Funny Strange....

High School Musical-- I Don't Get It

Am I the last person in  America who doesn’t get the whole “High School Musical” thing? I’m coming to the conclusion that the “High School Musical” is being marketed to people who aren’t in high school and who therefore don't have any pre-conceived notions about it, is that right? That “tweens” are the target market for this franchise? Because I thought I had “high school kids” firmly in my mind as being the cell-phone using, tattoo-having, Starbucks-drinking types of youth who would never, EVER subscribe to a concept as blatantly unironic as a high school where everyone sings and feels good about themselves all the time.

The fact that this was the # 1 movie in America last weekend clearly shows that there is some high demand for this, but I thought we as a nation were well past the age of syrupy sentiment and idealistic high school situations like “Grease.” Because, when you think about it, high school is the one place that you could not want to get out of MORE once you’re in it (unless, of course, you’re a person for whom high school was the best time of your life, and if you’re that person, I really, really doubt you’re reading this blog).

In fact, I was thinking about this the other day—I think if you offered me one million dollars to travel back in time and re-live my high school years again, I think I could pretty confidently turn that down. Isn’t hating high school the thing to do? And, if so, doesn’t that make “High School Musical” an unlikely concept, and an even unlikelier success?

This must mean that the market for “High School Musical” consists solely of people who haven’t BEEN to high school yet, and therefore think it’s conceivable that there could be singing and dancing, and that there wouldn’t be a clique of loathsome jocks and cheerleaders whose sole purpose it is to make everyone feel bad about themselves, but who, don’t worry, are assuredly going to be fat by your high school reunion, so let them have their moment in the sun, because in twenty years they’re going to be drunk and bringing photo albums of themselves when they were in cheerleading to the reception after the reunion, and drunkenly pointing to old pictures and going “Look how skinny I was!”, as if trying to desperately escape the present and will themselves back to a sliver of time when they were thin and happy.

I’m not saying that really happened at my high school reunion, only you know it did. So, I guess let them have their “High School Musical,” because for me, the REAL musical-worthy stuff started right around the time of the ten year reunion, when the wheel of karma starts to come around, and when a former football star who called me ugly in the seventh grade gets drunk and tries to hit on me.   And of course, by "musical-worthy," I mean in like a satirical, Avenue Q/ The Producers kind of way, where the world has righted itself, and the geeks and the people who were really into things like theater and liked The Smiths and thought for themselves are now cool, and the cheerleaders are now fat.

Oh yes--yes I did.

Andy Dick = Worst. Neighbor. Ever.

Update:  I love this-- after I posted this article, someone I know (who obviously does NOT want to leave this in the comments), sends me this via email: 

I worked with Andy Dick when he was in a germaphobic phase -- he washed his hands and all his food with vodka.

So yeah, there you go.  He's not weird at ALL.

*****

Let me throw this out there-- how pissed would you be if you spent, let's just say, $2 million for a house in West Hollywood, only to find out that your next door neighbor was ANDY DICK?

You'd be pissed like this guy is pissed, I'm guessing.   

Because let me break it down for you, in case you don't live in Los Angeles (and really, why would you, unless you had to?) -- for a $ 2 million house, you'd maybe put down a $200,000 down payment, and even if your mortgage broker is a magical wizard who got you a fantastic rate, you're still paying about $17,000/ month in mortgage.  No, that's not a typo. $17,000 PER MONTH, which is what alot of other people in the United States make in a year.  That much money should buy you some peace and quiet, right?  RIGHT?

Yeah, I'm going to have to say that for $17,000 a month, I'd give this guy a free pass to beat the living crap out of Andy Dick for throwing beer bottles into his yard, then continuing to have his loud party even after the cops came to warn him.    Because let me say this, since I do have a personal experience-- I DID used to go to the same gym as Andy Dick, and he most definitely, certainly IS the kind of a-hole who would do just that sort of thing, and keep doing it even after he was warned. 

If you read further in this story, you'll see that even the local ELEMENTARY SCHOOL filed charges against him for his loud parties.  And um, the last time I checked, elementary schools are only open during DAYTIME HOURS. 

Dude! 

Philosophical Conundrums of Insurance Nonsense: A Radio Play

A few months ago, I read something about the cervical cancer vaccine, and literally RAN to my doctor to ask for it.  Because here's the thing.  If you put the words "cancer" and "vaccine" together, I am there.  I don't care if you're vaccinating against a type of cancer that only people who live in Zimbabwe get, or cancer you can only get by jumping out of buildings, or even penis cancer or cancer of another organ I don't have.  I love science, I think vaccinations are awesome, and I want no part of cancer of any kind, so I will gladly get whatever they have, whenever they have it. 

I got the shot-- technically, it's a series of three, and just last Friday I got the last one.   So, now I'm IMMUNE TO CANCER.  At least one kind, or at least the vaccine that causes one kind.  So, that makes me feel kind of like a superhero.

Here's where the funny comes in.  My doctor's office warned me this might happen, and frankly, I could give a shit, because it's CANCER VACCINE, but I just thought I'd pass on this tidbit of bureaucratic foolery.  My insurance company TOTALLY won't pay for the cancer vaccine, because (get this), I'm TOO OLD to have gotten it in the first place.   Yeah, my doctor didn't think I was too old to GIVE ME the shot, but the insurance company won't pay, because they have a "window of time" where you can get it, and I'm outside that window.  Like I said, I could care less because I'm healthy and have the money to pay for the vaccine, but just so they knew I objected, I called and talked to an extremely dry woman at the insurance company about how lame I thought this policy was.  Here's an excerpt from our conversation, which became progressively more absurd the longer it went on.  By the way, the photo above is NOT an actual likeness of the insurance company lady who dissed me, but she does look like she's hiding corporate secrets, so I thought it would do.

Me:  So.....I see here on my statement that you're not paying for me to get the vaccination for cervical cancer?

Insurance company lady:  No ma'am (see, she had to throw the ma'am in there, to remind me that according to them, I am old.  OLD!)

Me:  OK, but you do understand that actual CANCER is more expensive than this vaccine, right?

Insurance company lady:  Yes, but technically, you shouldn't be getting that shot.  It's for people within a certain age range. (ouch!)

Me:  Right, but if my doctor thinks I'm healthy enough to get it and feels comfortable administering it, shouldn't that override your policy?

Insurance company lady:  Um.....no.  We have guidelines in place for vaccinations, in order to stop loss.  It's how the insurance company works. (see, now she's educating me, AND calling me old)

Me:  But...don't you think these things should be on a case-by-case basis?  I mean, that seems a little arbitrary, and technically, I'm not THAT much older than the guideline.

Insurance company lady:  Policies aren't decided on a case-by-case basis, ma'am.  That's why they're policies.  (again, she thinks I'm old....and stupid)

Me:  OK, say I go to a foreign country and adopt a child who's had no immunizations, and yet is of school age.  I have to get him or her the vaccinations in order to enroll them in school and to live in this country, and yet, since they're technically too old to GET the vaccinations, your company wouldn't cover them?  (SNAP!)

Insurance company lady:  Nope.

Me:  WHAT?  Are you sure about that?  Is there someone to whom I can write a letter of appeal?

Insurance company lady:  About your unvaccinated, adopted child? (She actually might NOT be being sarcastic, I can't tell over the phone).

Me:  What?  No!  I meant that rhetorically.  We're still talking about me being too old for the cancer vaccine.  Ok-- what if I hadn't had chicken pox yet?   Since they didn't MAKE that vaccine when I was within the age window to get it, could I get it now?

Insurance company lady:  (Sighing) Probably not.

I wonder how many times per day this woman has this highly philosophical conversation.  I did end up writing a letter, just to express my concern about this seemingly iron-clad policy, which I think is stupid.  But again, I could care less, because now I AM IMMUNE TO CANCER, dude!

He Does Voices

I can't believe I left out the most crucial moment of my story about the TV writer at the dog park last week-- I think I got so focused on the true absurdity of the "you take twelve homeless guys" pitch that I forgot to stay with the real reason of why I actually left the park.  Because really, this particular thing happens so much, and is absolutely the kind of thing you would want to see on my blog-- humorous, a little tragic-- you know:  Funny Strange.

So, the real reason I left the park was because when I told bitter TV writer guy that my husband is a professional voiceover actor and had even been on Family Guy (I don't know why I volunteered this information), he did the thing that some people do when they hear about a person who has a cool job-- in this case, HE STARTED DOING CARTOON VOICES FOR ME, and he would.  Not.  Stop.  In this particular case, he had a character he liked to call "Potty Mouth Baby" (I only wish I were making this up), and he kept saying cutsie stuff in this character's voice, even after I told him that the cartoon world is REALLY hard to break into (my code for "I don't like you, my husband is not going to like you, and it doesn't matter anyway because you're never going to meet him to ask him how to launch your cartoon career), and offered him absolutely no indication that I would be helping him.   If I am more inclined and less busy in the future, I might actually record a demo of what the guy sounded like, but for now, please just imagine a grown man, in a high voice that sounds like a baby, going "This is my baby voice....the baby says F%^* you!  Why do you say that, baby?  Bad baby!"

In that moment, at least, there was nothing sadder or more annoying than hearing a grown man swear in a baby voice, so now I've dubbed him "Human Nails on Chalkboard Bitter TV Writer," so when I see him at the park again, I can steer clear of him.  He kept up the horrible baby voice until I excused myself and left the park, which I did because killing him probably would have gotten me sentenced to jail time, and my cellmate probably would have been an angry lesbian inmate who really wanted to get into cartoons.

Let's say this is not even close to the first time I've had this experience.  It seems like half the new people you meet have always wanted to be on cartoons, which has never been my dream, but I totally understand.  It IS a cool job.  The thing is, people who are actually ON cartoons don't really sit around in restaurants doing the voices all the time, because they have an outlet for it.    With a few (very annoying) exceptions, it's always the people who WANT to be on cartoons are the ones who can't stop doing the voices.  Recently we were at a block party, and when a random guy from the neighborhood heard what Stephan did for a living, he followed him around for almost an hour doing his whole cartoon repertoire, perhaps as an audition.  When Stephan told his voiceover friends about Potty Mouth Baby guy, they all laughed, then shared similar stories of their own, including one who said a guy gave him a demo reel of himself going (in the appropriate voices, of course):  "This is my tough guy voice!"  "This is my gay guy voice!"  "This is my baby voice!"  Now, you kind of have to commend the guy for putting something together, but still....  "This is my tough guy voice!" is just undeniably funny, don't you think?  So, these are the types of people and situations I'm talking about.

My point with this is-- if you meet someone who says they "do voices," or have "always wanted to get into cartoons,"  DO NOT encourage them.  And please, for the LOVE OF GOD, do not tell them you know someone whose husband does voiceover for a living.   I'm telling you this because I like you, and I don't want you to get an earful of somebody's best Bullwinkle impression (or an original character they call "Foul Mouthed Baby") for an hour over dinner.   

See, my blog is now a public service, in addition to being your distraction from your workday.   Also, in case you haven't noticed it, I finally got one of those "subscribe via email" tools, so if (for some reason, and I can't for the life of me imagine what that would be) you don't have the TIME or inclination to check my blog on a daily basis, just sign up and have it sent right to you, you lazy hooligan.

Eight Random Facts About Me

I was tagged by the Eight Random Facts meme a couple of months ago, and have only just now finished the draft of my response.  So, here it is!  If you're reading this, consider yourself tagged, and please, invite me back to your blog to read all about you!

First, the rules:  First, the Rules:

1. Post these rules before you give your facts
   
2. List 8 random facts about yourself
   
3. At the end of your post, choose (tag) 8 people and list their names, linking to them

1.  I love red cabbage.  Love it.

2.  I am a descendant of Jesse James, which might explain the stealing.

3.  I have a birthmark on my back in the shape of a cat's paw, and yet I am extremely allergic to cats.

4.  I have never been drunk.

5.  I was once a singing psychic in a murder mystery dinner theater.

6.  I was in New York City on 9/11.

7.  I can really eat alot for a skinny girl.

8.  I have seen a ghost.

I am defying the rules and not tagging anyone, but please feel free to post YOUR eight random facts in the comments section.

Ahoy!

So, I was in Sacramento for a business trip at the beginning of the week-- not that they don't have the internet in Sacramento, but I was very, very busy driving there and being extremely hot doing work-related things at the capitol, so I didn't write anything.  On the bright side, you'll notice that the California budget passed while I was there, so my trip had SOME positive impact.

Just kidding.  It was hot, but I had a great time.  I also got to have dinner with Stephan's aunt and uncle and his grandma, who in case you don't know, is 99 years old and AWESOME.  She uses the internet.  She drinks wine.  She makes jokes.  It's her 100th birthday in October, and she has TOO MANY FRIENDS FOR ONE LOCATION, so she's having two parties.  Just in case you were wondering what life can be like when you're 100.

I've included this saucy fisherman's photo because I find it so amusing that this restaurant felt the need to trademark the "Captain Smiley" brand, and because, if you look really close, you can make out the fact that Captain Smiley (TM) is giving a thumbs up sign through his fisherman's gloves.  Ahoy!  Come and eat some fish tacos, matey!  Fish tacos are A-OK!

Fro-Yo Really Needs to Be Gayer

We celebrated the move into Brentwood by going to Pinkberry several times over the past couple of weeks, which is a huge departure for my all-time favorite fro-yo-- the one you get right before you go into Costco to buy your bulk protein bars and paper towels.    Overall, I like the Pinkberry thing-- techno music, pastel colors, tart and fruity yogurt with fruit toppings, but jeez.....just when I thought fro-yo couldn't get any gayer.....hello Pinkberry!

Don't get me wrong-- it's good yogurt, but for $4.50, I half expected Cher to pop out and sing me a song while they mixed in my topping.

Am I alone in my nostalgia for the frozen yogurt of the 80's?  When I was in high school, there was nothing quite like hanging out at the Penguin's on Hwy 111, right across the street from the mall.  Yogurt was chocolate-vanilla swirl, not GREEN TEA.  Why do kids need caffeine in their yogurt?  Why do they even know about GREEN TEA?  I think when I was a kid, the only time I'd ever had green tea was in that ice cream they serve you for dessert at Kobe's.  Also, what exactly is lychee?  I wasn't brave enough to actually get it IN the yogurt, but the Pinkberry guy made me try it.  Overall, it had the consistency of sushi, and tasted like a plum.  THIS is what kids are eating?  Wow.

And that, my friends, was my old lady moment.  Pinkberry has got to be the gayest fro-yo store I've ever seen.  It couldn't be gayer even if they had chandeliers in the bathroom, if you know what I mean.  I see what they're going for, but I have to say that given a side by side comparison, I'm still picking the Costco swirl fro-yo.

Oh, by the way.....

Yesterday I drove by the Westside Rentals guy, and he was wearing a skirt and had on a hat in the shape of Goofy on his head.  So yeah, apparently he can get crazier, and also-- that is just sad.   Someone needs to call social services on this guy's behalf. 

This Just In: L.A. is Full of Freaky People

It seems like ever since I moved back to L.A., I'm having this experience more and more.  Granted, it happens more in Santa Monica and Venice than anywhere else, but I do find it's happening more than, say, when I lived in Manhattan.  The people there are freaky, but in an intentional way.  L.A. people are more like, freaky because of attrition, like they're just TIRED of combing their hair, and they're not going to do it anymore, ok man?

So, here's my experience.  Maybe you can relate, if you live anywhere near the Los Angeles area, or perhaps another sort of place where you can see unusual people.  You're standing in line in back of someone, or you pass by someone on the street, you stop to really look at them, and you just have a moment of.....really?  You own a mirror and don't have any kind of mental defect, and THIS is what you came up with when it came to "how to present myself today"?  Seriously?   You picked out a Hawaiian shirt, slicked your stringy, male pattern balding hair back into a loooong ponytail, put on some too-short khaki shorts, looked in the mirror, and went "Done.  I look great!  This is how I'm going out in the world."   Sometimes I just want to tap people on the shoulder and go "Really?  This is what you're going with?  You don't have anything else that might make you look a little less crazy?  OK then..."

This is presumably how a cat like Phil Spector ends up with an eight inch high Afro with this look on his face like "What?".  There is just something about the total lack of irony that cracks me up.  This applies to the unkempt people as well as the cartoonish plastic surgery girls, or the lady at the gym who has old lady anorexia and is so tan she looks like beef jerky.  I'm thinking maybe the sun is baking away people's common sense, giving them kind of a reverse Body Dysmorphic Disorder that makes them think they look good when they don't.

When we first moved back to L.A., we lived upstairs from a British guy with a mullet who was a butcher...and a daytrader.  This guy owned two blue shirts, and when he wasn't wearing his butcher outfit, he was either wearing one of them, or laying outside on the lawn in a Speedo, soaking up the sun.  He was another one where I was like...."wow, really?  You have enough money to live here and pay your bills, and you can't buy a shirt that doesn't have holes in it?  Interesting."   The last place we lived, our neighbor two doors down had one VERY LARGE DREADLOCK and dressed like a postman.  Oh, did I mention he was old and white, and not in the U.S. Postal Service?  These are the regular people in L.A.

I guess it's all about where your priorities lie, but I personally find this aspect of Los Angeles culture very amusing. 

You Take Twelve Homeless Guys....

Now that he doesn't have a yard to run around in anymore since we moved, I've been taking the dog to Barrington Dog Park in the afternoons... I haven't seen Dustin Hoffman or anyone good like that, but you know as soon as I do, I'll run home and post something about it.  For now, I have an amusing anecdote that is marginally related to Flava Flav.

It turns out while my dog park in New York was filled with actor-types (like Jason Lewis, who played Smith on Sex and the City, and who, yes, IS that good looking in person, and Michael Musto, the newspaper columnist), the Barrington park is filled with TV-writer types, all of whom seem to be pitching each other their ideas, or talking about how their ideas are in various states of production.  Last week, one guy with a really barky collie dog kept saying "Be quiet, Molly-- we're talking about the WORST BUSINESS IN THE WORLD," to which I wanted to go "Dude-- get over yourself.  Go lay some drywall if you think your job sucks so much."  Because you know, I really have no sympathy for people who are in decent situations, but slag them off and disparage them like ingrates.  Really, there are worse things to be than a screenwriter who's at the dog park in the middle of the day.

That same day, I was just about to leave when this OTHER guy came up, and started to pitch the bitter TV guy on a show that he was shopping.  I didn't stay for the whole thing, but just the first part of his elevator pitch was so amusing, I thought I'd share it. 

"You take twelve homeless guys...."

This is when my brain shut down and I stopped listening, because really, how can it get any better?  Reality tv has really run the whole gamut in the past seven or so years, and now we're officially scraping the bottom of the barrel.  I won't say what the whole concept was in case the guy actually sells it, but he did mention that he'd pitched it to one of the guys who made "Flavor of Love," and that he'd passed on it because (and this is a direct quote) "Homeless people scare me."  Bear in mind, Flavor of Love is the show where a woman POOPED on herself last season.   Also, Flava Flav might be the closest thing to a homeless guy in the history of television, so if anyone was going to take the show, it would be these guys. 

The other thing I find hilarious about this is the whole concept of using homeless people as test subjects in some competition show, as if to ignore the very fact that they're homeless, and how they might have gotten that way in the first place, like giving them a haircut and a crisp $100 bill is going to solve the underlying drug addiction or mental illness or general habit of making terrible decisions that got them there.  This just seems like a recipe for disaster, and for that reason, I almost wish they'd make it.

Carmel Weekend: A Photo Essay

So, after buying the house, and moving into it, and getting rid of half of our stuff, I must confess, I was sorely in need of a break.  I was starting to not even find funny things funny anymore, which is a definite sign that I need to unplug for awhile.  Of course, the solution for that is to stay in a house where the view looks like this:

Steph's parents live in Carmel, and his high school best friend married his cousin (Steph's cousin, not his own cousin--oh, just go with it, because there is no grammatically correct way to explain), so we've all been friends for ten years now, and seeing them is really fun.  We were going to take a trip to Chicago for his birthday, but we ended up being happy for the break.

Halfway through driving up there, I noticed this sign-- just a hundred miles outside of L.A., and a complete and total lack of irony!
There was probably a better way to put this.

So, we get up to Carmel, where I swear the whole town is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.  On the way to dinner, I noticed this car, which was a certain indicator we weren't in L.A. anymore. 

Yes, this is a carseat full of cash, checks, and a Blackberry, just sitting out there for any wily thief to grab.  In fact, the door is probably unlocked, but since it's Carmel, it's totally ok to just leave it there, because in fact, all the cops in town were right down the street-- having a hoedown. 

Maybe there's not alot of crime in Carmel because they have signs like this one:

I love how they distinguish "roller skating" from "roller blading," like "be sure this sign encompasses anything that rolls."

Next, we go to dinner at the same restaurant where I stole the mug last Christmas.  This restaurant apparently makes me commit crimes, because I left my sunglasses there, and when I went back to get them the next day, the hostess went to the lost and found and came back with this pair. 

When she asked "Are these the glasses you lost?"  I thought for about a second, and then said "Yes, they are"  They weren't my glasses, but they were nicer than mine, and I really needed sunglasses.  Plus, it's Carmel, dude.  These were someone's spares anyway, and now they're mine.

This is Steph's other cousin (and future Poet Laureate) Josh, along with a can of "Chelada" which I got him as a gift.  Chelada is a beverage consisting of beer and clamato juice, and I think the general consensus is that it's a terrible idea to mix beer and the juice from shellfish. 

We all tried it, and actually, t's not that bad if you hold your nose and sip it, but it's ALL OVER if you smell it first.  I'm not sure why they're making this product, but apparently some time and commitment went into the packaging.  Yikes.

After a few more days of sleep and food, we took the dog to the beach, where he joyfully played with a much-younger yellow Lab until he was exhausted and filthy, and where I got actual photographic evidence of the fattest pug in existence.    This dog's name is "Lucky," and when Steph heard this, he said "Lucky....as in Lucky to be alive?"

Steph's parents then threw him a really lovely birthday party, where I ate enough cake icing to kill a small pony, or maybe a diabetic horse.  Then I sped home yesterday to catch up on work and let in the guys who were putting in my shutters, the final house project that needed to be done. 

Tomorrow:  photo album of the new place!

Yeah, His Disability is Bad Judgement

I walked by this car today, started laughing, and had to stop to take a photo.  Because not only is the trunk bungee-corded shut from being in more than one accident, but this guy is parked in TWO handicapped spots without a handicapped placard.

You know this guy is like "Man....why does this kind of thing always happen to me?  I TRY to make the right decision, and somehow I always end up parked in two handicapped spots with my trunk bungee-corded shut.  DAMMIT!"

I'm actually glad you can't make out the license plate, because knowing L.A., this is probably the car of someone famous, like Tom Sizemore or something.  I just picked Tom Sizemore because he seems like the kind of guy who makes alot of questionable decisions, and whose trunk is probably bungee-corded shut.

And with that, I am going to Carmel for the weekend to rest from the move and to celebrate Steph's birthday.  If you miss me, though, you can always buy my book.  That should keep you occupied for the weekend, at least.

P.S. I finally found a copy of The Bourne Identity in a discount bin at Target, and  I am going to begrudgingly admit that I actually liked it.  I can totally see what all the hype is about, and now I'm curious about the next two. 

The Search for The Bourne Identity

So, ok, I don't know why, but I am like, the last person left on earth who hasn't seen any of the Bourne Identity movies.  Not on cable, not on the airplane, not in the theater-- just never had the opportunity or the inclination, I guess.   But then Steph got a job as one of the voices in the Bourne Identity video game, so we decided that we should probably see it.  Also, someone at William Morris mentioned to him that hey, those movies are actually really good, and were we going to go see the third one?    After which we were like, "we'd rather see the first two, THEN go see the third one."  Because you know, we both have obsessive compulsive disorder, and when we agree on something like this, it gets really out of control.  So, now we don't want to talk about the movie, don't want to hear about it, have to see the first two.

Lo and behold, every single person in the greater Los Angeles area seems to have had the EXACT same idea at the same time, because now there is not a SINGLE copy of The Bourne Identity to be had in, seriously, a 50 mile radius.  I've called FOUR Blockbusters, including one way over by where we used to live when we first moved into town, and the guy (who we call "Crazy Michael" because he so obviously has bipolar disorder that is barely being kept in check by medication) actually said "No-- and you're not the only one who's called to ask," like I was daring to call for U2 tickets during The Joshua Tree era, if you know what I mean.    Then we called Vidiots, and they were like "Um.....no" in that way that only those guys at Vidiots can, when with one word they can make you regret not majoring in some totally obscure film subject and not knowing anything about Bergman films, whatever.

Then we went to Barnes & Noble.  Nope.  "Sold out," said the saleswoman, not even bothering to hide a smirk.  "I can order it for you-- be here in a couple of weeks," she says. 

A couple of WEEKS?  Oh no no.  Now we have to see this movie.  Next, Borders.  Three copies supposedly in stock, ZERO copies on the shelf.  The guy thinks someone STOLE them, which frankly, I would have done if I'd thought of it.   Do you not know that I'm a petty thief?  Well, here's more on that.

Next stop:  Odyssey video.  Same story.  Two copies, zero on the shelf-- it seems that some clever imp has HIDDEN the Bourne Identity DVDs so they can, oh I don't know, come back later and squirrel them away?  Why is this movie so elusive?

Next stop:  Movies on Demand through our cable, where we discover that while you CAN see "Big Momma's House" 24 hours a day, you definitely, definitively CANNOT see The Bourne Identity.  We watch Boogie Nights instead, and temporarily forget about our Bourne Identity jones.  Meanwhile, I go to add The Bourne Identity to my Blockbuster queue, and it has the incredible GALL to list the movie as "TEMPORARY WAIT."

Next stop:  Blockbuster again, last night. 

Me:  "Any copies of the Bourne Identity come in?"   
Blockbuster guy:  "Nope."
Me:  "Other stores?"
Blockbuster guy (laughing):  "Probably not."

Then another, "used CD and DVD type store," no luck.  I'm about ready to go over to Matt Damon's house and borrow his screener copy, because this is freaking ridiculous.  It's just a MOVIE.  I'm a member of the Screen Actors Guild Nominating Committee for films, and I can't get my hands on a copy of a movie that came out five years ago?  Nice.

So-- still haven't seen the movie.  If anyone has a copy you'd like to lend, I'm all ears.

Eight Random Facts About My Husband

After I posted my Eight Random Facts last week, Stephan reminded me that we'd come up with some for him as well, and that I should post those.   Because really, I know you're dying to know about the fact that I love cabbage, and that he has lovely feet.  Really, he does.

Eight Random Facts About Stephan Cox (the Voice of God)

1. 

What's In a Name?

This is a funny email I got....feel free to copy and forward.  Some of these made me laugh out loud, not least of which because I wrote a book about websites, and seriously, one of the main things I pointed out in one of the chapters was the importance of picking a good url.   I once did a website for a client who INSISTED that she wanted a url that had the words "ScoutSex" in it.  And you know that can't be good.

These are not made up:

 

1. Who Represents is where you can find the name of the agent that

represents any celebrity.  Their Web site is www.whorepresents.com

2. Experts Exchange is a knowledge base where programmers can exchange

advice and views at www.expertsexchange.com

3. Looking for a pen? Look no further than Pen Island at

www.penisland.net

4. Need a therapist? Try Therapist Finder at www.therapistfinder.com

5. There's the Italian Power Generator company, www.powergenitalia.com

6. And don't forget the Mole Station Native Nursery in New South Wales , www.molestationnursery.com

7. If you're looking for IP computer software, there's always

www.ipanywhere.com

8. And the designers at Speed of Art await you at their wacky Web

site, www.speedofart.com

Monday Funny

My friend Michelle sent me this over the weekend.  I love this sign, and I double love the fact that I am the first person she thought of when she saw it. 

Along this same topic, my friend Lisa (with whom I attended a Tears for Fears concert last Sunday-- more about that later), sent me this series of hilarious wedding postings.  Like her, I wonder who actually took the time to pull these out of their respective papers and send them around, but who cares?  Now they are here to entertain you.  Here's a whole gallery.

Fantastic!

I just would like to say for the record that I think it's FANTASTIC that my book is consistently equal to or outranking the following, big advance-having, major publisher-supported books out there.  It's great that people are voting with their dollars and buying my book, and that I continue to get great feedback on a book Big Publishing America said would never sell, because "nobody wants to read celebrity-driven fiction."   

When I'm a multimillionaire, bestselling author, I'm sure I'm going to look back on this whole experience and laugh.

On Friday, April 13th, Hollywood Car Wash was  # 45 on Amazon!  Yay for the little novel that could!

Check the rank of Hollywood Car Wash

Check the rank of Little Pink Slips

Check the rank of Hollywood Girls Club  (seriously-- someone at Crown needs to give me a call.  I am selling way more books than this person)

Check the rank of A Model Summer 

So, what I'm saying is......my book is equal or better in ranking with the summer releases of major publishing houses.  What better reason could there be to throw big money at me for my next novel?

Don't Encourage the Crazy

OK, so you know how they say when you see someone who's crazy, you're not supposed to encourage the crazy?  Like, if they're talking about how they're Napoleon, you're not supposed to play along and say "I'm Josephine," because that's not really going to help them regain their grasp on sanity? 

Yeah, that's what's happening down on Wilshire and Euclid in Santa Monica, where there's this totally crazy guy who dances all day on behalf of Westside Rentals.  Do you know this guy?  Because if you don't know about him, you really don't know what you're missing.    His actual name is "Phil the Dancing Grill," and you can see him in action right here:

Immaculate Conception?

So, Nicole Richie is pregnant after all.  Not sure why I care about this, since she's not really an actress or a singer or any kind of anything.  But, this is the way the gossip world works, and so I know about it.  Really, I think the most shocking thing about this for me is that this girl can even OVULATE, given her 84 pound weight and her obvious aversion to food.   Every time I look at pictures of her, I think that her breath must smell like coffee, cigarettes, and barf.  She and the Olsen twins are like the LAST people you'd think would ever be pregnant. I guess the lifestyle that lends itself to being that thin just doesn't immediately seem "motherly" to me.  Of course, they probably could fit several babies in those giant purses, but it does just seem incongruous, in my opinion.

Also, it is a little shocking to me that she's managed to stay pregnant as well-- I mean, this is the same Nicole Richie who was addicted to heroin, right?  The same one who got a DUI while driving the wrong way down the 134 freeway in Pasadena, and admitted to being whacked out of her mind on probably enough Vicodin and marijuana to kill a small horse of the same weight?  I'm surprised that Child Protective Services hasn't already showed up to her house, just to put in an appearance, because you KNOW she's going to have some Britney Spears-like issues with her baby.    I mean, how white trash is it to go to jail while you're pregnant?   That is truly something other than else.  Hey, maybe if she has to go to jail for an extended period, Lionel Richie can adopt her baby as well.

Too much?  Too far over the line?  OK then-- I'm happy for her.  I'm sure the baby is going to make her pull her life together.

Also, in case you're wondering, we are about 90% unpacked, and I haven't been writing much because while the rest of the house is coming along nicely, as of this morning my office still looked like this: