Some time in LA.

I recently went back to LA to direct a couple of Nike shoots. It was a great trip, beginning to end. Not just because I had the opportunity to work with talented athletes like Serena Williams and Shawne Merriman, but because I got to spend some time with friends I hadn’t seen in awhile as well.

I’ve been reading a lot on separating one’s self from the ego; how easy it is to attach our sense of self to our possessions, to our points of view, and to our likes and dislikes. I (or my ego, which perceives itself as “I”) have done this with the cities I've lived in too; certainly with L.A. I still feel very attached to this place, and my old friends. But look, I made a new one! Serena.

She was great to work with; fun, smart, and able to deliver what was needed on cue. At one point, we were checking something on my MacBook, and I asked if she was a Mac or PC person. Without missing a beat she answered "HP." I forgot she was one of their spokespeople. Her agent, hovering nearby, couldn't have been happier. I think they both get a cut each time she says those two letters.

Merriman was great too. We asked him to step outside his normal football comfort-zone, and try his hand at some comedy. It's always tough when non-actors make these attempts, but he got it. He has a great personality, and was willing to be a little self-deprecating on camera. Kudos to him.

Okay, I'm a big time director now. So I have no more time to talk to you. Goodbye.

Did I kill Estelle Getty?

Just yesterday, I asked a co-worker if any of the Golden Girls were dead yet. One of them must be, I thought.

Two days later, Estelle (Sophia as the Golden Gals called her) died. Fucked up!

The reason I think I may have special powers is that this has happened before.

Speaking of Golden Girls, I have a project planned where I take a Golden Girls episode, and dub in the dialog from Sex in the City. It's really the same show.

SLUT:
Sex in the City = Samantha
Golden Girls = Blanche

INNOCENT ONE:
Sex in the City = Charlotte
Golden Girls = Rose

THE NON-SEXUALIZED CRANKY ONE:
Sex in the City = Miranda
Golden Girls = Sophia

WOMAN WITH A MAN FACE:
Sex in the City = Carrie
Golden Girls = Dorothy

Stay tuned.

A New York first.

I've lived in New York City most of my adult life. The other day, I experienced a first, on two levels. It was the first time I was the first passenger to be in the cab I got into.

My friend Nic and I were on our way to the Guggenheim to see the Cai Guo-Qiang exhibit. We hopped into a taxi, and this must have been the cleanest place I have ever been in New York City. Or anywhere.

When I commented on the pristine condition of the backseat, the driver told us we were the very first ones to be inside. I tired to get a pic of the odometer, but it was tough. It read 40 miles, and it was 40 miles from the taxi yard to our pick up.

Since we shared such a special ride together, I snapped his pic of the driver. By the way, the exhibit was great. This was my favorite piece. It's an important reminder to not always blindly follow the leader.

Oh, did I forget to mention I moved back to New York?

Yep. I moved back to NYC a few days ago to start my new job as an Associate Creative Director at R/GA on the Nike account. It's great to be back home.

Even though I've only been gone less than two years, I feel like Rip Van Winkle. It's as if I've been asleep for a century, and while snoozing, prices rose accordingly:

Honest tea in LA - 99¢
In midtown - $2.95

Tom's of Maine Deodorant in LA - $4.99
In East Village - $6.99

My rent in LA - $1,810 (with pool, jacuzzi, and gym). In East Village or Chelsea - Well, one broker said "come on, what do you expect for $2,300 a month?" as I gawked at a room no wider than a queen-sized bed on the 5th floor of a walk-up. But, here in New York, angry glares are free. So, it's got that going for it.

By the way, I wanted to see how much Tom's of Maine deodorant cost at Amazon.com. I see they have used and new. Who's buying all the used deodorant? 

I miss a lot of things about Los Angeles already, like the weather. I guess you really don't really appreciate some things until they're gone.

For instance, New York City cab drivers engaging you in conversation. I used to hate drivers talking to me when I was trying to get some peace and quiet. Today, if the driver's talking, it's probably to someone else on the other end of his cell phone. Now I have to listen to one half of HIS conversation, in whatever native language he's speaking, or making up. Hey, I want my meaningless discussions back! With the price of rides being what they, I should be entitled to one.

Yes, prices are definitely higher here now. But, it's good to know somethings remain constant - like the Peruvian singer guy who's still singing that same never-ending song on the subway.

April is Collin McNamee Day.

The other day, my friend Collin McNamee, pointed out that I've NEVER entered a blog posting in ANY of the months of April. At first, I was honored someone would delve so deeply into my ramblings as to notice such a thing. Soon though, my pride turned to shame; posting so sporadically was no way to treat such loyal readers.

In recognition of trying to get me and my blog back on track, I hereby proclaim every April as Collin McNamee Day! Collin, I'll present you with a proclamation and the Key to the Blogosphere next time I see you.

Let's learn more about Collin: He was with me when I popped my Disneyland Cherry. Here he is sitting next to me on Space Mountain (that's our buddy Sean behind him). That's right, cynical ol' Jeff went to Disneyland; I figured I should check it out before moving out of SoCal. And you know what? It's the fucking happiest place on Earth. I didn't fret about our diminishing economy and culture one time during the whole day!

As you may know, the park is laid out in different sections: FrontierLand, FantasyLand, AdventureLand, etc. One keen observation Collin made was the only place we couldn't get cell reception was in TomorrowLand. We were dropping calls well into the next millennia.

Of course, there were thousands of children there, but one particular kid stood out to me. This one had his name and phone number written on a square piece of paper and taped (heavily) onto his back. Sure, I guess this is a way to help prevent your child getting lost. But to me, it just seems like a pedophile's wet dream. Now he's got your kid's name AND number. (Billy, call me.)

In all seriousness, thanks Collin for being so supportive of my writing, and for the book you gave me to jot down my thoughts. Hopefully, I won't have to dedicate May to someone else just to get my ass in gear.

Immaculate Infection.

About a week ago, I started experiencing incredible pain when taking a piss. (going wee wee, for our more sensitive readers). The feeling was a unique blend of passing broken glass and fire.

I went to the doctor, thinking it might be an STD of some sort, which would have been weird since I haven't been getting any lately. Turns out it's an urethral infection, the celibacy-transmitted kind apparently.

Another odd, though slightly less painful sensation, was this being the first time my doctor was younger than me. I imagine I'll have many years to get used to this.

Irony and Defeat

My friend was telling me how the Anthony Robbins self-help CD's made a real positive difference in his life. It's a multi-disc set, but he burned one particular disc for me, thinking I could get a lot of use out of it.

I figured it would be a good thing to listen to in the car. Turns out, my car's CD player can't play writable discs, and kept rejecting it.

Which disc did my stereo keep rejecting? - Overcoming Fear of Rejection. I shit you not.

When did I become old?

Yaz, the 80's British pop group created by the founder of Depeche Mode and Erasure, are reuniting after 25 years and will play a few shows in America. I was psyched to get tickets for their LA performance, since they used to be on my record player all the time.

I asked one of my younger co-workers if she had heard the news about Yaz, and she said "Yaz? You mean the birth control pill?"

Yes, I'm going to see the birth control pill in concert.

Who says women can't do the same job as men?

Hey, we went dutch on the popcorn shrimp!

I recently read a news story about a young man accused of date-rape. He was convicted. Good. But I don't get it. Why didn't he just say they weren't on a date? That's what I'd do.

"Your Honor, that was NOT a date. We were just "hanging out." If it had been a date, I would have taken her someplace nicer that TGI Fridays.

JUDGE: That's commendable, but according to her, that was your third date.

"No. The first time we hung out, we went to the mall, and I was going there anyway. Not a date. The second time, we went to the movies, but with seven other people. Not a date. And the last time we got together, it was so she could help with my website."

JUDGE: Not a date. Case dismissed.


Simple.

Held up at badge-point.

Airport security agents are doing nothing more than robbing us blind. Snatching our shaving creams, lotions, and moisturizers. All that's missing is a firm "put your hands up!" Oh, wait, they do say that, if you're lucky enough to get waved by one of their magic wands. It's as if every kleptomaniac in the country had been given a uniform and told to report for work.

I'm for airline safety as much as the next guy, but it's not our planes that are being hijacked, it's our dignity and toiletries. Why nothing more than 3 ounces? Do explosive or combustible liquids only come in 3.1 ounce jars and up? Think of the waste! There must be landfills piled high with hand cream, cologne, and KY jelly. Here's an exchange I had a few months ago when flying home to LA from Ft. Lauderdale:

A TSA agent approached me and said, "Sorry sir, you can't bring this on board." The biological danger he was referring to was my St. Ives apricot facial scrub. Maybe he thought my plan was to exfoliate the entire plane to death.

"Don't you watch the news?" he continued. "No, I read the news," I replied. I then explained there had been conflicting reports over the easing of flying restrictions, and that I had flown in from Los Angeles with the very same container. The guard countered, "Well, I don't know how they do things in Los Angeles, but you can't fly with it out of here." "Exactly," I said. "You don't know how they do things in Los Angeles. That's the problem. If this is a federal rule, then it should be consistent amongst all airports. If it's not, then it's a joke."

"Are you calling airline security a joke sir? Because if you are, we'll get the Head of Security down here and HE can decide whether you can fly today or not." I'll go you one further," I said. "It's not only a joke, but it puts us in even greater danger. What you're doing here, sir, is theater. You are putting on a show. You're making it 'seem' as if there's a system in place to keep us safe. That's dangerous. It lulls people into a false sense of security. A false sense of security keeps people less vigilant and less prepared. Just like we were on September 10th.

"Don't call security a joke, sir." (Apparently, he was still stuck on that.) I replied, "but you know it's a joke. I know it's a joke. The woman behind me taking off her Easy Spirits knows it's a joke. Even my apricot facial scrub knows it's a joke. We all know it's a joke"

Some applauded. Others just threw sour faces at me. The head of Security came. I no longer called their efforts a joke. Instead, as I grabbed my bags, I told the guard he should be ashamed of himself for participating in such silly efforts during such serious times.

"Why put up a fuss?" you might ask. I guess, in the back of my mind, I thought if we all put up a fuss, something would be done. My rational side knows that's not going to happen. Maybe I wasn't really angry with the security rules that day at all. Perhaps I lashed out because I felt emasculated. I mean, the only thing more emasculating than carrying apricot facial scrub around is having another man take it away.

Trade offs.

I had someone in New York who loved me, and who I loved. And now I have things. And I have Los Angeles. Beware of things and Los Angeles.

Florida

I recently went down to Florida for my father's 75th birthday. While it was great to see my family, they drive me crazy. In all fairness, I drive them crazy too. But in Florida, there's never a dry crazy. Or a breezy crazy. It's just one long hot and humid crazy.

I find each time I go down there, I stay a little less than the time before. 4 day visits gave way to 3.5 day ones. Then I was down to 3 days flat. This last visit was 2.5 days. I expect, eventually, I'll just meet them on the tarmac, wave, and get back on the plane.

Ahhh, family visits. Smothered with attention, unable to lash out. Trapped in Florida. I know how this gator feels.

Happy birthday Dad. For real.

Stockholm, USA

Stockholm Syndrome: a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger (or at least risk) in which the hostage has been placed. A famous supposed sufferer of Stockholm Syndrome was millionaire heiress Patty Hearst. After two months in captivity, she donned an automatic weapon and actively took part in a bank robbery orchestrated by her abductors.


I personally believe the United States government was complicit in, if not directly behind, the September 11th attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. Yes, yes, I know. I sound like some looney toon conspiracy theorist. But let's put all that aside for the moment and take a look at some undisputed activities our government has been involved in:

The outing of America's CIA operatives.

Completely ignoring both the warnings, and the destruction, of hurricane Katrina - leaving dead bodies floating in the streets of New Orleans for days.

Engagement in warrantless surveillance of our own citizens.

Removal of judges who don't fall in line with the Executive Branch's views.

Using our tax dollars to fuel the occupation of Iraq, a once sovereign nation, while our schools and bridges are literally falling apart.

Not providing adequate armor for our soldiers who've been sent to occupy Iraq.

And, most likely, the hijacking of at least one election.

So, even if you don't agree our government allowed 9/11 to happen, it's clear they have placed our citizenry in danger. Not only that, but we're paying for the privilege when we pay our taxes. Where is our money going? It certainly didn't go towards protecting NYC, DC, New Orleans, or even our soldiers. It appears our tax dollars are going to fuel an agenda diametrically opposed to what would make us a safe and strong country. You might go as far as to say they're holding us, or at least our money, hostage.

I used to be surprised when I heard other Americans making excuses for our government's behavior. I was astonished I didn't hear more voices of resistance from my fellow citizens. But now I see America must be suffering from a certain psychological trauma. One in which they've developed a loyalty towards their oppressors, and developed a bond with the very institution doing them harm. One could argue, by fueling this administration with their tax dollars, Americans have become willing participants in the crimes committed against themselves. It all smacks of a psychological sickness. One called Stockholm Syndrome.

Can you find him? (click to enlarge)

(Which is more offensive - using the events of 9/11 to make a joke, or using it as a pretext to create a war-for-profit, and circumvent our civil liberties? Choose what you're offended by wisely.)

Turned 37.

Went to Vegas with my friend Nic. He came out from NYC for my birthday (July 3rd). Vegas was 116 degrees one of the days were were there. So, we spent much of the time indoors. Here's a brief summary of the trip.

Lost.
Lost.
Won.
Won.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost a lot.
Saw the Cirque De Soleil "O" show.
Won.
Won.
Lost more than I won.
Cooled off in the pool.

Overall, a great trip.

Please don't watch this if you work for Child Protective Services

Here's the latest episode of Baby in Danger, my friend, Ryan Iverson's, web series. Yep, that's his real baby. I wonder how many he can make before someone comes for his little bundle of comedy joy.

Two Pronged Plug:

Saturday the 9th, I'll be a part of two comedy shows in Hollywood.

For most of the day, I'll be writing for The Upright Citizens Brigade Theater's monthly Sketch Cram show. It's a sketch show written and produced all in one day. This will be my second time writing for the L.A. version of the show. I had a terrific time writing for it last time, and am psyched to be a part of it again. Come check it out - midnight - at The UCB Theater. Here's a link to show details/reservations.

While we spend all day writing the Cram show, I'll be taking a break at 9:30 to head on over to The Second City Theater for a performance with The Engagement Party, the improv group I recently joined. We're opening for Second City Alumni group, Edmund Serves Coffee. Here's the blurb you'd find if you visited secondcity.com to learn more. See, I do all the hard web surfing for you:

9:30pm: Edmund Serves Coffee: An Alumni Invitational
Each week, Alumni from Second City’s resident companies in Chicago, Cleveland, Denver, Detroit, Las Vegas, and Toronto improvise onstage together. With opening act The Engagement Party performing from 9:30-9:55. $10 at the door, call (323)464-8542 for advanced tickets .

Pick a card.

I got locked out of my apartment the other day. After seeing it done in movies, I tried to open the door by sliding a credit card between the latch and the door jamb. It didn't work.

I soon realized why; I was using a Discover Card. Those things don't work anywhere.

A piece of my childhood, found on YouTube. Watch it while you can.

This was produced a few years before I was born, but I had seen it on television a few times in my early youth. It left quite an impression on me. I looked for it from time to time on YouTube, but it was never there. It seems someone posted it there almost 6 months ago. I hope it doesn't get taken down. It's beautifully and artfully executed. Enjoy.

Race relations.

Hoax alert.

The Mars landing was filmed on the Moon.

Okay, this is getting ridiculous.

I've put a couple of posts up before about my growing collection of people with psuedo-sexual surnames oddly linked to their professions. Well, I've found another one to put up on the mantle.

60 Minutes recently ran a piece about the determiners of sexual orientation. One of the research doctors they profiled was able to grow "gay" rats by altering their hormone levels while they were still underdeveloped. And what was the name of the doctor breeding rats that like to engage in same-sex activities?

- drum roll please -

Doctor Breedlove. (see for yourself - link)

It's as if that great scriptwriter in the sky is just phoning it in when it comes to naming characters in this short story of his.

Here are links to the other items in this collection:

one

two

Call your mom.

Happy Mother's Day.

Cool video passed my way #3 - Stevie Wonder

Cool video passed my way #2 - James Brown, Michael Jackson, Prince

Cool video passed my way #1 - David Blaine(?)

My latest pictures, and...

So, I haven't written for awhile. That means many of you may have forgotten what I look like. I figured it was time to post a new pic. Rather than go to Sears, I chose to have my portrait taken by one of those 1984 Big-Brother-is-Watching-You traffic cameras that catches people running red lights. This lovely snapshot cost me $382 in traffic fines, plus enrollment in traffic school if I want to keep a point off my license. I think it was worth it. I mean, come on, I look like a bad-ass in this picture. That robot camera really captured my true essence.

I plan on using this red-light-cam picture as my headshot when I audition this weekend for an Upright Citizens Brigade improv house team. Wish me luck. No seriously, if you are reading this before Saturday, hit the comment link below and leave me some good luck. I doubt anyone's even reading this now as I've been pretty derelict in posting. But, I thought I'd put it out there.

Yeah, so I'm auditioning this weekend. I've been doing a lot of practice with improv, and feel I'm making some strides. Here's me playing at a show with a group called Engagement Party. It's made up of folks from Improv Olympic and Second City.

I also got recommended by The Upright Citizens Brigade Theater in NYC to write for their LA theater's Sketch Cram show. That's a sketch show that's written and produced all in one day. We had this show this past Saturday night and it went really well. I really enjoy writing for these under-the-gun shows. A forced deadline combined with some very talented writers (I was really in awe of the other talents involved with the show) make for not only a fun performance, but a kick-ass day of laughs while putting it together. I wrote two skecthes. One about a passive-aggressive GPS for your car. Below is an excerpt from the other sketch. It's based on a real exchange between me and my new therapist I'm seeing for my OCD issues. (I had to get rid of my last therapist after she told me to watch The Secret.) Okay, here it is. Wish me luck. Seriously.

THERAPIST
You know Josh, we all have two inner voices. A critical one, and a positive one. I think your critical voice is doing most of the talking.

PATIENT
How can I balance them out?

THERAPIST
First, let's name them. What's your positive voice's name?

PATIENT
I feel like an idiot doing this.

THERAPIST
You hear that? That's your critical voice. What's the name of your positive voice?

PATIENT
I don't know....The Coach.

THERAPIST
Coach. Excellent. And your critical voice's name?

PATIENT
Uhhh...The Abyss.

THERAPIST
Great. Now, every time your hear The Abyss talking, I want you to..

PATIENT
Can we stop a second? I'm not happy with the name I gave my critical voice.

THERAPIST
The name doesn't matter. You need to...

PATIENT
I know, but come on, "The Abyss?" that's awfully pretentious. I write bullshit advertising for a living.
I have no right to be walking around with some deep existential name for my critical voice.

THERAPIST
Do you see how you're being crit...

PATIENT
Yes, I get the irony. It's almost as funny as you calling our 45-minute sessions an hour.

THERAPIST
Very passive aggressive.

Useful tips.

Enjoy.

On repressing fake memories.

As is the case with most new places I work, somebody recently called me Jeffrey. I was quick to explain I prefer Jeff. Happily, that's as far as it went. I wasn't so lucky at the last place I worked. At that job, this guy called me Jeffrey, and continued to do so after I told him I really hated it. He figured the more he called me Jeffrey, the funnier it was.

One day, I took him aside and told him my uncle molested me when I was very young, that he used to call me Jeffrey, and being called that brings up a lot of painful memories so I'd be grateful if he stopped. He looked visibly disturbed, apologized, and never called me Jeffrey again.

My uncle never molested me. He never called me Jeffrey either. But from that moment on, whenever I was around this co-worker, I felt I had to take on the persona of a guy who had been molested by his uncle:

"How would a guy who was molested by his uncle use the water cooler?"

"How would a guy who was molested by his uncle complain about the time-sheet software?"

"How would a guy who was molested by his uncle steal shit out of the office refrigerator?"

It was tough keeping up this charade. I'm glad I have a new job.

Savor this moment of being a reader rather than a consumer.

That is all.

Will somebody please give this guy a blowjob already so we can impeach him?

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The down-side of suicide.

If things got really bad. And the whole universe was against you. And you only had one friend in the whole wide world. And you asked this friend to end it all with you by going into a suicide pact together. The worst thing you could hear would be:

"Sorry. I'm already in a suicide pact with someone else."

That would suck.

Where can you combine your love of soup with the nostalgia of slavery?

Souplantation! - a chain of restaurants here on the west coast.

Why Souplantation? Why not Soupageddon? Or Soupocaust?

While I think it's a awful name for an eating establishment, I do recommend The Indentured Servitude Bisque.

...and I have looked over the mountain, and I have seen...wait, that's my car. Leave my car alone.

My friend drove us out for lunch today and parked at a meter. Being Martin Luther King Day, a national holiday, we didn't feed the meter.

We returned to find a parking ticket on our car! On MLK Day!

Soon after, we came upon the parking enforcement officer who was giving out more tickets. We stopped and asked what was up with that? She turned around and we realized she was black! A black woman giving out parking tickets on MLK Day! We've come a long way haven't we?

– "Uh, how come you're giving out parking tickets? It's a national holiday today. There's no meter parking on national holidays."

– "It's not a national holiday sir."

- "Yes it is. It's MLK Day."

- "MLK Day is not a national holiday."

- (trying to mask my disbelief that I'm arguing with a black woman over whether MLK Day is a holiday) "Yes. Yes It is."

- "Well, not according to the Venice Beach Parking Department."

So, apparently, the Venice Beach local government can decide what's a national holiday and what isn't. They've also changed my birthday from July 3rd to March 12th. Don't fuck with these fellows, they are very powerful.

Happy Belated New Year!

It's 2007!

I mean, it's been 2007!

I rang in the new year snowboarding outside of Vancouver. It was a great mountain, with views of the city below. I went with my buddy Jason and we both stayed with our friends Rob and Kerry who just moved to Vancouver.

If you're ever in Vancouver, and want to be treated like a king, I recommend staying with Rob and Kerry - the best hosts on either side of the border.

No reindeer in Austin, but they've got goats. And notes on the continuing decline of my standards.

I was staying in a cabin outside Austin with my friend Nic and his family for Christmas. While walking through the woods, we saw a bunch of goats on their way to a Christmas party of some sort. Check it out:



And here's me with Nic and his mom and dad. If me and Nic's family were in a band, this is probably what one of our band photos would look like:

His family not only opened their home to me for the holidays, but got me some cool presents too. Amongst the goodies were gift cards for Chinese restaurant, P.F. Chang's, and Banana Republic. That's kind of funny because when I first moved here, these two chain establishments brought to mind how Los Angeles had kind of lowered my standards. On my first week at work in LA, one of my co-workers invited me out for Chinese food. I accepted, but changed my mind when I heard it was P.F. Chang's. As a New Yorker, I didn't consider P.F. Chang's real Chinese food any more than I considered Pizza Hut to be Italian food. After being called a snob, I broke down and went:

Week 1 in LA: P.F. Chang's is not Chinese food.
Week 2 in LA: P.F. Chang's is alright I guess if there's nothing else around.
Week 3 in LA: Wow, I could go for some P.F. Chang's.

And in NYC, I would never go to Banana Republic. There were too many cool thrift stores in the East Village to even bother. But out here, it's all too spread out and sunny to be bothered hunting for clothes. Banana Republic is easy. LA is all about easy. Little by little, my standards get lowered in exchange for easy. And my gift cards will make it all even more Los Angeles-ier, I mean easier. Wise-ass rants aside, I really will enjoy the gifts. Banana Republic does have cool socks, which I really need since all the ones I own have holes in them. And I've already become addicted to the Chicken Lettuce Cups at Chang's. Thanks Briseno family! (especially for the fancy kaleidescope Eddie and Harriett). Merry Christmas!

Let's meet our fellow flyers.

I'm at the airport on my way to Austin, with my ticket in hand for the post-911 security sideshow. I've removed liquids and gels from my carry-on luggage. I've worn my good socks in preparation for taking off my shoes. I've severed al my ties to Al-Qaeda (except you Shakir, we've got something special, don't worry.)

But hey, what's this middle-eastern looking guy in front of me trying to check in?

Hmmmm.








Uhhhh.













TRIGGER SPRAY?

I don't know what the hell trigger spray is, but it sounds a hell of a lot more dangerous than all the body wash they've been confiscating.






So, who else is here at the airport? There's this guy getting his shoes shined. I found this guy to be quite an oddity. If you care enough about your appearance to get your boots shined, why would you wear them with white socks?

Holiday on Ice. (well, water)

It sounded like a big party was brewing down the street. It grew louder and louder until it seemed too loud to be a party that could fit into any of the neighboring small houses.

I went to investigate and found a hundred or so people lining the canals to watch a Christmas parade along the waterways.

Leave it to LA to figure out how to have a parade without tying up traffic.

A Christmas story.

Now that I'm in LA, there's a few things I miss about Christmas in New York. One is snow. Another is walking along streets lined with Christmas trees for sale.

A few years ago, I became fascinated by the Christmas tree vendors who descend upon NYC. For a little over a month every year, these guys leave their Canadian tree farms and LIVE in vans parked throughout Manhattan. It must be quite a culture shock.

I figured it'd be a good topic for a documentary. My plan was to capture the drama behind the scenes of country-folk trying to bring holiday cheer to millions of hardened New Yorkers. I also thought it was interesting how these trees play such an integral role in so many people's holidays, yet little is known about those who cultivate them. So, I set out to make my little movie happen.

Having been raised Jewish, I knew nothing about buying a Christmas tree. How much are they? Do they come in sizes and kinds? Do you tip the sales person? My first step was to research the buying process. That day, I visited the very next Christmas tree vendor I saw. I started asking the salesperson my questions. When I got personal, he got suspicious:

"Are you looking to buy a tree or not sir?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm thinking about doing a documentary on you Christmas-Tree-People."

"No fucking way! I'm not really a Christmas-Tree-Person. I'm a filmmaker working with these guys as research for a documentary!"

What are the chances this would be the first tree guy I ever approached in my life? I half expected all the customers to confess they were merely researching roles as extras in a shopping scene. So there we were. Me pretending to be a customer. Him pretending to be a sales guy. Only in New York. That's one of the other things I miss about Christmas in New York - there's just enough holiday spirit in the air for even the most jaded of urbanites to drop their defenses and realize what they have in common.

We bonded over our phoniness and agreed to try and work together. Alas, he had a baby and shelved his movie plan. I moved here to LA. And while I no longer get to see sidewalks lined with holiday trees, I do live on the Venice Canals amongst some beautifully decorated homes. However, this massive house down the street from me (see below) goes overboard every year.

They do something similar every Halloween too, complete with motion-sensor activated animatrons on the lawn:

You know inside this house there's a loveless marriage.

This being my first LA Christmas, what better place to spend it than in Texas? Yep, I'm off to hang out with my friend Nic and his family in a cabin outside of Austin. Happy holidays!

My collection of "people with psuedo-sexual surnames oddly linked to their professions" continues to grow.

Recently, I came across this story about the possibility circumcision may cut the risk of HIV (you can read the article here).

And who's the representative from the World Health Organization weighing in on the matter? Doctor Kevin De Cock of course.

This will look great on the shelf next to my previous find.

Holy crap, it's been a long time since I posted.

Apparently, documenting the minutiae of my life is such strenuous work, I've had to take a full month off from posting just to recharge.

I recently went back to NYC to shoot some commercials I wrote for ESPN's College Game Day Basketball show. One of the stars of these spots was former Duke star, Jay Bilas. He's an awfully nice guy and did a great acting job. Here's a shot of us trying to see who's taller:

In my defense, he's on his tippy-toes.

We shot with the talented and cool director, Adam Goldstein. You can see his reel here. The shoot went very well and it looks like we got some funny spots "in the can," as they say.

It was great being back home, seeing my friends/family. Speaking of friends and family, here's a pic I took when I was back home of Nic and Ilya busy being Nic and Ilya.









Ahhh, that Ilya, such a rapscallion with his nasty fingers.

Things are good.

Still in the honeymoon period here in LA. Job's going well. Having a great time. Great weather. Great apartment on the Venice Canals (even though it's only a temporary pad until February). Here's the view from the house I'm staying at:


My friend Jeremy came out here from NYC recently. We strolled around the canals and took in some of the sights:















As you can see, it's a pretty peaceful place.

While Jeremy was here, he took me to a party for PAPER magazine. It was a fun crowd of artists and performers. I saw a great band play there called The Deadly Syndrome. Their live presence was one to be reckoned with. They pulled off the difficult task of presenting serious music while maintaining a sense of fun. I hope I get to see them again. Check them out.

I just bought a new, much slimmer digital camera. So, hopefully I'll have more and more pics to share soon.

- sigh - Nobody walks in LA.

I bought a car. A 2000 Volkswagen Passat. I haven't owned a car in about twelve years. Shopping for one put in clear perspective how little I know about anything automotive. It was pitiful watching me open up the hood (it's called a hood, right?) and pretend I knew what I was looking at.

I almost got an '85 Mercedes. It was beautiful, but would have required more attention and love that I have in me right now.

Not sure how I'm going to like driving rather than walking. The great thing about New York is when you want to shoot someone, you don't have to roll down a window first.

Hollyween.

Halloween in Hollywood.

I went to a great Halloween party here. Halloween in L.A. feels a little different than in New York. Back home, folks just wear their costumes. Here, they become their costumes. Maybe it's because everyone out here's an actor. They're all so "method." For instance, on Halloween in NYC, a guy can come up to you all dressed up like Britney Spears and in a thick, tough-guy, New York accent tell ya "I'm Britney Fuckin Spears." But out here, on October 31st, that guy would BE Britney Spears. Voice. Walk. The works. Anyway, it makes for a fun party.

Halloween + L.A. got me thinking: this must be the one day of the year when mega-famous people can walk around the city without any problem. They just have to go out in costume. Tom Cruise could dress up like David Bowie, and no one would know. Cool.

The big fun for me on Halloween was going to the DEVO show at the Greek Theater. They were awesome! I've seen them a bunch of times and this was one of the longest and most varied sets I've had the pleasure to see. I was also fortunate enough to get backstage passes. That was another fun party.

After the show, I ran into a woman who also had an after-party wristband. She saw mine and asked where we were supposed to go. She looked awfully familiar...

ME: Hey, I think I know you. Did you ever work in NYC.

WOMAN: In NYC? You mean on a movie?

ME: No. At a radio station.

WOMAN: (seemingly offended) No.

I then realized she didn't work at 92.7 WDRE with me. She was Amy Heckerling, director of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Clueless, and other cool flicks. It's weird, sometimes you see people here and you think you know them from your own life, only to realize they're either famous, or kinda-famous. Here's a picture of Heckerling taken before I falsely recognized her:

Sorry to mention celebs again. I'm afraid I'll do it again, as they're Los Angeles' greatest natural resource.