Funny Strange....

Step Away From the Newborn

Jennifer Lopez is on the cover of People Magazine this week with her brand-new twin babies, and in case you haven't run right out to the newsstand for a closer look, I'll just clear up the mystery for you:  they look like NEWBORNS, okay? 

I'm not going to try to incur your wrath by saying that all newborn babies look the same to me, but....come on.  They kind of do, right?  So squashed and translucent and teeny, you almost can't look at them head-on.  I mean, there is a newborn baby photo of me somewhere in one of my storage boxes, and it's HIDEOUS.  My head is pointed, and I am about seven pounds of pissed-off, red faced, red haired baby.  Thank God that photo's not on a magazine cover, is all I'm saying. 

This leads me to wonder-- what is with this trend, this obsession almost, with seeing the BRAND NEW (like seriously-- BRAND NEW) babies of celebrities?  Don't we all agree that they're much cuter later on, after a waiting period during which they get some hair and their heads get a little more formed?  I mean, I'm as much of a celebrity gossip lover as the next guy, but even I have to draw the line at covers like these, each of which made me scream OUT LOUD when I saw it on the newsstand:

 

Oh my GOD!  Put those babies back in!  They're not done yet!

 

 

Or this cover.  I'm sure this kid is older now and cuter, but how pissed would you be if your supermodel mom put you on the cover of a magazine when you still looked all smashy like this?  Eeeek!

Maybe the real problem with these covers is the pressure the women are obviously feeling to show the world they're "normal" again, very soon after having their babies, and that's another issue altogether.  I'm just surprised that anyone would agree to do this, even for $5 million or whatever they're getting paid these days.   It's just weird to me that after avoiding the paparazzi for nine months while they're pregnant, they'd then want to take their days-old babies to the photographers' studios. 

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to have to go with Tom Cruise on this one.  Remember when he and and my best friend Katie Holmes never showed any pictures of their baby Suri, then finally came out with that Vanity Fair spread?  Who knows what she looked like at first-- all we know is, now she's cute, and we didn't have to see her all teeny like that.

All I'm saying is, let them fully form before we see them, okay?  We can wait.

Eliot Spitzer Transition Period: Things To Do

I know, I know, I haven't been updating!   I've been on the road in New York, New Jersey, and Philadelphia for business, and have been so busy I haven't had time to even post some of the hilarious pictures from my phone.

Since this Eliot Spitzer thing just broke, though, Stephan and I made you this list to tide you over until we get back to L.A. tonight and I can open all my mail, do laundry, and transfer all of my notes into this blog.   This is so sad-- I mean, no matter what side of the fence you're on, I think we all agree that this was a TERRIBLE decision on Spitzer's part, and agree on what a shame it is that this is going to be his legacy instead of some of the great things he accomplished during his career.

That said, we were watching CNN this morning, and when Spitzer said he was resigning effective Monday, March 17, we couldn't stop tossing out funny tidbits about what he might be doing for the next four days.

Top Ten Things Eliot Spitzer is going to do during his "transition" period"

1.  Show Lt. Governor Patterson lunchroom, teach him to use copy machine, tell him who to really call to get your BlackBerry fixed.
2.  Hang head in shame (during office hours).
3.  Change password to porn sites.
4.  Research new, more discreet brothels.
5.  Finally tell off boss-- oh wait, he is the boss.
6.  Not switch back to spreadsheet from Minesweeper game when people come into office.
7.  Jaeger bombs during St. Patrick's Day party on last day of work!  Sweet!
8.  Surf Craigslist for new job listings under "disgraced governors" section.
9.  See if Nevada needs governor.
10. Fuck It.  Two hour lunch.

Dear Internet,

Flu Watch: Day Seven (yes, SEVEN). Still going. Um, isn't the flu supposed to go away in 3 - 10 days? I thought when they said that they were just being conservative. The fever came back last night, so I still haven't had the "24 hour fever free" period that indicates you're done with the flu. What the HELL? I'm almost out of pre-written posts, too. Here's one that was written on Monday night, before I was overtaken by the virus.

An Open Letter to the Internet Is there something you've been hiding from me?  How come you never told me that, instead of listening to me drone on and on, day after day about weird people, and made up words, and jobs I wouldn't want, that what you really wanted to see was GAY VEGETARIAN TOURS OF LOS ANGELES?

Internet, this can be the only reason why traffic to this blog MORE THAN DOUBLED on the day I posted that tour, far surpassing any amount of traffic ever seen here before, setting a personal blog-history record for me, even surpassing that day, that fateful day, when someone over at TMZ ran a piece about a book I wrote that supposedly pissed someone off.   Yes, I'm talking about THAT much traffic, coming to read all about how you can get a massage at a spa, then go to Real Food Daily or Toast, then dance your gay head off with your arms above your head at The Factory. 

Really, internet?  Instead of articles, and websites, and novels, and non-fiction books, and more websites, and theater reviews, and book reviews, and fashion show reviews, what you really wanted me to be writing was GAY VEGETARIAN TOUR GUIDES?

You know what?  I don't even care why they came.  I'm just happy they did.  Check back next week for another fantastic tour!

By the way, I've now watched all of Season One of "The Wire." I get it! It's a good show. I ordered Season Two, just in case my Freak Flu decides to go the whole ten days.

Riddle Me This....

After seeing this picture of Jamie Lynn Spears over the weekend, I started wondering-- why did they even tell anyone she was pregnant?  I think if I were their mom, I would totally have been like "come home, have the baby, and then we'll pretend it's your niece or nephew, or that I (the mom) had a new baby, or whatever.  At this rate, no one would even have noticed, is all I'm saying.  You'd think with the resources that family has, they would have been able to stage an old-style Hollywood coverup.

This reminds me of a totally depressing article I read in People Magazine while I was getting my nails done with my friend in San Francisco (see-- because if I admit I was reading People Magazine and it's NOT in a nail salon, then you'll lose respect for me).  The article was chronicling the lives of, like, five teenagers who had gotten pregnant in high school, and what they were doing now.  I don't know if it was just the journalistic slant the author/ magazine were going for, but I thought it was very telling that the ONE AND ONLY girl who was remotely well-adjusted and happy, and still pursuing any of her dreams was the girl who gave her baby up for adoption.  Her quote was like "adoption is the most amazing thing I've ever done, period."  And now she's free to go on with her life.  The others were, oh my God, pregnant in the seventh grade, dropping out of school, barely getting by working as cashiers at the market and hoping their babies' fathers would still talk to them.  YIIIIKES!  DOUBLE YIKES!

I'm not going to spark up a wad of controversy by suggesting that, perhaps, just because you CAN make a baby, you should go out and do that, and that if you're not smart enough to figure out how to use birth control, maybe you shouldn't be procreating.  Because, you know, this blog isn't the place for that.  But, I think you see my point.  Didn't Jamie Lynn see Juno?

Speaking of the Spears family, did you see this Amy Winehouse performance at the Grammys?  Sha-DAMN, dude.  She's been sober for what-- fifteen minutes?  Someone should call up Britney Spears and tell her THIS is how you do a comeback. 

Dead or Alive, or......Gender Ambiguous?

So, we went to San Francisco last weekend, and hung out with some cool people, and watched that TOTALLY AMAZING SUPERBOWL, and good times were had all around.  And hey, did you know that if you're a little hungover (mostly from not getting enough sleep), and then you eat bacon twice in one day and drink a bunch of club soda and eat a hamburger, you might wake up the next morning with high blood pressure?    Who knew?    Yes, I know, that's alot of sodium-- someone should've warned me.  At any rate, it went away in a day, after I switched back to regular water.

Still working on the rewrite, which (after some brainstorming with my witty and brilliant husband-- who once again deserves a medal), seems to have picked up its pace again.  Even so, I'm going to call this "the hardest project I've ever worked on," maybe because I have a mental block going on in another area of my life and it's carrying over.  Who knows?   I don't think you want to hear about that, and frankly, I'm not going to become the kind of blogger who just complains all the time.  Not fun!

Anyhoo, the main topic of today's post is that eighties band Dead or Alive, because frankly, this is JUST the kind of thing that belongs here-- strange and baffling.  Saturday night we were in this bar in SF that just happened to be playing nothing but eighties music.  I love bars like this, because they give me a chance to re-experience my youth while I'm listening to bands like Bronski Beat and Tears for Fears.  About halfway through the round of drinks, that Dead or Alive song "You Spin Me Right Round" comes on, which leads to, no kidding, a FASCINATING discussion about whether or not the lead singer, Pete Burns, is now a dude or a chick, or a dude who looks like a chick, or maybe a transitional chick-dude, or maybe a dude who really, really looks like a chick.    I mean, it's not like any of us really have any INVESTMENT in this, but it's good bar convo.    Everyone had a different opinion, which intrigued me.

As it turns out, no one could answer the question, and even after several days of research and near-obsession on the topic, neither can I.  The (man) just can't be pinned down, ok?  He defies ALL stereotypes.

Now, for the photos.  Just in case you're just joining us on the "Pete Burns might be a she-male" discussion, Pete Burns is the guy from Dead or Alive who used to look like this:

And now, for some reason, looks like this, while continuing to call himself "Pete" and use the masculine gender pronouns:

I'm just going to let you sit here for a second and try to get your head around this.  Of course, it's been FOUR DAYS since I saw this, and I still don't get it.   Go ahead, look at this photo a few times.  Take in the gorilla skin coat, and the giant lips, and the black roots. 

Ok, was that enough time?  I'm not kidding when I say that I Googled this guy, then sat up until 3:00 am on Saturday, trying to make sense of all this.    Here were some of my theories, which were then disproved by further research.

1.  Maybe he's a pre-op transsexual.

Nope.  He says in an interview that he still gender identifies as a man, and there is even a picture of him with this face and his genitalia exposed on Google Images, though I know I'm not going to include that here because some of you would be all "I can't believe I opened that up at work!" or "Dude!  You gotta warn me before you put up a picture of balls!"  So, that's all I'm going to say about that.   In fact, he is still a man.

2.  Maybe he's just a transvestite who seems to have cut his face to look like a woman's, in some sort of bizarre perma-drag.

Nope.  He's also gay, and married to a guy.  There is even a rumor on Wikipedia that a tour with he and Morrissey broke up after Burns RAPED THE MOZZER!    And if Eddie Izzard has taught us anything, it's that most transvestites are straight men who like to wear women's clothing.  He's not either of those, and as far as I can tell, he ONLY wears women's clothing, though he does it with some GIGANTIC man hands and no boobs.

3. Maybe he was involved in some sort of industrial accident, and a woman's freaky face is all they could make out of what was left.

Nope.  This was all elective surgery, though he does say in one interview that one (or more) of them was botched, and they're still repairing that.    Though, not to be mean, I'm actually wondering which part was intended, and which part was botched.

4.  He's a performance artist, and his face and body are his canvas.

This was the closest I got to an actual, functional theory, about which I could nod my head and go "yes, yes....that makes sense!  I can put that in a category in my mind!"  Although, he does still call himself a singer and isn't a professor in a art department (and doesn't have a book on performance art out), so this thing he's doing might not be an intentional challenging of cultural and gender boundaries.

I know this will surprise you, but in the interviews I read, he does sound a little bit mental, like he belongs in the "Too Weird to Do Practical Things" category from last year.  So, I guess the only conclusion that I can confidently draw from the information I have is that Pete Burns is the true meaning of the term "androgynous."  This is the way he feels inside, and he's just letting his freak flag fly for all to see.  And, I guess-- good for him.  Still, I think you'll agree, it IS weird if you haven't even thought about him since 1984, and then suddenly you see a photo of him in his new (ahem) iteration.  Shocking even!

And now, back to the book.

This Guy: Celebrity Crazy Edition

Do you know about the Legend of This Guy?  Because if you don't, perhaps you should go back and read this post, or this one.  Then you will find this photo of Tom Cruise and his buddy Will Smith even funnier.

Or, on a totally different Tom Cruise note, you could go over to Defamer and watch this FREAKY video of him espousing the virtues of Scientology and saying "we have to do something" over and over again.   Look, I don't want to slander them because Scientology is a little too cult-y for me, but actually, I'm all for anything that makes people happier in their lives, and Scientology seems to work for some people, and that is great).   I personally wouldn't adhere to a religion created by a science fiction writer that involves dead aliens, but again, to each his own. 

Here's the thing, though:  I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HE'S SAYING.  I mean, for a famous actor, Tom Cruise is a REALLY bad communicator.  I know he has dyslexia and that Scientology helped him learn to read and all (which, again, is great.  Great!), but dude!  I don't think it can just be chalked up to poor editing, and to the seemingly-endless Mission:  Impossible theme music loop in the background.  I keep listening for a point in what he's saying, and one never comes.  Like, what does he want us to DO with this information?   There really seems to be no call to action in this video, which frankly surprises me most of all because I consider Scientology to be one of the best-marketed religions on the planet. 

Six Shot Caramel Macchiato, Please

We were sitting in Starbucks on Sunday, and I kid you not, I heard a guy order a "six shot caramel macchiato."  Like, when did it become ok to just nonchalantly order SIX SHOTS in your coffee beverage?  The only things I could think of when I heard this were: 

a) who needs this much caffeine and sugar?  If you're tired enough to need six shots of espresso in your drink, maybe you should go to a hospital.

or

b)  Good thing there's a bathroom in every Starbucks, because oh my God the incredible pooping that might theoretically happen if one were to drink this much caffeine at one time.  I once had an intern at an investment bank where I worked-- he claimed that a single bottle of that chilled Frappucino stuff was enough to keep him in the bathroom for two hours.  I don't want to turn this into a blog about poop, but-- my GOD!  Six shots?!

Also, I'm bummed that Saturday Night Live was canceled because of the writer's strike, because I really wanted to see if Amy Winehouse was going to show up, and  because I wanted to see if Kristen Wiig was going to do that totally funny Bjork impression that she did a  few weeks ago.  Bjork is one of the stars of a new list I'm working on  for Friday-- namely,  "People Who Are Too Eccentric to Actually Exist in the Real World."  That is to say, you couldn't really see them buying milk or paying bills online.  I think Bjork falls nicely into this category.  Do you think she has keys?  Do they open anything?  I'm just saying.  I'd be surprised if she were licensed to drive in any state or country.

Why Is This Still Going On?

Dear Mischa Barton Fan Club,

Thank you-- I will continue to voice my opinion here, on my own blog.   And if you'll refer back to the post dated October 26th, you'll clearly see that I retracted the statement that your darling Mischa was UNEMPLOYED, sticking only to my OPINION that she is, in fact, not a good actress, and my OPINION that she was perhaps unwise to have quit The O.C before it ended, since her acting talent, in my opinion, left something to be desired. You are more than welcome to disagree with these statements, which you clearly do, but they are just opinions, just like my book is a work of fiction, and clearly not about Katie Holmes at all, not one bit.   And since these statements are all just opinions, of course, you can all just leave me alone, or maybe just read some of my other posts, which are, in some people's opinions, pretty funny.  Of course, you are free to disagree with people's opinions.  That is your right.  Just like I am free to disagree with your opinion of Mischa's acting talent. 

But ok...you got me (on the 26th of October, to be exact).  OK-- I was wrong.  She's not unemployed.   

Happy?

I still think she's a bad actress.

And with that, I move that we close the Mischa Barton discussion, and come together instead for a delightful morning of crazy over in R. Kelley land, with a special showing of "Real Talk."  Careful, though-- this guy's hair weave is coming out, and he definitely says some stuff that's not safe for work.

P.S.  If you don't know why I'm writing a post to the Mischa Barton Fan Club, please go back a few weeks and read all of their comments to my posts, which in the interest of free expression I have left up there.  Fun!   

Give. Me a Break.

Yesterday I was walking the dog past this house in Brentwood, and I heard (I'm not even kidding) a rooster crowing.  Being the inquisitive person that I am, I of course had to look through their gate, and there I saw-- a chicken coop.  In Brentwood.  Right there on Bundy.

If you'll refer to my earlier Andy Dick story, you'll see where I'm going with this.  In case you don't live here, it costs at least $1 million to buy a house in that neighborhood. And, once again, I'm going to have to say that if I'm paying approximately $13,000 / month in mortgage for my house, and right next door I have to hear your ROOSTER crowing at 5:30 every morning, I'm comin' right over there to make me some chicken pot pie out of your rooster. 

It sounds funny, but you know that's what his neighbor is thinking, probably right now and every morning.  I'm saying, I think people's civility toward their fellow man is slipping.  I mean, I get totally mad when my next door neighbor turns his stereo up too loud on the weekend.   I have a friend in San Francisco whose downstairs neighbor uses a power drill at 4 in the morning.  And, when WE lived in San Francisco, we had a neighbor who snored SO LOUD, we had to pound on the wall every night to make him wake up and roll over.  That is, unless he had a guy over, and then....well, you can just imagine what it sounded like then.

Yeah, I'm getting ready to just move to an organic fruit farm somewhere remote, where there are no people.  Ten years of city living might finally have caught up with me, because now I see a rooster in someone's yard and I don't think it's quirky.  I think it's wrong, and that this person must be stopped.

Is this why I love the show Dexter so much?  You tell me.  On a positive note, did you see that Patriots game?  Awesome.  Tom Brady is dreamy.  We had nachos for lunch while we watched football.  THAT is the way to spend a Sunday.  Also, I got a ton of work done on my NaNoWriMo book, but I can't seem to get the word counter thing to work, so you'll just have to take my word for it.  It's going to be awesome!

People of Los Angeles-- Your Dog Belongs on a Leash

I purposely didn't post yesterday, to give my excellent news a chance to be at the very top for one more day.  That's ok, right?  If you didn't see my news, you should scroll down.  It's really worth it.  In fact, this photo is a still life taken at my celebration dinner at my new favorite L.A. restaurant, Bandera.  I like to call this one "Still Life With Ketchup and Worcester Sauce."   Because really, you can never have enough of these two items.

Today I'm back, though, and I'm all riled up about people in Los Angeles walking their dogs off the leash.  I don't get this compulsion to pretend you live in Wyoming or something, where dogs are free to roam and scratch.  It's L.A., ok?   You have, like, a two-foot sidewalk on which to walk your dog, and on the other side of the sidewalk?  The street.  Right there.  Where cars go.  Cars that can run over your dog.  Who should be on a leash. 

I know, people are all aggro, like "I voice-command trained my dog, so I shouldn't have to have him on a leash."  Whatever.   Even if my dog were trained by that drill sargeant guy from Full Metal Jacket (who I happen to know is named F. Lee Ermy), I wouldn't trust him off the leash in a million years.  You know why? 

Because he's a dog.  He doesn't know right from wrong.  He likes to chase squirrels, and sniff other dogs, and generally get into stuff.  That's why he's on a leash when he goes outside, and not walking upright, arm in arm with me, enjoying a nice coffee beverage.  He's not my lunch date or my charming dinner companion.  He's my dog. 

I saw THREE people today, walking their dogs off-leash all nonchalantly, like "what?  My dog is accompanying me on an afternoon stroll."  I don't like being that person, like "Hey man-- why don't you be more responsible," so instead I do the totally passive-aggressive thing and cross to the other side of the street, while giving the dog owner a look that indicates how much I think they suck. 

Actually, I probably shouldn't worry about this, because this is a problem that will eventually solve itself.  One day, those dogs who are supposedly voice-trained are going to run AFTER my dog when I cross to the other side of the street. 

And then? 

Oh yeah.  Dog Darwinism. 

And finally--on a totally different subject--there's a joke in here somewhere, but I'm too classy to make it:

Former adult film star-turned-actress Traci Lords, 39, and her husband Jeff Lee have welcomed a son, Joseph Gunnar, who weighed in at 6 lbs, 14 oz.

Um, good for her.  Let's just leave it at that.

A Little More Convincing, Please.

I don’t watch The Hills, and I never got into Laguna Beach at all, but recently this couple has come to my attention, because every time their photo appears somewhere, they look like they’re posing for a parody of what a couple is, like "We're a cheezy couple on a Hallmark card” or something. In case you’re out of the target demographic of this media juggernaut, it’s Heidi and Spencer from The Hills. From the look of these two, I’m going to guess that a publicist has told them to pretend to be a couple so that they can get publicity like this, because two reality show stars dating each other are much better than one, and then they can take it one step further, milking the whole “engagement/ wedding” media outlets, then start “arguing” and “break up” for the benefit of Life & Style and In Touch.  Right now I think they are accomplishing this by having some fake feud about something I don't really care about. 

This picture--- I mean, just come on. This kid looks like he is four seconds away from running into the arms of his boyfriend*, or whatever tramp comes out of the Cabo Cantina. Heidi is holding on for dear life because guess what? As soon as the lights of reality tv turn off, he is out of there so fast, it’s going to make her head spin.

So, this goes on in Hollywood all the time, that’s fine, I don’t mind it—but not when it’s so obviously staged. I mean, can they not even hire good actors for these off-screen “romances” anymore? This just offends my sensibilities because it looks so blatantly fake. Give me a little Meg Ryan and Russell Crowe, maybe. At least they were good actors, right?  I feel like these two are barely even trying to convince us that they actually like each other.  I'm going to need my fake Hollywood couples to go ahead and be a little more realistic, if you know what I mean.

Also, this cover just made me laugh. I think I understand what they were going for—she obviously used to be an ugly, flat girl, and she’s gotten plastic surgery to get revenge on girls that were prettier than her, ok fine. But to phrase it this way, “REVENGE PLASTIC SURGERY” sounds like she’s either coming after her enemies with the liposuction cannula of doom, or like she was sobbing in her room somewhere, going “Take THAT, Lauren and Kristen! You picked on me, so I’m going to HACK MYSELF UP, just for you. Dammit!”

*Total conjecture, based only on my expert analysis of photos of him in which he looks pretty darn gay.  But, what do I know? 

Ugly Betty is HOT!

Note:  I don't know why, but Typepad decided to publish just a fragment of this piece on Monday, then save the whole thing for today.  So, in case you were one of the people who saw the snippet of this, so sorry!  Now you know I start working on these posts a few days before they actually go up, to provide you with the highest quality funny and strange.

I just saw this Glamour magazine when I was traveling, and I have to say, this made me laugh out loud.  If you'll enlarge the photo, you'll see that Glamour has totally Photoshopped the hell out of America Ferrera, perhaps to the point of putting her head on someone else's body, and then put a headline beside that, exclaiming "UGLY BETTY IS HOT!"

How much does ABC want you to know that America Ferrera, who plays Ugly Betty, ISN'T REALLY UGLY?  So much that they've apparently entered into some exclusive Photoshopping contract with Glamour magazine to make sure that Ferrera looks both SKINNY AND HOT when she's not actually on the set of her hit show UGLY BETTY.  Apparently it's ok for them to make a show ABOUT an ugly fat girl, but only if it's 100% clear to everyone watching that she's actually a CUTE SKINNY girl in a fat suit and fake braces.  Because-- a real ugly fat person on TV?  No no no!  That would violate some kind of international trade law.

Let us not forget, however, that this is how America Ferrera GOT this job-- remember Real Women Have Curves, which was all about how she shouldn't have to be skinny just to fit in and get people to like her?  Here's how she looked in that.

And here's how she looked at last week's Emmy awards, where, I kid you not, I saw her with my own two eyes, weighing in at about 110 pounds and standing next to her dinner, holding her Emmy.

I'm not knocking her-- she can lose weight if she wants to, I don't really care.  It's just so very Hollywood to me that they would hire a girl whose whole career up to now has been about how "she's not just some skinny white girl," then they immediately start going after her with a pair of tweezers, some diet pills and a magic PhotoShop blur tool, so that you know it's JUST A FAT SUIT-- SHE'S NOT REALLY FAT!

Hollywood Car Wash?  Anyone?  No?

She's UGLY BETTY, dude.  It's got to be ok for UGLY BETTY to not conform to this ridiculous Hollywood standard.  This is the pressure that leads people like Jamie Pressley to lose all of her baby weight six weeks after she gives birth, because she's "afraid she's going to lose her job," (ha ha, but not really). 

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! 

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. 

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:

Smell you!

This is the type of blog entry that I might characterize as "trivial," but since I've been encouraged to write more, I thought I'd put it up anyway.

Due to a one-year old sneezing some really virulent germs into my face about nine days ago, I've had an on-again, off-again cold for about a week which I've been trying to knock out with Zicam nasal gel.  OK, I know this is the point in the post where, if you're some people, you're going to go right down into the comments and be all "Zicam nasal gel makes you lose your sense of smell," or "they're going to take that stuff off the market," or something, but you know what?  I don't care. I freaking LOVE that stuff, and will continue to shoot it right up my nose multiple times per day the very MOMENT I feel a cold coming on.   Friday I think I set a record for Zicam use, when I spent the whole day on my couch watching reruns of CSI on the Spike Channel and trying to will myself to be better enough for our Annual Summer Barbeque.  Saturday morning-- voila!  Zicam worked its magical miracle magic, and (I kid you not), I was TOTALLY BETTER.  I mean, the cold was GONE.

Until yesterday, when it started to come back.  Turns out, you're supposed to KEEP using the Zicam for 48 hours after you feel better, but like one of those mental patients who instantly stops taking their Risperdal as soon as the voices in their head go away, I (perhaps high on the joy of getting rid of my cold) forgot ALL about that, totally went out and exercised, and by Wednesday was back on the couch again, begging my sweet Zicam to kick in again.

Today I feel better, but I have totally learned my lesson, and have added "shoot Zicam up my nose" to my to-do list for at least the next week.

Figures...

It just so figures that Britney Spears would look good bald.

By the way, I find it very interesting that even though no one has seen hide nor hair of her second baby--what's his name, Jesse James or something?, no one is doing the thing that they did with Suri Cruise, where they were all "oh my God, it's a fake baby, blah blah blah." I suppose this is because there is some intrigue about Tom Cruise, and because it's WAY more likely to be true that Britney Spears had another kid (maybe her extreme fertility comes from a combination of chicken fried steak, Red Bull, and menthol cigarettes-- yummy!).

I'm just saying, no one's seen her kid, and you don't hear anyone claming that HER pregnancy was fake.
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Deal with the Devil

This post is in honor of Thanksgiving, and the twenty pounds of Moose Munch I ate this weekend.  I was just reading about the Calorie Restriction craze lately....don't call it a diet!  It's a way of life!  This, to me, seems to be the classic Faustian deal, right?  You can live to be 135 years old, but you can never, EVER have ice cream or pizza ever again.   I'm sure this really works for some people.   I just don't think I would personally want to live to be that old if I could never enjoy the sugary goodness of Magnolia Bakery ever again.

In other news, congratulations to Steve and Michelle, who got married on Thanksgiving during a tree planting ceremony. 

People Come From Far and Wide to View the Funny

The program that I use to make this blog, Typepad, has a feature where you can see what searches people did that lead them to your site.  I always look at it, because I'm curious to see how people find this site that aren't, say, my father in law (hi Jim!) or someone else who knows me. 

Here's what some total strangers typed in to get here this week!

1.  "Mustache Song," because there are so many of those out there, you'd need Google to find one.
2.  "Strange Photos."  I'm not even going to touch this one.
3.  "festy but funny."  Maybe they would have found something better if they hadn't misspelled feisty.  Just a thought.
4.  'list of things to do on halloween besides trick-or-treating."  Like, sit at home and Google long search terms?  What's wrong with trick or treating?  How about a nice Halloween party?
5.  "bizarre enemas."  Oh boy.
6.  "funny robot names"  I don't know how they got to me by typing this in, but I think that's the greatest thing I've ever heard, really.
7.  "funny + doctor + names + car accidents."  Um, ok.
8.  "Monica Pegleg." I wonder if there really is a person with this last name.
9.  "Weird Nipples."  Did this person have them, or want to see them?  Fascinating.
10.  "Pegleg Movie."  Is there such a thing?

Also, I was thrilled to see that you can get to me by just typing in "Funny." Apparently, Google finds me amusing.

Halloween Dissed!

So, we spent some quality time preparing for our first Halloween in a real house....like, carved a pumpkin (see the Gene Simmons entry), bought the good candy, hung paper ghosts on the door to indicate "We Are Halloween Friendly," turned on The Shining really loud, and waited for the Trick or Treaters to start rolling in.   Sadly, our dreams of being the "cool people on the block with the good candy" were dashed.

To our dismay, we had only TWO the whole night.  These two we got because we saw them walking by, and ran to the doorway yelling "WE HAVE CANDY!"  We practically had to DRAG them up to our doorstep to give them the candy.  Like, if we yelled any louder, we would've gone from being enthusiastic about Halloween to just being the creepy adults in the white house, watching the Shining.   Sheesh. 

But....TWO Trick or Treaters!?  One dressed as Spiderman, and one as The Flash.  Little Spiderman even had a HAND DRAWN mask on.  What the $%^&?  What is happening to our kids today?  Don't they know the value of a holiday in which you get FREE CANDY?  My God!  Now I really am concerned about the youth of America.  Our friend mentioned that since there is alot of traffic (cars) on our street, it's probably not that safe for kids to be out trick or treating, because they might get hit.  But.....I went trick or treating on a street with cars when I was a kid, and I turned out fine.  This got me thinking....

Is this a new thing?  Is there no more trick or treating anymore?  Is this like the thing where when I was a kid, it was perfectly fine to skateboard or bike without a helmet,  and even to fall on your head every once in awhile, but now parents won't let their kids go out without a full suit of armor on?  Sheesh.  I think kids had more fun when there were no cellphones and everyone wasn't so careful all the time.

On the other hand, now I have a cool looking pumpkin and a whole drawer full of delicious candy all to myself, so it's kind of like I went trick or treating, but didn't have to wear a costume or drag a heavy bag all over town.   So, I got that going for me.

So....let me know if you want some awesome Halloween candy. 

How Hard Can it Be?

How hard can it be to GIVE AWAY a perfectly good bed?  Well, in case you were wondering, it can be pretty darn hard.  Because, despite imminent global warming and An Inconvenient Truth, apparently it violates some international law for Goodwill or the Salvation Army to take my one year old, perfectly fine bed that up until Saturday I was sleeping on myself, because it might have cooties or something. 

So...figuring that the words "free bed" conjure up images of those blood-soaked mattresses on CSI, I decided to try an experiment.  I posted the bed on Craig's List for $20.   In my system of logic, something you have to pay for is worth a little more mentally than something that someone is just trying to get rid of.

In response to this post, we got THREE phonecalls, and ZERO people who could actually pull it together enough to come over here, shell out the $20, and take the bed.   This includes a girl who called to ask if we thought the bed would fit in her car.

So, today, Day 3 of "Operation I Don't Want to Throw Away This Bed," I put an ad for a Free Bed on Craig's List.  Thusfar I have gotten ONE phonecall, from a guy who claims that he's going to come get it at 6:00.  Then again, this guy also said he would send me an email to confirm (and because he wanted a PICTURE of the free bed...I don't know, maybe to confirm that it wasn't covered in blood stains and poo), and I haven't heard back from him yet.    Also, I got this email, from a woman who really wants the finest FREE BED she can get:

could you describe this bed other than that it is free? wood? metal?
firm or soft mattress? no mattress?
photo maybe?

Now this is amusing me. 

Follow up: So, as it turns out, I was wrong about the words "Free Bed" implying that the bed had been used in some kind of industrial waste toxic accident, or being covered in doo-doo. Within two hours of me posting "free bed" on Craig's List, there were two hippies (and their baby, Twilight) here, tying the bed to the top of their car. I stand corrected. What they're going to do with the bed, we will leave to the imagination (like, are they going to smoke it? I just don't know). My conscience is clean.

I Don't Know Why I Think About This Kind of Stuff

Today I was stuck in traffic behind a person who had a "It's a Child, Not a Choice!" bumper sticker. Um, believe whatever you want....go ahead, I don't really care. But....what's the point of putting that belief on a bumper sticker? Like, are you trying to influence people who are ON THE WAY to the Planned Parenthood Clinic, to maybe stop them from making what you consider to be that fatal decision? This seems to me to be inefficient and almost statistically impossible. I, for instance, was not in the middle of making that sort of decision at that moment, so all that precious "sitting in traffic" time was totally lost on me.

My point is this: if you must put a bumper sticker on your car, what about one that encourages people to be nicer to each other WHILE THEY'RE DRIVING, or something like that. Maybe a "LEARN TO DRIVE BETTER" sticker. But "Save the Whales," while I'm driving, does nothing. It's not like I can actually save any whales right then, and by the time I get to where I'm going, I'm probably going to forget. Even a sticker delcaring your political affiliation is questionable, as there are only a few times per year (at most) when I might actually be driving to a place where I could vote, and thus be influenced by your political philosophies. Meanwhile, you lowered your automobile's value AND got that gummy stuff on your car, and for what? For nothing. I know it's freedom of speech and all, but I'm just sayin'.

An Open Letter to the World

Stop It.

Stop talking on your cellphone in the library.  Stop standing too close behind the person using the ATM.  Stop bringing your six month old baby to MOMA.  Stop talking on your cellphone about your cousin’s Irritable Bowel Syndrome while in line at the post office.  Stop leaving your dog in the backyard so it barks every twenty minutes.  Stop getting tattoos on your face.  Oh, and while we’re on the subject of your face, stop letting your nose and eyebrow hair grow to a length only acceptable on mad scientists.  Stop slacking on the gym and personal hygiene.  Stop getting drunk and singing the theme song from The Jeffersons at top volume in the bar.  Stop tailgaiting.  Stop leaving your blinker on.  Stop bringing your kid on the airplane and then letting him kick my seat for four hours.  Stop checking your Blackberry while you’re driving.  Stop watching Flavor of Love.  Stop dressing like you’re 21.  Stop taking drugs, or at least stop taking so many that you’re bothering the people around you.  Stop acting crazy.  Stop wearing that “Mustache Rides, 25¢” T-shirt.  Stop farting in the elevator.  Stop ignoring that hair growing out of the big mole on your face.  Stop growing out your sideburns.  Stop debating whether or not it’s okay to take your beverage on the plane.  Stop being a vegan.  Stop cooking cabbage in the office microwave at lunchtime.  Stop having conference calls on speakerphone. 

Pull Yourself Together.  

We’re living in increasingly challenging times—terrorism, war, and global warming, and other sources of bad news are ripping us as a society apart, so now more than ever, we need to pull together as a community, to really “have each others’ backs,” so to speak.  But, for some reason, just when we really need to be on our best behavior, we’re alienating each other in every way possible, from increasingly obnoxious behavior in public to bad reality television to loud cellphone conversations in the library to people who make us nervous because they just can’t seem to pull themselves together.

Schopenhauer once said that whenever we as people engage in behavior that lowers us, we become lower as a society. This would essentially mean that we are ten more years of  road rage and “Flavor of Love” reruns away from being animals again.

So….let’s pull ourselves together, shall we?  If we each identify one thing we might be doing to bring down the social discourse and rectify it, that will go a long way toward making the world a better place.  We’ll stop playing music at 1:00 am, for instance, if you’ll take your dog for a walk so he doesn’t bark every 20 minutes.  And so on.  Hell, you might even want to go nuts and take your neighbors’ trashcans in for them!  You never know what kinds of miracles could occur, just from making these small efforts.

What's your pet peeve?  What do you wish people would just stop doing? 

Is this someone's name?

Because I'm a big techno nerd, I sometimes look at the referrals to my site, to see who's reading my blog.

I've just learned that someone in Germany found my site by doing a Google search for "Monica pegleg."  Now I have to write about how weird that is.  It's meta funny strange.

Monica Peg Leg?  Anyone?

Cellphone

Cellphone Conversations Heard in Line at My Post Office, Causing Postal Workers to Put Up a Sign Reading “No Cellphones at the Counter"




1

…Hello?

….Again?

…Fuck!

….“You tell him that it doesn’t matter if he smokes it or chews it or snorts it, it’s still going to kill him.”

…..Well, this time tell him not to call me until pretrial.

2

…What up?

….Yeah?

….Dude, tell him to chill.

…Why can’t he be more chill?

…I’m just saying, if he was a little more chill, he could just kick back and chill.

…That’s what I’m saying.

….Hello?

…You’re breaking up, man.

….I’m at the post office, bra.

….Mailing some shit.

....Hello?

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3

………..Hello?

………..Oh, hey Bob. How’s it going?

………..What?

………..Your colon?

………...That’s terrible.

…………Polyps?

…………Gross.

…………Well….what are they going to do?

………….Oh my God….I’m so sorry. Oh….Bob, I’m getting call waiting….can you hold ………….?

………….Hello?

…………..Yeah, I’m just on the line with Bob. Something’s wrong with his …………..colon.

………….Yeah, I know.

………….Polyps. ………….I don’t know….some surgery.

………….I know!

………….at the post office. ………….oh yeah? Me too! We should meet up later.

………..….hey, it’s almost my turn. Can I call you right back?

4

…..Hello, this is Jane, with the District Attorney’s office. I’m calling about the case of Victor Dashenko.

…..Yes.

…..Yes, aggravated assault.

….Yes, one prior offense.

…..Yes, but he’s an illegal alien, and I’m pretty sure this is going to stop his request for asylum.

…..Yes, he was tortured in his home country. Doesn’t that get him any leniency? ….Yes, with a hot poker.

….On his testicles.

…. Case number 9145063.

…..Can you not hear me? I’m at the Post Office. Case # 9145063.