in California, there was a huge protest down Santa Monica Blvd. during rush hour, so I became trapped on the west side.  In fact, the traffic was so bad, I was trapped at MTV because so many cars were stopped outside I couldn’t pull my car out of the lot.  It was a literal parking lot outside.  I couldn’t even drive home to Venice, six miles away.  After the first hour of seclusion, Sharham and I decided to walk down to Ralph’s and buy food and booze to keep us nourished at the office while we waited to leave. 

Now, I am in complete support of gay rights.  It’s totally stupid to pass a law disallowing a group of people from getting married if they want to.  But do they really have to protest during rush hour in Los Angeles.  The news was interviewing protesters who were getting beat up while marching and couldn’t understand it.  Look asshole: gay, straight, bi, tri, whatever.  If you were walking down the street, and I got stuck in traffic for four hours, I would probably get the fuck out of my car and punch you too. 

I am going to post part of my friend Pascual Murderface’s blog on the subject below.  He stated it best:

We actually made a state constitutional AMENDMENT saying marriage is between a man and a woman.  Since when is the constitution to be used for anything other than PROTECTING RIGHTS AND GRANTING FREEDOMS??  When did we decide it was ok to say what we're NOT allowed to do as citizens??  Show me one amendment in any constitution where it LIMITS freedoms rather than details our RIGHTS!

I'd like to hear a single, solid argument against gay marriage.  And stop using religion or tradition.  That's a personal thing.  The fact that I say fuck, shit, ass, twat, balls, cock, and motherfucker is pretty offensive to some people too, but they can't make me a second-class citizen for saying that stuff.

Mandated discrimination is deplorable and I sincerely hope all of you end up with gay children just to see how painful it is to see people you care about losing their legal rights and privileges.

~~~~~~~

I'll keep reminding you, if you want to use the sanctity and tradition argument, it's not gonna work til you agree that we should ban atheist, agnostic, buddhist, hindu, sikh, pagan, wiccan, disabled, impotent, safe-sex, etc marriages.  Those all soil the sanctity and go against the tradition of the judeo marriage concept.

Nicely put my friend.

I think that about covered the last week or so of my life.  Zack & Miri.  She & Him.  Obama & Biden.  Coheed & Cambria.  Prop 8.

Have a great weekend everyone.  I know I will.  RAD GIRL premiere weekend.  Everyone’s in town and we’re all going to get crunked.

Blood hungry, cannibalistic unfit family ties…

 

MD 20/20

I was at the Whaler last weekend.  Big surprise.  I know.  There was a very interesting gentleman who sat down next to my drinking partner Colby at the bar on this rather ordinary Sunday.  His name was Mad Dog.  Obviously it wasn’t his real name.  He worse cargo shorts, flip-flops, a Hawaiian shirt, and a red skull earring dangled from his left ear.  He had to have been local surfer dude back in the 70s.  He was with a woman who I am assuming was his new main-squeeze because they got into a little tiff about the women he used to date.  (Apparently she wanted to know about his old squeezes.) 

He ordered a drink which I can only assume he invented, appropriately titled a “Mad Dog.”  It was comprised of Jameson and milk.  Shaken, not stirred.  Not sure about you, but milk and alcohol doesn’t really seem to want to hang out in my stomach together, but this guy took like four of them right to the dome.

Anyway.  What struck me about this guy, and what sparked this posting, was his skull earring.  He had to be in his sixties, and he was still rocking it old school.  I love his commitment to style.  Neither age nor changing fashion would stop this man from killing it in his favorite stylee. 

The question I asked myself was (which many of you can presume): What will I be like when I get older? 

Can you imagine it?  Say I’m fifty-five years old.  Obviously I will still have any and all tattoos I decide to get plus the art I currently have.  But what about my earrings?  What if I decide to stretch them more? 

Imagine I’m still sitting at the Whaler, big holes in my ears, rocking cut off shorts, a tank top, nipples pierced, listening to loud and fast music, cruising around Venice on my bike on any one of the gorgeous Sunday afternoons which arrives during that decade of my life.  My local Venice compatriots still yelling “Mallick” as I enter, as if I was Norm arriving at Cheers just in time to have a cold Stella slide across the bar to quench my afternoon thirst.

Imagine my friends there with me.  Will Pascual still go by Murderface?  Will J-mar still be J-mar?  Or will he make all his contemporaries call him Jason?  What nicknames will come and go with the years?      

It’s very strange to look that far into the future and wonder where we will all be and who we’ll be friends with and who will be married and who will leave town for families or whatever. 

Whatever is about to happen, I’m not too worried.  Life right now can’t really get much better.  It’s another B-E-A-UTIFUL weekend in Venice.  The Phillies are playing in Game 3 of the World Serious, in Philadelphia.  (A little rain delay pushed the game back a few hours, but what can you do?)  It’s Mike C’s and Johnny’s last weekend in Venice before they head back to NYC to complete this season of Flight Of The Conchords, so we’re gonna hop some bars, grabs some beers.

I leave you with one simple thought:

GO PHILLIES!!!!

It’s like we never knew each other at all…

I've Said It Before...

…and I’ll say it again.  I hate hippies.

All I wanted was a sandwich. Just one sandwich.  It was late Thursday night.  I had just finished at the gym and wanted to hit up the Subway near Windward.  As I was locking my bike up out front, I watched as three high school aged, baggy pants, shaggy haired, Birkenstock wearing, male hippies wandered into the shop ahead of me.  I could tell as they passed me they were high.  Damnit. 

Inside, they proceeded to take their jolly-ass old time ordering.  Whispering to the gentleman trying to get their food together, it took them a good ten minutes before the decided what they wanted.  They couldn’t grasp the concept placing an order.  Verbs eluded them.  These three degenerate hippies-in-training talked amongst themselves in between each condiment and vegetable added to their sandwich.  It was painful. 

After ten minutes, finally, it came my turn to order.  It was a very simple request: Italian BMT, 6-inch wheat roll.  As I was sitting there, bullshitting with the man behind the counter, a full-grown hippie couple, both equipped with dreadlocks, walked into the shop.  The female yells out, “We’re just getting fucking water!”  No one prodded her, she just yelled.  One of the employees orders her leave immediately.  The woman yells something about “The Man” and reassures everyone in the Subway her and her man are just getting water.  The guy behind the counter tells me the couple often comes in and steals soda, and once came in to order a sandwich.  When it came time to pay, the guy said he had no money and tried to reach over the counter and steal the sandwich.  When he failed at his attempt to de-sandwich the ‘Way, he yelled profanities and shit about the Subway employees being instruments of The Man.  Yeh, b/c these two Hispanic guys working at eleven at night are single handedly holding these dirty, lazy ass mothers back from accomplishing all their life’s goals.  GET A JOB YOU DIRTY HIPPIES!!

Anyway, as the three pre-pubescent retards are discussing if they are going to eat-in or take-out, a young gentleman (see asshole) comes in looking for the bathroom.  He is instructed there is no public bathroom; read the sign in the window.  The dude then asks, “Well what about the bathroom you use?”  “That’s for employees only, and you don’t work here.”  Well, apparently that wasn’t what this little stoner fuck wanted to hear.  He proceeded to call both employees pussies and knock over a rack of chips on his way out.  Not to be defiled, I watched one awesome move.  One of the Subway guys picked up a whole avocado and whipped it as hard as he could at the back of the kid’s head.  It missed him by a pin’s width and clipped the side of the door as the little bastard ran out. 

The juvenile potheads finally paid for their food, making it my turn to pay for my sammy and get home for The Daily Show.  I step up to the register, and my sandwich is gone.  One of the little bastards took my sandwich.  At this point I am so annoyed, I’m blatantly talking to the guy behind me about how much I hate stoner hippies and how stupid they are, knowing this little pricks can full on hear me.  I inform the kid he took my sandwich, but he assures me that it was the one he watched get wrapped up.  He can’t focus on the lettuce being put on his sandwich, but he swears on a bible he picked up the right sandwich.  I ask him two more times to check and give me the sandwich back.  I point out there are four sandwiches on their table and only three of them, so they must have my food.  The give me what I presume is my sandwich back.  The Subway guy apologizes and I tell him not to worry about it; it’s not his fault lazy prick-hippies come into his store and treat him like crap.  I pay, and leave. 

Upon arrival back at The Hotel, I open my sandwich only to realize the little stoner gave me the wrong sandwich.  The damn kid was so high, he opened the wrapping of the sandwiches, checked them, and then still proceeded to give me the wrong sammy.  How high do you have to be to forget what you ordered thirty seconds after you sat down? 

Five dollars down the shitter.  Now I wish I wasn’t taking a month off of drinking.  If dealing with stupid hippies doesn’t make you want to pound a beer, I don’t know what does. 

To close, I feel bad that member of Dave Matthews Band who died.  My prayers go out to his friends, family, and band mates.  But maybe, just maybe, they’ll stop making music now, and these stupid jam band following, flower dress wearing, pot smoking, white-man hating, drum circle bongo playing, crown made of vines wearing, “I will work for marijuana” sign holding HIPPIES will go away.  Do something with your lives and stop complaining. 

Welcome to paradise…

Illadelph Stopover

I am currently watching The Sound of Animals Fighting live DVD “We Must Become The Change We Want To See.”  This super group has only played four live shows ever in their existence, and luckily, their final performance in Los Angeles was documented for historical reference.  The Skunk even proclaims, “You are the last people who see this forever.”  So far it’s pretty amazing.  Like watching the second coming of Jesus or something.  (And it also cements the fact The Skunk is the probably the greatest frontman of all time… The Ram kills it pretty hard too.)

Last weekend I made an unannounced trip back to my favorite city in the country, Philadelphia.  The only people who knew I was returning were my parents, my sister, Janine (Rin’s roommate shhh) and my buddy Todd.  My original plan was to document the whole trip on camera so I could make a nice little video about the whole extravaganza, plus I could give you people a nice visual instead of just having words for you to read.

I landed in Philly Friday around 4 PM where my good friend Caitlin picked me up at the airport.  Driving in pouring down rain and rush hour traffic, it took us about an hour to get from the airport to my sister’s new place in Manayunk.  Steph had dinner waiting; her roommate Colleen and her had ordered from a little Italian joint near their house and a spicy chicken wrap waited for me.

From there, we all got ready for the big shebang.  See the main reason for me coming home, besides to see my family, and besides the fact I haven’t been close to Philly since Xmas 2007, was a party Todd was throwing.  Back in July, during a phone conversation I had with Todd while I was at the Whaler, we decided Todd would throw a party and I would come home and surprise everyone.  Caitlin met us at my sisters, and she drove Steph, her boyfriend Joe, and myself to the party. 

I got everyone though.  I got them good.  Todd told Jamie, his wife, but that’s all who knew.  Oh, and Josh found out b/c Todd is an idiot and let it slip when Josh said he was bringing a case of Yuengling (“Perfect, Mallick will love that… uh wait.” Dumbass.  He hadn’t even started drinking yet.  Everyone was there though.  CW and his fiancé Alair, Josh, Todd, Jamie, Bill and Marie, Todd’s buddy Jesse from home and his girlfriend, Ben and his wife Kelley from Harrisburg, Josh Young from Bethlehem, and of course our tribe.  We all proceeded to get drunk on Yuengling and Maker’s Mark.  We all caught up, played beer pong, and made fun of Bill’s lack of work out commitment until about midnight before all the little kiddies started to fall. 

Caitlin drove the four original horsemen back to Steph’s where Steph and Joe went to bed and Caitlin and I stayed up until about 2:00 AM catching up on life. 

The Sound of Animals Fighting DVD is still pretty amazing.

The next morning I met up with Caitlin, her boyfriend Mike (who I am meeting for the first time??), Janine, and her boyfriend (lame).  We went to the Manayunk Diner and I do highly recommend if you are ever in the area, and looking for good diner food with great service, go somewhere else.  Seriously.  We should have gone to Famous Ray’s.  At least there you can get a milkshake with your breakfast.  We must have waited for an hour for our food, the waitress forgot to put in Caitlin’s order, or messed it up or something.  It was so terribly lame.  The food was decent, but not good enough to make up for the lack of professionalism at this place.  It put a few of the people there in foul moods, which sucked.  All in all though, it was good to see them.  Didn’t get to talk to Janine too much b/c her boyfriend kept leaning in like he was trying to prove to everyone he had a girlfriend and she was allll his.  Douche.  Mike was a pretty good guy; I feel like I met him before though.  He used to work at Iron Hill in West Chester, so I have a weird feeling I met him back in the Viva days. 

Not that it’s any kind of rebellious move, but I made it a point to stick like three RAD GIRLS stickers and two of Devon’s photo stickers on the glass windows of the Diner.  They can suck it.  (Those stickers can also be found all over Manayunk, North Philly, and Roxborough currently.)

Saturday afternoon I spent with my parents.  We first took a trip down memory lane and went back to visit La Salle, where both my dad and I went.  We bought like five hundred dollars worth of swag at the bookstore, walked the campus, and even got a chance to meet up with one of my old Comm. professors Brother Gerry whom I keep in touch with still on a semi-normal basis.  So much has changed on the campus since I’ve went there, let alone since my dad did.  They are building a new science center.  They added quad-dorms on the south campus, along with a second dining hall.  Part of 20^th Street was closed and made into a walkway for the students.  La Salle purchased part of Germantown Hospital for their nursing department, and a bridge over Wister is being built linking the two parts of campus.  The groundwork for the new grocery store has also taken place.  Crazy.  It’s like a real college now. HA!

For dinner, we walked the length of Manayunk.  It was good to see Main Street.  We made our way down to Kildares where we had a traditional Irish dinner since all of the Irish meals were on sale.  Unbeknownst to us it was exactly halfway to St. Patty’s Day.  Awesome.  The food was great, and it was good to see my parents.  I saw my dad two weeks prior, and my sister two weeks before that, but hadn’t seen my mom since Xmas. 

Saturday night I took it easy and met Todd, CW, Jamie, and Alair for a beer at Castle Roxx, which is a block from my sisters. After, I drove up to my old apartment at Summit Park and met with Kyle, since he missed the big party.  Not knowing I was in town, he went back to Pottsville for the night to visit his parents.  We hung out at the old place until about 4:00 AM (damn).

Sunday I woke up.  Steph made me breakfast.  Then I began packing.  I news-papered up two cases of Yuengling and stuffed five boxes of Tasty Kakes into my carry on for the trip back to the Left Coast.  I was like a drug mule for Pennsylvania goods.  The only reason I didn’t have soft pretzels is b/c they were cash only at the airport and I didn’t have any on me.

Other than the pretzels, the trip was a complete success.  Although, I never really got any footage of the party.  We all got too drunk and I forgot to film anything.  I haven’t gone through footage yet, so maybe there is something salvageable.  We will see.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Other news: 

My good friend Andrea Wasse (again) is getting huge.  Her song “Cold Feet” appeared on the CW show Privileged last week; she even had a bumper at the end with the voiceover saying her name.  She is currently writing with this guy Hunter from some band called AFI.  Her new EP Barflies and Lullabies will be out soon and I promise to buy everyone copies.  I’ve heard most of the songs and they sound fantastic.

There is a good chance Devon will be on the new season of Survivor.  She is going into the casting session on Monday.  (The woman in charge of casting is a friend of hers from Syracuse.)  Let’s keep our fingers crossed for her!

Going to see Pascual Murderface play tonight with his new band Groamville.  8:45 in Van Nuys.  If you read this, and want to go, gimme a call and I’ll tell you where and how much.

I’m re-watching the DVD now.  It’s that amazing.

We’re hanging from our ankles…

This Is The Song That Doesn't End

It’s been a while folks.  I know.  I’ve a good excuse don’t worry.  And a lot of good stories too. In fact, this post may take a few days for me to actually write (which of course in turn will probably lead to some more stories).

To begin, just so you all know why I’ve been MIA; I’ve been producing the new season of RAD GIRLS.  Segment Producing to be exact.  We began prepping back in late June in our cute little production office aka J-mar’s house.  We discussed skits, amped them up, re-wrote some, cut some out, pushed some aside for later, and had a lot fun imagining what the next few weeks were gonna be like putting all of these crazy ideas on HD camera.  J-mar, Clementine, Munchie, Ramona Cash, and I put together an ideal, precise schedule, which would not only work in perfect harmony with our locations, but also keep the creative juices at their boiling points.  This plan of attack would eventually be thrown right out the window, right along with my sanity. 

Our entire central crew was seven people: the three girls, J-mar, Chris aka Kwissy Avalon, and Benji, aka, Benji, and me.   Benji and Kwiss were our camera guys, but just as much a huge part of the creative process as any of us.  What made me so insane was that I was production.  Me.  I called and locked locations, got the permits, did the schedule, redid the schedule, threw out the schedule, got all of the releases, purchased and dealt with the props… um… yeh, anything I’m missing?  Basically what I’m trying to tell you is I did everything.  And worried about everything.  Benji has like twenty minutes of footage of me from on-set looking around with a worried look on my face, like a deer who just heard a branch break in the woods. 

The first stop on our trip was Santa Cruz.  Now, I don’t want to really give away any huge spoilers on the show.  You can get little hints by the photos I have posted on the Rad Girls website (I’m getting production photographer credit on the show as well).  I had never been to Santa Cruz before this, but let me tell you, it’s a pretty beautiful little town.  It’s not a place you pass on the highway; you actually have to make it a point to go “over the hill” to find it.  There are no chains there of any kind, so no fast food, no Starbucks, no nothing.  All good food, all the time.  I might even try to convince my parents to go up there to watch the Tour of California this year.  I know I am definitely going to have to make more trips up there to visit my friends, but also to enjoy this quiet little oasis.

To make us feel more at home, Benji was nice enough to let us guys crash at his house, which also happens to be the lodging for Dirty Penny, a modern day 80’s hair band.  Great guys; they usually stay at The Hotel when they come to play in LA.  They were out on tour across the country, so there was plenty of available beds.  What Benji failed to tell us was that while Dirty Penny was out touring the country, their merchandise guy, Crazy Kyle, and his 17-year old girlfriend, Dom, were keeping up the house, or rather not keeping up the house. 

I’m not a clean freak by any means, but it was like a flophouse in there.  Benji even didn’t stay there anymore, but rather opted to crash out over at his amazing girlfriend Lindsay’s place across the street (lucky guy).  I didn’t walk around barefoot once.  The kitchen was the worst.  Kyle and Dom would cook pasta for dinner, and then leave the dirty dishes, with leftover food in them, on the stove for days.  Fucking gross.  Dom didn’t clean the bathroom until the day before we left.  J-mar stayed in Benji’s room, which was exponentially cleaner than any other room in the house.  Chris and I stayed in DP’s room.  Three of the band mates lived together in the same room.  That room wasn’t so bad, it was a little rank from stale clothes and stagnant air being locked in there for the prior three months while the rockers had been away.  But it was home, and by Tuesday I was sitting on couches without covering them in plastic first.  And honestly, it added a little extra spice to the trip. 

All in all Santa Cruz was a great time, beautiful beaches, beautiful women, and beautiful bars.  I found my local spot for when I go to visit: The Bay Bar.  Munchie used to work there before she left for Rad Girls.  The owners Matt and Raylene were awesome, so awesome they let us take over for a night and film some stuntmen there (if you don’t know, you’re better off).  Also, the bartender James and I apparently share the same iPod. We spent a couple glorious nights down in Capitola (the little town near Santa Cruz where the Bay Bar is located) discussing the finer points of Thursday’s greatness and why Silverstein is always worth going to see in concert.

Next stop was Florida.  The guys were lucky enough to get the long straw this time and stayed in Clementine’s parents’ condo in Fort Pierce, Florida.  The Girls’ stayed in her parents sport yacht (wait, did we win or lose this fight?).  We spent ten days traveling up and down the coast of Florida from Fort Pierce, to Clementine’s hometown of Okeechobee, to Jacksonville, to the gorgeous shores of West Palm Beach.  Our good friend, and now fellow Rad Girl Jenny Jen Pants came and joined us for most of the Florida excursion. 

The highlight of my trip to Florida (or possibly the worst experience of my life, you can decide after reading this) was probably how Team Rad helped me celebrate my birthday.  The culmination of my birthday season (it begins on July 4^th) usually ends twenty days later on the 24^th, but thanks to Benji, J-mar and Chris, my birthday solstice began a day early and lasted for three whole days. 

Night one began with the guys and I drinking a case of Yuengling (the greatest beer on the planet) while hanging out with our good friend Jack Daniels.  Near the end of our bottle of Jack, I decided it was time for me to get some sleep because I had it in my head I was going to get up early and go running with Munchie.  However, the rest of the guys had other plans.  I don’t remember much except sheets being ripped off me and being beaten incessantly with pillows, including a few choice shots to the nuts.  This lasted from about 3:00 AM to 5:00 AM. Awesome.

The next morning, on my actual birthday, hung over as shit, I get packed and get the male squad down to the van on time, but the girls were running late.  So, to pass the time, Benji suggested we go have a “birthday beer.”  We head back up to the condo and Benji passes the lone Yueng-dog to myself, while he and Kwiss take Heinie’s.  J-mar turns one down b/c his stomach is upset.  Understandable.  Benji rolls camera on me I assume for DVD material of their Segment Producer’s birthday morning.  We “cheers” and I take a huge swig of my beer, and it doesn’t taste right.   Right off the bat I figure they’re fucking with me.  I guessed they put laxatives in my beer and I would have mud butt all day.  I refuse to drink another drop until they tell me the deal.  Benji agrees they were screwing with me; they allegedly put some left over Jack in my beer to try to have me fuct up for most of my birthday.  I am warily convinced to take another belt.  I do, and determined to guess what is wrong with my favorite beer (b/c trust me, I know what Yuengling tastes like) I swish the second massive gulp around in my mouth like a mouthful of Scope before a hot date.  I swallow and say aloud, “This definitely isn’t Yuengling” to which Benji replies, ”Yeh, that’s because it’s my pee!”  Awesome, again.

And it’s all on camera.

The best part was that after being wasted, and being beaten all night, drinking my friend’s urine the next morning, I get stuck driving to Okeechobee while the rest of the guys sleep.  Thanks team.

The night of my birthday I got a little relief.  After a nice dinner and amazing hospitality from Todd and Tina (Clementine’s parents), I am surprised with a Princess Party Cake from the Rad Girls.  This actually is pretty awesome.  Decorated with My Little Ponies and Barbie’s, with “Happy Birfday Mallick (GAY)” written across it, it was one of the funniest, and best, birthday cakes I have ever gotten.  Thanks everyone for a wonderful end to my birthday season.

Wrong. (Wrong meaning it’s not the end, the cake and singing were amazing and so sweet.)

Friday we traveled to Jacksonville to stay with our friends Shaun and Jennie Moss, a totally awesome married couple that is throwing a huge party for our arrival.  Held at a club on the wrong side of the tracks, they booked punk bands, built a wake-boarding pool, had open bar, and hired some amazing artists to take over the place.  Best part was my cousin Danny came down with his new fiancé Alecia came to hang out.  I haven’t seen Danny in a little over three years, and have never met Alecia.  I was hoping they didn’t feel uncomfortable at all.  I still had to work, but I wanted to catch up and make sure they were having a good time.  I wasn’t sure how conservative they were, because you know, we’re not so much.  The night was great, we had fun, had some beers, and save from somebody pulling a gun on someone else outside during a major battle royale, and us having to run out the back, it was pretty memorable.  Oh yeh, I almost forgot.  I was given one last gift from out friends Shaun and Jennie Moss: Jennie tried to give me a nice, tasteful lap dance, but goddamn Shaun got in the way and tried to lay his sack on my face.  Awesome, three times.

I must say it was probably the best birthday I ever had.  Great friends, great trip, (mostly) great memories.

A few more days were spent filming in Florida before we returned to LA.  A nice four day weekend full of drinking and The Hotel and The Castle and everywhere in between bridged our return from the dirty south and three final days of filming which included guest spots by actor Tiny Liston, porn star Mary Carey, and future (and actually present) boxing phenom, 13-year-old Matthew Vasquez. 

I got a little revenge on Chris on our way back from Florida.  I put a two-foot, double sided dildo in his camera bag.  I wish you coulda seen the looks on the airport personnel’s faces as the behemoth dong went thru the x-ray machine. However, it didn’t even come close to the look on Chris’s face when the security pulled him over to the corner to empty out his camera bag and proceeded to ask him if he packed the bag himself.  Dood.  We got him good.  He had to go back thru security and the x-ray machine.  They pulled everything out of his bag except the dildo b/c honestly I think they were scared to touch it.

Rad Girls was, and still is, easily one of the best experiences of my life.  The seven of us shared some amazing experience, and in our Santa Cruz PA Michelle I met an awesome party girl and in our LA associate producer Pascual Murderface I met another fellow lover of music and good friend.  The vacation that is Rad Girls will never end truly end, but I seriously hope for a third season b/c of all the fun I had.

With all filming done on my part, the Rad Girls off on Warped Tour for ten days, I got a nice little treat when my sister Steph and her boyfriend Joe came to visit for a long six-day weekend.  They landed Thursday morning and after food shopping, we spent the rest of the day at the beach before coming back and BBQing.  Most of the weekend we spent going through my usual routine.  Friday we went to the beach and I did a little surfing then we went down to The Whaler where Devon met my sister for the first time.  Saturday we rented bikes (well, I used mine) and we took a ride up to Pacific Palisades and back.  More beach time also.  Saturday night I took them downtown to meet Brian and Andrea and the rest of the La Cita Crew.  James, who just recently moved to 4^th and Main came and hung out as well.  She was a huge hit.  Sunday while I was getting some work done, my sister and Joe went to the beach and then we went down to The Whaler again for Sunday Funday.  During our evening session, I explained to Joe and Steph the small intricacies that make Cabo Cantina such a shitty bar to enter.  After a few cocktails at my usual watering hole, Joe wanted to see the bar I loathed oh so much.  As bad as the place was, my friend Jennie was working and she hooked it up.  Also, I met Bryan Callen, a stand-up comedian and original member of the Mad TV cast.  Very nice guy.  Monday was spent at the beach, but Monday night was pretty epic:  for my birthday, Joe bought the three of us tickets to go see the Dodgers play the Phillies up at Dodger Stadium.  It was AWESOME!  Dodger stadium is gorgeous and the game was a ton of fun, except for the fact the Phillies lost.  Still, it was a perfect end to a perfect trip.  Sadly, Tuesday morning brought their trip to a close and I had to say my goodbyes.  It was really nice to see my sister; I hadn’t seen her since Xmas and we had a really amazing and relaxing trip.

And then there was one last incredible hurrah with the Rad Girls, they got Chris, Pascual Murderdace, and I VIP tickets to attend the Sad Diego stop on Vans Warped Tour.  All I have to say is: awesome! (I know.  I use that word a lot. Suck it.)  I believe I saw twenty-two bands in like eight hours.  And the best part was with the VIP tickets, we had full reign of the venue.  I watched most of the acts from the comfort of the stage.  That’s right.  On the stage.  And this year there was an old school stage where I watched Fear, T.S.O.L., and the Germs (who I met and got photos with) standing right next to them.  Meeting the Germs was easily one of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life.  They are such a historical act.  And Shane West killed it.  He filled Darby Crash’s shoes well.  It wasn’t the same, but he killed it.  Really nice guy too.  Talked with Pascual and I for a bit after the show as well, and we were kicking ourselves not asking him to go drinking with us.  Damnit.  We filmed a couple of skits too with Rise Against (fuck yeh) and Reel Big Fish (double fuck yeh). Both awesome bands and awesome guys.

The night finished back at the hotel with all of us drinking with GBH’s tour manager.  The band was sleeping in the room next to the Girls.  Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for us, they left their room wide open with the key in the door, so we had an extra room to sleep in, I got us a couple new towels for The Hotel, and Chris ordered a bunch of porn on the bands bill.  (I actually didn’t watch; watching porn with three dudes is just a little weird).  Another great Rad Girls experience.  I don’t think I can go to Warped Tour ever again without a VIP ticket.  I’m so spoiled.

Go see Tropic Thunder.  I’m amazed Ben Stiller directed.  Also, see it alone for the fact, and I support this statement completely: it’s Tom Cruise’s best acting roll ever.  Easily.  No contest.  The casting is amazing; everyone is perfect.  I’ve seen the movie twice.  Besides the three hero movies releases this year, this movie is my favorite of the year.  Save for one little annoyance at the peak of the film, it’s perfect.

Keeping it all in the family, my dad took a two day detour on his way back from a week working in Idaho Falls.  He arrived in town Friday morning, and to accommodate my dad, I took him immediately to his favorite LA hangout:  The Whaler for beers.  He loves relaxing with a few Bloody Mary’s and Fat Tires while overlooking the beach.   We spent Saturday doing the same.  He loves how much Venice reminds him of Shenandoah, the town he grew up in.  How friendly it is, and how everyone knows everybody else.  And how the head sushi chef, my buddy Ed (the 2^nd shift) comes over for a few belts before starting work, then comes back once things are up and running. Both days were capped off with us watching the Phillies play the Dodgers and, spaaaaaanking them into submission.  We swept them four games straight. BONG! 

Friday night was Johnny’s going away party at Fish Co.  He’s leaving for four months to be a camera op on Flight Of The Conchords in New York.  Bastard.  I was excited my dad anted up and join us.  My dad finally met a lot of my friends like J-mar and AJ and Joe M. 

He flew out balls early Sunday morning, but it was great seeing him, if only it was like forty-eight hours, and catch up (since I also haven’t seen him since Xmas).  Good father-son times indeed.

I know it’s been a long one, but I’ve been busy.  Lastly, I want to plug my amazing friend ANDREA WASSE’S show this weekend.

The details are:

Saturday, August 30th,

8pm SHARP

@ Room 5

143 North La Brea Ave.

Los Angeles, 90036

Go see her. You won’t be disappointed.  I’ll be there taking photos.