Better a Witty Fool than a Foolish Wit

Inner Workings of My Twisted Mind.

Seventh Heaven

The world as we know it is coming to an end.  I just thought you all should get the heads up seeing as you seem like the kind of people that like to be informed about things like this.  It’s the apocalypse.  How, you might ask, do I know this?  ABC Family has aired a show that may be the beginning of the end of Civilization as we know it (that is if said position has already been filled by George W. Bush).  I’m not going to lie to you, I was attracted to the show for two reasons, 1) it’s about teenagers and I’m a sucker for teen drama, and 2) it co-stars Molly Ringwald.  Yes folks, the lady that 80s danced into our hearts, the lady that made herself the ugliest prom dress of all time, the lady that made us girls fall in love with Jake Ryan.  That’s right, Molly Ringwald, the mistress of the Brat Pack is back and lord do I wish she’d stayed in the 80s.  To be fair, she’s not the problem.  It’s the show she’s on.  

So ABC Family started airing a new show called The Secret Life of the American Teen which was created by the same person that created Seventh Heaven, the long running show on The WB that showcased an overpopulated Christian family.  As horrifically offensive as Seventh Heaven was (and man did it browbeat Jesus into it’s viewers), this new show is even worse.  It’s as though the 1950s ideal of what was proper behavior by teenagers crashed into American teenagers in 2008.  Basically, it’s horrendously unrealistic.  It is taking the ideas of abstinence only education and over the top Christian morality and ramming them down the throats of its 2.8 Million viewers.  
And on top of the fact that it’s trying to cram a pro-fundamentalist agenda into an hour of television, the acting is undeniably awful, the writing is trite and unrealistic, and the plot lines are just appalling.  It’s about a Christian teenager who gets pregnant (she states at one point that she’s not sure she even had sex, score one for abstinence only education) and has to deal with the consequences.  Hm, Juno but crappy much?  The sub plots revolve around a christian couple who have decided to wait until marriage, but the guy in the relationship is an unrealistic horny teenager who thinks about nothing but sex 24 hours a day.  Now, I know what it is to be a horny teenager, but realistically, I can see something like 18 hours a day, maybe 12 hours a day, and even less if you want to make an interesting t.v. show, but come on.  And really, what kind of a shitty character thinks about only sex and nothing else?  Of course, he’s sixteen years old and asking his girlfriend to marry him as soon as they get out of high school presumably so they can have sex.  I personally don’t have a problem with sending the message that sex should wait until one is ready (they even waited on Gossip Girl, which looks like a Las Vegas burlesque compared to American Teen), but what kind of society do we live in where it’s completely acceptable to get married to someone simply because you want to fuck them.  And we wonder why kids are so screwed up when it comes to this kind of stuff.  I’d also like to point out that this is, for the most part, the same demographic that opposes gay marriage because they would ruin the sanctity of it.  
Oh yes folks, the end of the world is near.  And the American Teen is reigning it in.
Peace, Love, and Sex Before Marriage (because it’s the smart thing to do),

July 10, 2008 Posted by | Culture, Gay/Lesbian, Hollywood, Politics, Sex, Television | 1 Comment


I don’t know if anyone caught it, but last week on VH1 there was a great 4 part documentary called Sex: The Revolution.  It was a four hour series about the sexual revolution from the repressive 50s to AIDS and Reagan’s denial of it in the 80s.  It is a fantastic series.  If you have a TiVo see if you can catch it, otherwise you’ll just have to come visit me and watch it on my TiVo.  

There are about one million things that I want to talk about from this series, but one, in particular, sticks out.  In the first part, which is the part that brings us from the repressive 50s where Doris Day and Rock Hudson were the peak of sexuality (and a little figure named Kinsey changed everything) to the rumblings at Berkeley and Reagan’s witch hunt against university students who fought for free speech.  
Over the course of the hour one of the sentiments expressed is that of communication.  The documentary talks about how the early 60s were a time when freedom and honesty were really coming to the forefront as what people wanted.  Writers like Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg spoke and wrote openly about their sexuality and sexual encounters.  Dean Moriarty in 1958 was a character that had sex with men and women, few of whom he was actually married to.  The piece goes on to say that the dishonesty and hypocracy that went along with sex, which was a dishonesty and hypocracy that permeated all socio-cultual strata, was really what the sexual revolution was fighting.  
So I want to know if this means that the sexual revolution was, at its core, a failure?  Our culture is still ripe with hypocracy and dishonesty about sex and sexuality (hello, abstinence only sexual education anyone?  And seriously, who is thinking that high school students are abstaining from sex voluntarily?).  But our culture is also still ripe with dishonesty and hypocracy at all levels.  In fact, we seem to be in a very similar situation.  Unpopular war, backlash against liberalism (Bill O’Reilly and Ann Coulter, among others), bitter culture war, and little by little we are drawn out of the cave and into the light.  Maybe the legalization of gay marriage in California (and the hopefully ensuing domino effect) is the first of many wins in the culture war.  Then again, if we go that route can we expect a backlash like we got in the 80s?  And can America survive another Reagan?
I’d rather not see.  The bitter cold of England is looking mighty appetizing right now.
Peace, Love, and Unhappy Thoughts,

May 22, 2008 Posted by | Brits, Culture, Education, Politics, Sex, Television | 1 Comment

Fear and Loathing

I never really understood how ridiculously right on Hunter Thompson’s book title was until I started visiting Las Vegas on a semi-regular basis.  Not that I feel either of these things when I go to Vegas, though it seems the rest of the world is in direct agreement with Mr. Thompson.  They all hate the Vegas.  I’ve never really understood this concept.  How can one hate Las Vegas?  It’s basically a town that incorporates everything that is great about America…and even some of the not so great things.  It is the ultimate city of the get rich quick ethic (we all know that’s the true American Dream…who want’s to work when you can win it all in one epic round of Blackjack?)  Everything in Vegas, in true All-American fashion is bigger.  I mean, the hotels are miles long, the buffets are never ending, even daytime seems to stretch to oblivion.  Now, all these things also happen to be what most people find to be utterly disgusting about America, and I’m not putting myself outside of that group, but I’m also not putting myself outside of the group, ‘American.’  If I learned one thing from the time I spent living in another country it is this, I am American.  As much as I’m not some rifle-wielding, $4.99 prime-rib special eating, ford-truck driving, American, I can’t put myself outside of the group/label American because I am one.  Now aren’t I just disproving my point?  If this is everything to hate about America, why would anyone in their right mind like Las Vegas?  I’ll tell you.

Las Vegas is the ultimate example of freedom.  And though I wouldn’t argue that America is ‘free’ (here’s to you patriot act), it is a concept that we seem to be obsessed with.  And if you think about it, as far as countries in the world go, America is pretty free (not as free as we tout ourselves as being, but pretty free).  Take this mess in Pakistan.  When Kennedy was shot there weren’t fatal attacks and riots.  There wasn’t mass destruction in this country.  Also, I know it’s something we take for granted, but it’s a pretty amazing thing that every four years power changes hands in the U.S. and there is no threat of Coup, no bombings, it’s a peaceful process.  In that sense, I’d say we’re doing okay.  So in a country where it’s women are not forced to wear a veil to school, where we are able to disagree with, and even speak out against power (you’re hard pressed to find someone who won’t speak out against Bush now), Las Vegas is an outward expression of the freedom (or impression of freedom) we posses.  
In Vegas the societal conventions are slightly askew.  It’s not as though one can completely disregard all societal norms, and it’s not as though there are things that are legal in Las Vegas that aren’t legal elsewhere (unless you leave the city of Vegas and go to the Bunny Ranch or some such place of ill-repute that I will, at some point in my life, write an incredibly eye-opening story about).  But Vegas itself does not have legal prostitution or legal drugs, it doesn’t really have anything that one can’t get at Pechanga Indian Casino and Resort.  But what Las Vegas does have, and this is what is so great about it, is the illusion of being more open, a place to let loose where you don’t have to worry about the consequences of your actions.  I understand that this is just plain untrue, and if I ever get married or pregnant or arrested while in Vegas, I do understand that I will have to face the consequences, but when I’m in Vegas, things like that don’t phase me.  This is not to say that I do anything differently in Vegas than in my actual life.  I usually go to Vegas with my girlfriends, so I’ll probably skip the pregnancy, and until same sex marriage is legalized, we don’t have to worry about that.  Plus, you have to be doing something really amazingly crazy to get arrested in Vegas, so the threat is sort of gone.  
I don’t really gamble, I’m not much one for strip clubs (plus, there are about a gajillion in L.A.), and I can’t afford to see shows in Vegas.  So what, you might ask, is so great about Las Vegas that I go at least once a year?  Like I said it’s that perception of freedom.  If we were to order a stripper to come to our house in L.A., it might be a little embarrassing to face the neighbors in the morning.  But ordering one to a hotel room in Vegas (which has happened), we walked out of our room with pride, and, I might add, made quite an impression on the high school cheerleaders that were staying in the room next to us.  ‘That’s right,’ we seemed to say when we left the room in the morning on our way to a now infamous four hour long champagne brunch, ‘when you’re older, you too can order a short, oiled-up, faux-australian man in a leopard print thong and work boots to come to your room and make your friend eat one dollar bills out of his g-string.’  Can we do it in L.A.?  Sure.  Is it better in Vegas?  Of course.  Where else can you go drunken shopping at 1 in the morning, still carrying about six cans of bud light and not get arrested?  Where else can you jump in the fountains at Caeser’s Palace, fish change out, and give it to the homeless?  Where else can you see Cirque du Celine and Barry Manilow in a two day period?  
Vegas is all about letting loose.  It’s about staying up until 5 am and not even realizing that it’s 5 am.  It’s about drinking a 48 oz. Margarita in about an hour for the low price of $8.75.  Vegas really is America.  We’ve taken the best of all other cultures, and made one big obnoxious mega-meta-culture on one street in the middle of the desert.  In the course of a few blocks you can visit a pirate ship, Venice, a Jungle and have an arabian night.  There’s no where else in the world that this is possible.  For all you naysayers about the Vegas, I say this.  Vegas is a place where whether it’s winning big in the back room of the Bellagio, or going Rachel Ray style, for $40 a day, it is what you make it.  If you go to Vegas thinking you’re above it, then you’re going to hate it.  But if you go and embrace it for all its gaudy, faux-eiffel tower, showgirls, drinking on the street goodness, then you’re guaranteed to have a great time.  And remember that ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.’  Unless, of course, you let some guy take pictures of the tattoo on your ass for $20, then everyone might know what happened in Vegas.  Hopefully no one in that picture will run for a political office…
Peace, Love, and Viva Las Vegas,


December 29, 2007 Posted by | Friends, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Parties, Sex | Leave a comment

Cultural Snobbery 101

I’m writing under deadline today.  It’s the first time in two years (i.e. since college) that I’ve had to write under deadline, seeing as I have a job (or three) that a well trained Chimpanzee could easily perform…in fact, I think G.W. will become a P.A. as soon as he’s done with this White House gig.  Anyway, like I said I’m writing under deadline.  No, this is not what I need to turn in by a certain time.  I actually have to finish a screen play (I actually have to write about 25 pages) before 7pm tomorrow.  But I have to work tomorrow, so I actually have to finish tonight.  Now, this is nothing new for me.  I’m nothing if not a world class procrastinator.  Yes, I have been known to start and finish a 10 page analytical paper on the opera Carmen a mere 7 hours before its due time.  In fact, in that particular instance I had a major movie moment where I sped to school, parked illegally and sprinted to the door, which the secretary was just about to lock, miraculously turning my A paper in on time.  And yes, I really did receive an A.  In fact, it was one of the best papers I’ve ever written.  In any case, that’s not really what I’m going to write about today, you see, over the past week or so I’ve come to a major life decision.  I want to be cultured.  No, I don’t want to sip dry martinis (though I won’t say no to that) and talk about the merits of Proust’s ‘Remembrance of Things Past.’  I mean, I did try to read the first volume once, got 100 pages in and didn’t know the protagonists name, so I’m leaving Proust on the back burner for now.  This big epiphany came to be while I was reading Diablo Cody’s (writer of Juno) book about her year as a stripper.  Now, you all may or may not know this, but I do love to read the stripper/porn star/sex trade bios.  It’s endlessly fascinating to me.  In all fairness, I also love to read the rockstar bios, the drug addict memoirs, all that shit.  Basically, my theory is that these lives in no way resemble mine (except at one point some of the drug addicted memoirs) and thus are endlessly fascinating.  No, I’m not planning on hitting up the Body Shop for a job.  I never intend to work for Vivid Pictures.  In fact, I presume I’ll never get into a pair of leather pants and a sequined top and belt out anything on stage.  I’m quite content being holed up in my meat-freezer of an apartment and staring endlessly into the black eyes of my macbook, wondering how a place in Los Angeles can be so fucking cold.  And where the hell did I put my gloves because I actually can’t feel my fingers right now (thus explaining any typos).  But I digress.  Basically, as I was reading Diablo’s book, I a) was struck by how similar to me she seems in the book, and b) how much different popular cultural crap she references.  Now, I, for one reason or another, have always aspired to be one of those Dorothy Parker-esqe ladies whose tongue is as sharp as a knife and who always has some sort of obscure referential to throw out in any given situation.  I actually, now that I think about it, kind of attribute this want/need to Clueless.  I always thought it was great how quickly Murray called Christian and Oscar Wilde reading, Streisand ticket holding, friend of dorothy.  I mean that paints a pretty vivid picture, and as I have previously stated, I do love intertext.In any case, I think this desire to employ, as Seth Cohen calls it, ‘pop-culture laden bromide’, was helped along the way by Gilmore Girls, The O.C., Dawson’s Creek, Grey’s Anatomy, to name a few.  Amy Sherman-Palladino is the goddess of pop-culture laden language, as seen in Gilmore Girls.  It’s remarkable really, the crazy things she does with words.  But it’s not just about speaking in a way that only an elite few can understand (and yes I’m aware of how ridiculous and, for lack of a different word, elitist, that sounds, but I’ve always been in the pion group so I wanted to be elite somewhere, and if that made me incomprehensible, so be it).  On the other hand, even though I’ve always publicly detested pretentious people, especially pretentious New Yorkers, I, as a small town girl, always sort of envied them.  Sure at heart I’ve always been a big city lady, but really I grew up a million miles away from anything that resembled an intelligent and cultured environment, with the exception of my actual house, and even then spend 5 minutes with my father and it seems as though you’ve entered some sort of distorted reality that greatly resembles National Lampoon’s Animal House.  I also have recently realized that I spend an unhealthy amount of time talking about Movies and T.V. when really my interests, even within the entertainment industry, go far beyond that.  Funnily enough I actually got some great advice the other day from someone who said that the best thing a writer can do is make a name for herself and then get the fuck out of Los Angeles because really there isn’t any interesting fodder in L.A.  Now, I don’t know if I agree with that completely, but there is some truth to that statement.  I know I don’t want to spend my life writing about movies or television.  I mean, I’m content to do that a little, but there are more important things to write about.  So I started reading some Dorothy Parker.  And yes, I’ve read her before, but I started reading her again.  I realized that if I am going to get some culture in me, apart from the West Coast culture I already have, I’m going to have to suck it up and make nice with the pretentious New Yorkers.  Dorothy is a good way to slowly slip yourself into that kind New York is the center of the world and the only great city in America kind of bullshit that just makes me want to scream.  But today was a banner day.  Today I decided that I would give The New Yorker magazine another try. Now, I had a subscription to the New Yorker in college (the logic behind it was ultimately the same, smart, sophisticated people read and write for The New Yorker).  Of course, this was an ultimately stupid maneuver seeing as I double majored in Literature and History and barely had enough time to read street signs, let alone a weekly literary magazine.  But now, as I sloth around my apartment in between working 60 to 100 hours a week, I want some reading material.  I have a ton of books, but this is a great way to stay plugged in to my literary roots.  So today, I went to the newsstand and picked up a New Yorker. If you still think of me as you’re sweet little girl, which is misguided, but ultimately fine with me, you might want to plug your ears for this next bit because it’s the real me.  I just couldn’t help myself on the other magazine I bought.  You see, for weeks now, at Booksoup, we’ve been discussing porno mags.  I don’t know how it gets brought up, but it ultimately usually does.  In any case, my side of the argument has always been that Playboy is maybe the best magazine of all time because the articles in it, as cliche as this is, are really awesome.  I mean this month’s issue has a short story by John Updike, an interview with Tina Fey (comedienne extraordinaire), and an article about John Muir, among other things.  Sure there are naked ladies in Playboy, but I just read it for the articles, I swear.  Actually, my opinion on the matter is that men (and smart women) truly do read Playboy for the articles.  If it was all about the naked ladies, they’d buy Hustler or one of those other dirtier magazines that my small town girl eyes generally avoid.  So if you haven’t gotten where I’m going with this here it is.  Today, for the first time since my eighteenth birthday, I bought a Playboy.  I’m contemplating getting a subscription to both Playboy and The New Yorker because, unlike the pretentious New Yorkers I refer to, I get that being cultured means more than Proust and William Burroughs and Kofi Annan.  I’ve read Dickens and Shakespeare and Ron Jeremy and I loved them all in their own right and they each taught me something different.  So I’m going to go write the kids movie I’m supposed to be writing.  Maybe in five years you’ll see it on screen.  Maybe you won’t.  Maybe Miss Diablo Cody and I will follow similar trajectory (not with the stripping because we all know I don’t have the body to strip, but if I did I could see it as a lucrative way to make money) with our writing careers.  Maybe I’ll become a professor of pop culture studies at UCLA or Berkeley or Bowling Green, OH.  In any case, I’ll be cultured in the fullest sense of the word.Peace, Love, and Playboy,Julia

December 18, 2007 Posted by | Books, Culture, Education, Hollywood, Los Angeles, Politics, Porn, Ron Jeremy, Sex | 2 Comments

Didn’t We Have a Time? We Did. We Had a Time.

Okay, so I’m sure you’ve noticed that I usually write these little
rants or whatever we’re calling them and I don’t proofread or edit,
but this subject is just too important for me to leave anything out.
Often when I write these emails, I hit send and I realize that I
forgot to say a bunch of stuff that I really wanted to say, but it’s
too late, so I’ve been working on this one for a while now to try and
curb any potential mistakes.  This, as stupid as this sounds, may be
the most important rant I write, simply for the reason that I credit
this subject, to a large extent, with making me who I am today.  The
subject is a television show.  A television show that lasted only 19
episodes.  It is my favorite television show of all time.  It is the
show that made me love television.  It made me love television so much
that I decided I wanted to write it.  It made me realize the power of
television, of great television.  This show really did change my life.
It is called My So-Called Life.  And I’m aware that I wrote a rant
about the ’90s and didn’t include My So-Called Life, but it just
seemed like the show warranted its own piece of writing.  So here it

Yes, it’s Claire Danes’ first real acting gig.  Yes, it was written by
the same woman who wrote the book for the Wicked Musical.  But to me,
My So-Called Life was so much more than that.  My So-Called Life was
my life on film.  It was the first time I really seriously saw how
right a piece of film could get it.  And really, as I look at it now,
it’s how I first sort of saw how my own writing would be because my
philosophy on writing, for T.V. especially, is that it should be
realistic.  I want what I write to feel real.  If I could write
something that means as much to someone as My So-Called Life means to
me, I’d be a success.

I guess I should start with My So-Called Life’s effect on my life.
Not my life as a writer, but my life as a young person.  The show
aired on ABC in 1994-1995.  I was in the sixth grade.  I, as most of
America, did not watch it then.  I watched it on MTV between
1995-1998.  That’s sort of indicative of my life back then, the fact
that I watched MTV pretty much non-stop. The fact that watching MTV
didn’t rob me of my will to live, as it does now.  But I digress.  I
just remember, in the time before TiVo, waiting the long arduous hours
until 7 pm everyday (when you get home from school at 3 pm, it seems
like an eternity).  By the time 7 rolled around I was bursting to
watch My So-Called Life.  I would record all the episodes onto a video
tape (yes video tape)  so I could watch them over and over and over
again.  In fact, I remember the first episode I ever saw was the
Halloween episode, where Angela dresses up like a girl from the ’50s,
and not like some caricature with a poodle skirt, she dresses like a
real girl from the ’50s.  She meets a ghost named Nicky Driscoll.  I
named the family in the script I’m writing Driscoll after Nicky
Driscoll.  I just remember, in that first viewing, thinking, what is
this?  It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.  It was like my
life on the screen.  And from that moment I was hooked.

Claire Danes’ Angela Chase is, in my opinion, the best character that
has ever been on television.  I am always amazed that Claire Danes as
a 13 and 14 year old could be so good.  I mean, she hadn’t experienced
much of what her character was experiencing and yet her performance is
so nuanced.  The slight unease when she is with her mother out in
public…what teenager hasn’t felt that?  The fact that her friends
are the only thing that matter.  I always loved the first line of the
series, ‘So I started hanging out with Rayanne Graff.  Just for fun.
Just cause it seemed like if I didn’t, I would die or something.’  I
mean, god, I think the feeling that if you don’t do something you will
die pretty much sums up my rationale for every single thing I did for
approximately a 10 year period.  Maybe I even still am like this.
There’s this certain part of me that thinks I’ll always be Angela
Chase.  That I’ll constantly be partially this total geek who can’t
function normally and partially this cool person that other people
mysteriously want to be around.  Since I seem to be in a truthful
mood, I’ll come out and say it: I’ve never really understood why I
actually have the friends that I do.  I never got why people thought I
was a cool person.  I still don’t get it, and it always amazes me when
people think I’m interesting.  And that’s the part of me that will
always be Angela Chase.  That overly self-analytical, introspective,
person who lives mostly in her head and is thus relatively clueless
about her own life.  What a fucking genius character to write!

Then there was Rayanne Graff.  I always loved Rayanne and always kind
of wanted to be her (much like Angela seems to sometimes).  She was so
uninhibited, which may have been caused by the fact that she was
always drinking, but still.  I, like Angela, always admired kids like
that.  It was before I realized that those were the kids that often
ended up as raging alcoholics and drug addicts.  Back then they seemed
so cool.  They didn’t have to care about school, it seemed like they
didn’t have parents, and that seemed so great.  I obviously realize
now that it’s not so great, but back then it seemed like the life I
wanted to be living.  No parents asking me about homework or how
school was.  No one saying I couldn’t go out because it was too late.
I so wanted that.  The thing about Rayanne was that A.J. Langer’s
performance of her was so free, and at the same time so full of pain.
I never really noticed all the pain when I was younger, but watching
the show now, you can see how much Rayanne wants to be Angela.
Rayanne’s pain is the pain that you didn’t see in those kids in High
School.  The pain of having absent parents, and not having someone
care if you finished homework or ate a well-balanced meal.  Rayanne
was a total mess, but she cared deeply about her friends so you could
sort of forgive it.  And she was so charismatic that you looked past
her bad behavior and saw a great person.

Then there was Ricky, who rounded out the core three group of friends.
It’s easy to forget now, but Ricky Vasquez was one of the first gay
characters on T.V.  And the way they handled it was super classy.
First off, he was the moral center of the show.  He anchored the other
kids in a sort of moralistic reality, and that was a pretty big step
for a gay kid to be the moral center of the show (seeing as being gay
is considered to be immoral in much of this country, especially 12
years ago).  I mean, this show was before Will and Grace, it was
before Queer Eye, before Ugly Betty, before Ellen, before T.R. Night,
it was before all the gay fashion consultants strolled the red carpets
(I mean, they were still gay, they just weren’t as obvious).  They
rarely talked about Ricky’s actual sexuality.  Angela mentions that
Ricky is Bi in the pilot and then it doesn’t come up again until like
half way through the series.  But Ricky would hang out in the girls
bathroom, fixing his eyeliner, chatting with the girls, and no one
really took any notice.  That doesn’t mean that they completely
ignored it.  I mean, you saw him get pushed around in the halls, you
saw him get beat up once.  It was a non-sugar-coated portrayal of what
it was like to be a gay teen in the ’90s in someplace other than San
Francisco, New York or L.A.  Ricky may have been one of the first gay
series regulars on a t.v. show, but to me, Ricky was what I wanted.  I
always wanted that thing that Angela, Ricky and Rayanne had.  Where
they had such an easiness about them, they were friends and they cared
about her and they trusted each other, and there was none of that
sexual tension between the boy and girls, because the boy didn’t want
them.  Angela and Ricky are by far a better and more realistic Fag Hag
couple than Will and Grace.  And that’s when I realized my true
calling.  I always wanted a Ricky.  And the first boy that ever came
out to me was Ricky Mendez.  Kind of poetic, no?

Of course you can’t possibly talk about My So-Called Life without
mentioning Jordan Catalano.  The moment he appeared on screen all the
girls in my generation took one giant step towards becoming women.  I
realized lately that I’m actually still most attracted to guys that
look like Jordan Catalano.  With the slightly long hair and that
choker he always wore.  Jordan Catalano was that guy that you wanted
that was so mysterious you just couldn’t stand it.  It’s like, you
just found out anything you could about that person and you came up
with all these little facts that amounted to pretty much nothing, but
to you they were everything.  Angela said it best, ‘I just like how
he’s always leaning. Against stuff. He leans great.’  I always thought
that line summed up that feeling perfectly.  It’s like, you take this
stupid insignificant thing and focus all your attention on it because
if you didn’t you wouldn’t be able to function.  I didn’t have my true
Jordan Catalano until I was 19.  He was 26, and his name was Brendan
Brown, and I knew all this random stuff about him.  Like that he loved
‘Queens of the Stone Age’ and he drank Miller High Life…I was too
young to see that as a sign.  And I, much like Angela Chase,
embarrassed myself over and over in front of him before I finally
realized that he just wasn’t worth it.  He was my Jordan Catalano.
And I loved him for that reason alone.  But even still if you talk to
a twentysomething woman about Jordan Catalano, we all get that far
away look, like, ‘oh yeah, he was amazing.’It’s that little girl
obsession coming back, and we’ll always have it. Like Angela says, ‘If
Jordan Catalano is nearby, my whole body knows it. Like one of those
dogs that point. I’ll keep talking and stuff, but my mind won’t even
know what I’m saying. I keep wondering if there’s a term for this.’

When I watch My So-Called Life now (which I do often), I actually
relate the most to Sharon Cherski, Angela’s former best friend, turned
kind of enemy, turned close friend again.  I went through like three
different groups of friends in High School (for various reasons) and
as I watched Sharon and Angela something about them always stuck with
me.  Again I defer to Angela Chase, ‘There’s the people who you’ve
known forever who know you in this way that other people can’t because
they’ve seen you change. They’ve let you change.’  That’s always the
way I felt about my oldest friends.  Sure I went through a few groups
of auxiliary friends when I was a teenager, but there were a core
group that I’m still friends with today.  They’re the ones that let me
change.  And the thing that was always so great about Sharon Cherski
is that you could tell she was so hurt by the fact that Angela
basically ditched her for Rayanne, but she held it all in.  When I was
13 and 14 watching the show I always related to Angela, and maybe I
was more like Angela back then, but now I’m actually more Sharon than
anyone else.  Sharon was the first to sort of sacrifice herself for
anything.  She was always doing a million things like yearbook and the
school play, but she rarely did anything for herself.  I loved the
scene when her boyfriend hadn’t asked her to the dance yet, and she
says that she has too much to worry about without having to worry
about whether or not her boyfriend is going to ask her to the dance.
It just seems like such an organic and natural problem to have, at
least it seems that way to me.  Just the notion that I’ve got too much
shit to deal with for you, who is supposed to be there for me, to load
more of it on.  The other thing that is totally awesome about Sharon
is that she is the good girl on the surface and underneath she’s got a
little bad girl in her.  Those are the most interesting people, the
ones who try to hide their bad girl tendencies in good girl clothes.

‘I became yearbook photographer because I liked the idea that I could
sort of watch life without having to be part of it. But when you’re
yearbook photographer, you’re, like, never in the picture.’  Brian
Krakow, the nerdy neighbor that was in love with Angela Chase, was the
beating heart of the show.  He was the overachiever kid who always
knew the answer in class but never in life.  Brian was just so
earnest, but at the same time he could be so judgmental.  I think that
was sort of the brilliance of the show, not any character was just one
thing, no one was purely good or purely evil, they were all shades of
grey.  And Brian was one of those kids that always tried to do the
right thing, the right thing that turned out to be the wrong thing,
much to his dismay.  What made Brian so endearing, but at the same
time so annoying, was his unending love for Angela.  She was so
infatuated with Jordan Catalano and barely realized that Brian was
infatuated with her.  Or maybe she did realize it and just didn’t
acknowledge it.  In any case, Brian’s unending devotion to Angela
drove the big thumping heart in the middle of the show.  The
realization, in the final episode of the series, that Brian wrote this
great love letter to Angela, a love letter that Jordan gave to Angela
pretending that he wrote it, makes me mourn for the lost story that we
will never see because ABC didn’t know how to market a show like this
to the public.

It seems like all ‘teen’ shows have one set of parents.  Teen shows
usually center around one family unit and everyone else doesn’t really
have a normal functioning family.  I guess no one really has a normal
functioning family, but if we are looking statistically at television
teen drama and the parental figures, it seems like the main teen
character has parents and the rest of the cast really doesn’t.  Like
90210 had Jim and Cindy Walsh, but all of the other kids parents were
conspicuously absent.  Dawson’s Creek had Mitch and Gail Leery, but
none of the other kids had parents that were around.  My So-Called
Life actually fits into this mold.  Angela has Graham and Patty Chase,
but Ricky, Rayanne and Jordan don’t have parental figures around.
Brian and Sharon allude to their parents and we see Camile Chirski a
few times, but none are series regulars.  Now from a business
standpoint I get this.  There aren’t that many interesting story lines
that involve other peoples parents, seeing as this story revolves
around the Chases, I just think it’s a funny sort of trend.

I also think it’s a good way to transition into talking about Graham,
Patty and Danielle (a.k.a. the Chase family).  Graham and Patty have
to be the most realistic portrayal of parents of teenagers ever, in
the history of television.  They play their relationship as adults
spectacularly, but the true success lies in how they play their
relationship with their children, especially Angela.  I mean, the way
Bess Armstrong plays Patty’s masked hurt at the fact that her teenage
daughter is rejecting her, in the way that teenagers do, is
impeccable.  I’ll admit that I always sided with Angela in that war.
I got that she just wanted to be free of her parents, but was too
young to see that she wasn’t fully ready to be free of them.  Also the
true mother/daughter bond/divide was beautifully portrayed.  Like when
Angela states that, ‘When I was twelve, my mother gave me my sex talk.
I’m not sure either of us has fully recovered.’  I haven’t fully
recovered from mine either Angela.

Graham was the definite foil to Patty.  Patty could be uptight and
domineering, while Graham tried to be the cool dad.  And yes, they
fought about this.  The thing I loved about Graham and Angela’s
relationship was how different it was than Patty and Angela’s
relationship, even in the teenage rebellion/rejection.  When Angela
rejects Graham she says, ‘When you’re not sure you trust a person
anymore — say, a person you really trusted; say your father — you
start wishing they’d do something, like, really wrong, just so you
could be right about them.’  And when she rejects Patty she is a
little more drastic, ‘Lately I can’t even look at my mother without
wanting to stab her… repeatedly.’  I just love that she
rebels/rejects both of her parents in such completely and totally
separate ways.  And I mean, who didn’t feel that way at fifteen?  Like
you just wanted nothing to do with either of your parents, but at the
same time you still needed them desperately.  Maybe that is the whole
basis for teen angst.

In any case, Graham and Patty, though they both can be judgmental and
uptight and catty are great parents.  They are involved and caring,
and the actors give wonderful performances where they, like the kids,
show, even through the masks they wear, the pain that they really
feel.  There’s a scene in the episode where Angela meets Rayanne’s mom
(who is really more of a kid than any of the kids), where Patty sees
Angela hug Rayanne’s mom goodbye and you can see, just under the
surface, that it really deeply hurts her that Angela would be so quick
to let this woman in, when she has been pushing her own mother away.
It’s so subtle and so beautiful that it would, were it real life, slip
right by.  That’s what makes the show believable, the fact that most
of what we see would, were it real life, slip right by.

Of course, the youngest Chase, Danielle is the perfect little sister.
She’s annoying, while at the same time she worships her sister and
wants to hang out with her sister and all of her sisters friends.  She
walks that fine line between being a child and being a teenager.  And
she’s just absolutely perfect.  I think my favorite Danielle moment is
when she dresses up like Angela at Halloween.  She does Angela so
well.  But I also love this moment she has with Sharon Chirski when
they both realize that they’d rather be doing what the other is doing.
Sharon would so much rather be out trick or treating, while Danielle
thinks it’s so cool that Sharon gets to go to a party with her
boyfriend.  That’s so poetic isn’t it?  We always look back at the
past as a better time, but when we’re young we can’t wait to be older.
And this show somehow captures that with nothing more than a longing
look from two different people.

So needless to say, the acting,  in a word, phenomenal.  And of course
Claire Danes and Jared Leto went on to be much acclaimed actors in
their own right.  But really, if we’ve learned anything from these
times of strike, strife, and woe in Hollywood it’s that you can’t have
a great performance without a great script.  I think what really made
the script so wonderful was that a) they really talked like teenagers,
I loved Dawson’s Creek, but really, who talked like that? b) they
thought like teenagers, and c) there were realistic plot lines.  I
mean, I don’t feel like I’m reaching for the stars to ask for a show
where the plot somehow reflects something that may happen to real
people.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the Grey’s Anatomy, but
really, what plotlines on that show resemble anyones real life (with
the exception of Meredith’s daddy issues)?  The writers of My
So-Called Life just had this way of writing that summed up everything
a teenager feels in one sentence.

As I have stated previously, I started watching this show in the
beginning of my teenage years.  So of course that’s when I was at my
most self-conscious, and my most awkward.  I don’t quite remember when
this happened, but I also was one of those kids who always knew there
was more out there.  I wanted more than my small town had to offer.  I
always knew that…it may have been the reason I was so miserable in
high school.  But there was one quote from My So-Called Life that may
sum up everyone’s experience in high school, be it good or bad: “It
just seems like, you agree to have a certain personality or something.
For no reason. Just to make things easier for everyone. But when you
think about it, I mean, how do you know it’s even you? And, I mean,
this whole thing with yearbook – it’s like, everybody’s in this big
hurry to make this book, to supposedly remember what happened. Because
if you made a book of what really happened, it’d be a really upsetting
book.”  I guess what amazes me so much is that I can’t think of any
show that has ever got it as right as My So-Called Life gets it, and
I’m not just talking about adolescence.  I can’t think of a single
show (except maybe thirtysomething and who wrote that?  the same
people that wrote My So-Called Life) that really just has its finger
on exactly what a certain group/demographic of people are thinking and

I have to say, on a personal level as well, My So-Called Life did that
thing that great writing, be it literature, television, newspaper or
otherwise, it made you feel.  It made you feel like you weren’t
totally crazy for the fact that, “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The, like, fact that — that people — had sex. That they just had it,
like sex was this thing people — had, like a rash. Or a — a
rottweiler. Everything started to seem like, pornographic or
something. Like, Mrs. Krysanowski has sex. So does Mr. Katimsky. They
both have sex. They could — have sex together. Like right now. I am,
like, the sickest person.”  I mean come on.  I remember when that
realization first dawned on me…and it was exactly like that…that
realization that people have sex.  And sex became this ultimately real
thing that I could one day be partaking in, not just something I saw
in a movie or on t.v. where people make out and then it cuts to them
lying in bed, out of breath.  The show really laid it all out there.
I just can’t say enough about how good the writing is.

So I’ll talk about the music instead.  A few weeks back I wrote about
the ’90s and how good it was to be a ’90s kid.  I wrote specifically
about music.  Well, My So-Called Life had the best music.  It had
music that was so indicative of the times.  More so than Dawson’s
Creek, more so than The O.C., perhaps even more so than 90210, which,
I’ll admit, had some awesome Color Me Badd – tastic music.  There are
three scenes in particular that really stand out to me.  One was when
Angela is once again sad over something Jordan Catalano related
(specifically, it’s when the rumor that she slept with Jordan gets
spread around), and as her mom walks in to give her a rather awkward
and painful safe sex talk (what other kind of safe sex talk is
there?), she’s blasting the Cranberries’ ‘Dream.’  C’mon, kids of the
90’s, who didn’t blast this song in their room at least once?  I loved
that album, I loved the Cranberries, Dolores O’Riordan was the most
awesome person ever.  I always thought that it was the perfect, ‘I’m
depressed over a boy’ song.

The second scene is one of my favorites.  The song actually plays over
two different scenes, one depressing, one hopeful.  It’s Buffalo Tom’s
Soda Jerk.  The first time the song plays is when Jordan, after they
start dating, totally disses Angela in public.  But then it plays
again in that magical scene in the hallway when Jordan goes up to
Angela (she’s supposed to be in a geometry review) and he holds her
hand, and she forgets all about the geometry review (please, I forgot
about it the instant Jared Leto came on screen).

The Third song was my favorite song for much of the early ’90s (it was
in direct competition with ‘Come As You Are’ by Nirvana), a little
song titled ‘Blister in the Sun’ by The Violent Femmes.  When Angela
thinks (for about 5 minutes) that she’s gotten over Jordan Catalano,
she dances around to it in the morning before school.  Love it.  Love
it.  Love it.  God that was a good show.

Alright, so the music rocked, the acting rocked, the writing rocked,
and the cinematography rocked.  Cinematography is usually not too high
on the list of important elements in a t.v. show.  The DP (Director of
Photography or, as you know them, cinematographer) is in charge of
maintaining the look of the show, and, though I’m sure you all have
better things to do than notice this, most show usually have pretty
simple shots.  First you have the master (that’s the shot where
everyone is in it, it’s usually from far away) then you move in close
and cut between the people in the scene.  If there are two people in
the scene you start with a two shot (the one where you can see both
people) and move in for coverage (in other words get up close and cut
between the two people talking).  Most t.v. shows, especially now,
don’t do oners (that is a one shot, or a longer shot where there is no
cutting).  My So-Called Life employs this over and over and over
again, and that makes the show, a) technically amazing, and b)
visually different, and awesome.  The best shot of the series,
however, occurs in the pilot.    At the end of the pilot when Angela
and Brian meet in the middle of a street.  You might recognize the
shot from a little movie called Jerry Maguire.  Cameron Crowe admits
that he stole the shot from My So-Called Life.  You know the shot when
Renee Zellweger (before we knew who she was) runs into the street to
meet Tom Cruise (pre-crazytown) and there’s this great master shot
with the fabulous backlighting.  Yeah, that’s right folks, my man Cam
stole that from My So-Called Life.  Welcome to Hollywood…that’s how
we do shit here.

And My So-Called Life was a happy accident that slipped through the
cracks for 19 glorious episodes, and much like James Dean or Marilyn
Monroe, it didn’t last long enough to fade or lose any of its
innocence and attractiveness.  And that is both its blessing and its
curse.  And I love it.

Peace, Love, and “You know how sometimes the last sentence you said,
like, echoes in your brain? And it just keeps sounding stupider? And
you have to say something else just to make it stop?”  That’s my whole
life.  Why do you think I keep writing?


December 3, 2007 Posted by | Cameron Crowe, Gay/Lesbian, Grey's Anatomy, High School, Hollywood, Music, My So-Called Life, Sex, Television | 2 Comments

Life Moves Pretty Fast. If You Don’t Stop and Look Around Once in a While You Might Miss It.

So I’ve been reading this book called Don’t You Forget About Me.
Basically, it’s contemporary writers talking about how the movies of
John Hughes changed their lives.  When I saw it at the bookstore, I
totally freaked out.  I mean, John Hughes movies defined much of my
youth and now these people, who are no doubt, more eloquent and
thoughtful that I am are writing about John Hughes.  I bought it right
away and got to reading.  I was about five essays in when I
realized…I can write a better essay about John Hughes than this.
They were all superficial, save one about the virgin/whore (molly
ringwald/ally sheedy) dichotomy.  None of them said anything all that
profound.  Needless to say, I was dissappointed.

Now, for those of you, who, unlike me, are not completely crazy and do
no aspire to be writers, you may not understand the need to write
essays.  But I assure you, though I never thought I’d assign myself an
essay after college, I can now think of nothing I’d rather do.  So
here it goes…How John Hughes changed my life.  By Julia Rose

I guess we should start at the very beginning (a very good place to
start).  My first John Hughes movie, which also happened to contain my
first celebrity crush, came out when I was about seven years old.  A
little film called HOME ALONE.  That’s right, Macaulay Culkin alone in
the house, beating the crap out of Daniel Stern and Joe Pesci, plus
Catherine O’Hara and John Candy…can’t go wrong.

The thing about Home Alone was that it actually empowered the kids.
In a time when we were dealing with Richard Allen Davis and Polly
Klaas, a film where kids took control and fought off a potential
threat, was actually a very positive (though perhaps a bit too
hopeful) role model for young kids of my generation.  It gave us hope.
 This was really some of the first we were hearing about what
potential threats could be for us as youngsters and Home Alone showed
us that we didn’t have to take it lying down.  John Hughes was the
Leni Reifenstal of our generation (Leni Reifenstal with a much more
humane message, and without all the Nazi hoopla).

Mr. Hughes and I took a little break until my early adolescence.  When
I was in Junior High, my mom used to do this thing where she would go
to the video store on her way home from work and pick out movies.  It
always bugged the crap out of me that she did this because I didn’t
want to watch the movies she picked out (of course, they were
inevitably all great and I always loved them, but still…).  So one
Friday night my mom brought home a movie called The Breakfast Club,
and my life was forever changed.

These kids were me.  They felt what I felt, the dealt with the same
crap I dealt with.  I knew them.  And I knew assholes like Principal
Vernon.  Needless to say, all of us at a certain age have felt awkward
and out of place, even the most “popular” people have, at some time,
felt like they didn’t belong.

I really think the thing that got me about The Breakfast Club is that
I was a little of each of those people.  It didn’t matter what labels
they had, they all had similar problems.  I mean, who isn’t a little
bit of a basket case sometimes?  Ally Sheedy’s character most
resembled who I was when I watched that movie.  No, I wasn’t eating
Cap’n Crunch, Mayo, and Pixie Stick Sandwiches, but I was a total
loner, with few friends and no real way to relate to most of the
people I was in school with.

But a little part of me was Emilio Estevez as well.  I mean, I wasn’t
wrestling or really playing any kind of sport (except basketball), but
I knew what it was like to be under so much pressure you would do
anything to alleviate it.  I, like Emilio, blamed my parents, but
unlike Emilio, I did realize that I was actually the one putting
pressure on myself…his parents were actually putting pressure on

This is also how I related to Anthony Michael Hall.  He gets an F in
shop because he can’t make a fucking lamp.  I never got an F in
anything, but I understand the sentiment because in my house a C was
like a D, which was like an F.  So if I got a C, I actually got an F
and then bad things happened.  And let’s face it, who hasn’t thought
of killing themselves (I mean, not necessarily with a flare gun).  Who
can’t relate to his plight, especially in High School?

Judd Nelson (who I met on Saturday, and who might actually be crazy)
was the Criminal.  He came from a broken home and acted out because of
it.  Now, my family was normal (well, not normal, but my parents are
semi-sane and still married), but I did act out because of certain
things.  I actually acted out because of all the pressure I felt.  Was
I as fucked up as John Bender?  No.  But I could relate to wanting to
act out.

I guess the person I related to the least was Molly Ringwald, but her
story includes the most pertinent/poignant part of High School life,
especially for women.  She’s the center of the Virgin/Whore dichotomy.
 Now, any UCSC people want to kill me because it seems like every
class you take at Santa Cruz (be it Chemistry, Feminist Studies, or
Underwater Basket Weaving) someone always has to bring this up.  I
think that now (thank you Sex and The City) we’re moving a little bit
away from that, but in the ’80’s it was still going strong.  In the
big moment where Molly Ringwald screams, ‘NO, I NEVER DID IT!’  She is
really screaming out of frustration.  What is she supposed to do.
She’s a prude because she’s a virgin, but if she wasn’t a virgin,
she’d be a whore.  As a modern woman, I ask, who hasn’t felt this way?
 You’re in your 20’s, you’re sexually active, you get drunk, you have
a one night stand, you inevitably feel slutty.  Sure your friends, who
have all done the same thing, assure you that it’s okay to just have
sex, but you can’t help feeling a little slutty…this feeling is even
worse when you’re younger (please don’t read into that…or do,
whatever).  It’s funny because I was watching the Breakfast Club last
night and I actually totally relate to Molly Ringwald’s character now.
 But, when I first saw The Breakfast Club, it was a different story.

So The Breakfast Club, in its more serious look at High School power
dynamics and sexual proclivities, introduced me to the concept that I
still carry to this day.  High school sucks, or as Angela Chase puts
it in My So-Called Life, ‘High School is a Battlefield for your
heart,’ but it’s also where you learn to survive in life.  It’s where
you learn to deal with pressure and lonliness and sex.  It’s a place
where you can make mistakes that (hopefully) won’t haunt you for the
rest of your life.  It’s a place where acting out will get you
Saturday School, but maybe you’ll meet people who are going through
the same things you are.  Maybe, you’ll stop seeing people in the
simplest terms and the most convenient definitions, and figure out who
people really are.

Plus, it’s got some of the best quotes in movie history.  So just
remember that screws fall out all the time…the world’s an imperfect
place and always remember to show dick some respect.

Where the Breakfast Club deals with the more serious, real problems
behind High School kids and the politics they are forced to adhere to,
Sixteen Candles deals with the most talked about problems in High
school…boys, dating, and being the middle child.  In one of my all
time favorite movie lines ever, Molly Ringwald sums up the plight of
the middle child ‘THEY FUCKING FORGOT MY BIRTHDAY.’  Her delivery is
impeccable, her expression is priceless, and the sentiment behind it
is so much more that a simple declaration of a forgotten 16th
Birthday, it’s a battle cry.  She’s not fucking around anymore.

I think Sixteen Candles is the most accessible of the John Hughes
Movies because, on the surface, there is not that much darkness in
this movie.  Unlike the Breakfast Club or Pretty in Pink, Sixteen
Candles doesn’t tackle suicide or deadbeat parents.  It doesn’t tackle
all of the pressures of high school.  It does tackle boys and dating
though.  And, for anyone who has lived through high school, we know
that this does take up a lot of time and energy where you’re a high
school student.

Sixteen Candles is the fantasy that we all want.  The hottest guy in
school (who also happens to be two years older than us) decides to
drop his shallow hottie of a girlfriend and date the frumpy, sophomore
who has more going on in her head than in her bra.

Now, let’s be realistic, even if Jake Ryan dumps the dumb blonde and
dates us, the movie ends before happily ever after falls to shit.
Because in reality, Jake Ryan goes to college and starts hooking up
with the college girls and his high school girlfriend gets left in the

And let’s take out the if.  From my high school experience, people in
high school are, on the whole, too superficial to ever dump the hot
blonde with huge boobs.  Would the real life Jake Ryan have sex with
Molly Ringwald?  Yes.  Would he date her? No.

But that’s why we love John Hughes, right?  He gives us hope.  Sixteen
Candles is the Sleepless in Seattle of high school movies.  In
reality, this scenario would never ever work, but we can dream.  So I
guess we owe John Hughes a little thank you for getting us to dream.
(we also owe him a thank you for casting John Cusack who then went on
to star in Say Anything…lord love Lloyd Dobbler).

When I was in middle school and our shop teacher would be out for the
day (usually to surf because it’s Santa Cruz and he’s a professional
surfer), we always got to watch a movie.  One name always sprang up
and one day we got to watch it; it was Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.  And
my life was never the same.  I never heard Danka Shoen the same way.
I never saw Leiderhosen in the same light.  I never could listen to
Twist and Shout without wanting to be on a parade float in Chicago.

Sure, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is every kid’s fantasy.  A day off
where you do anything and everything.  Not the harsh reality of
ditching class where you just go and do the same thing you would do on
the weekend.  Beach, watch t.v.  maybe, once or twice you might have
snuck off to San Francisco on a self-appointed day off, but never did
a day of ditching class ever lead to anything as awesome as Ferris
Bueller’s Day Off.

While, on the surface, the film is just a fun romp, we actually dig a
bit deeper into the psyche of high school through the role of Cameron.
 Cameron is one fucked up kid, he’s got asshole parents who ignore him
and by the end of the movie he’s primed to stand up to them (only
after crashing his dad’s 1961 Ferrari 250GT California).  Cameron
becomes his own man after a day off with Ferris.

Did this movie effect me in the same way that The Breakfast Club did?
No.  But it’s still one of my favorites, and still gives hope that we
can play hookey and have the time of our lives.

The last of the John Hughes films that I saw was another of the darker
ones.  Pretty in Pink tackles the class divide in high school.  Later
explored in much more depth in a little show called Veronica Mars,
Pretty in Pink was really the first to explicitly portray the Rich vs.
Poor divide so prevalent in many high schools.  I guess my high school
was a little better with this divide than most because I never really
noticed that big of a divide.  Maybe that was because we were divided
(as most high schools in the Santa Cruz area) by race.  Though, once I
saw Pretty in Pink, I did start to notice that the people who drove
brand new cars all seemed to hang out together.

Of course, I’m sure that divide is much more prevalent in places like
Los Angeles or San Francisco or New York.

Of course, as a total nerd magnet, I think that Molly Ringwald
should’ve picked Ducky instead of Andrew McCarthy at the end (which
was the original ending) but Ms. Ringwald didn’t want that to happen.

It actually gives a good message that she ends up with Andrew McCarthy
because it does sort of show that class divides can be overcome, but
really, he treated her like shit and he doesn’t really deserve her.

Anyway, I set out trying to show how John Hughes Changed my life.  I
don’t know if that was achieved.  I guess it’s harder than it looks.

Peace, Love, and John Hughes,


June 14, 2007 Posted by | High School, John Hughes, Movies, Sex | Leave a comment

Let’s Talk About Sex (and the City) Baby!

So last week, after my John Hughes email, I was talking to a friend who will remain nameless and she had an interesting take on what I was saying about the Virgin/Slut dichotomy that Molly Ringwald dissects in The Breakfast Club.  My friend posed a very interesting question:  As women are ‘allowed’ to have sex without being called a slut, what happens to the Virgins?  Interesting. 

We, as women, are so quick to be excited that we’re not considered slutty for having sex or wanting to have sex, we forget that now choosing not to have sex is looked down upon.  And I will be the first to admit that when my friend brought this up I hadn’t thought about that scenario.  As a woman of the 21st century, I always took pride in the fact that I am able to have sex and enjoy sex without being looked down upon. 

This started being true in the ’80’s.  Sure, the sixties and seventies were all about free love, but there was still a stigma attached to women who had sex with multiple partners.  But the eighties changed many things.  The late seventies and early eighties saw the teen sex comedy come to the big screen, where men set out to loose their virginities, but with movies like Little Darlings (starring Oscar Winner Tatem O’Neal and teen favorite Kristy MacNichol), women were cast in roles that had them searching to Lose it.  Of course, as a woman these movies always had dire consequences.  Rape, pregnancy, the ‘I should have waited’ excuse.  Sex was rarely good for women UNTIL…drum roll please, SEX AND THE CITY.  Sure, there were instances beforehand where unmarried women had sex and the world didn’t end, but those instances were few and far between before Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha and Miranda graced the small screen and changed womanhood.

Now, there is another person in my life that will also remain nameless who loves to argue with me about sex and the city.  Now, in all fairness, this person is married and has not had to date for multiple decades, so I believe that he/she  doesn’t really have the authority to comment, but that doesn’t stop him/her.  This person claims that Sex and the City is a depressing, and unrealistic version of single life.  But I see it differently.  Sex and the City makes it okay to be single…a revolutionary notion in this day and age.  I mean all four of these ladies are single for some prolonged period of time, none of them stay with a man who treats them like shit (I mean Carrie breaks up with Big because of this more than once), and when they are single there is not pressure between them to be in relationships.  There are multiple episodes of Sex and the City where Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda are the only single people at a party and they support each other, when their snooty married friends are looking down on them.

Not only did sex and the city change how single women felt about themselves…it changed how we viewed ourselves.  For the four ladies (even in the end) it is always about them first.  It’s about their friendship, not their relationships with men.  Though their relationships with men are important (and some are much better than others), their friendships with each other is what gets them through life. 

But Julia, you started this email talking about sex…where’s the sex?  Well, young ones, Sex and the City is (in more than just my mind) responsible for a HUGE change in women and their relationship to sex.  Okay…I’m going to warn you now, put the young ones to bed…and if you don’t want to hear your neice, daughter, granddaughter, friend, talk frankly about sex then stop reading right now because here it goes…and I’m not censoring it.

Sex and the City made it okay to have sex with lots and lots and lots of people (both men and women) and not be ‘slutty.’  Enter a woman named Samantha Jones.  Samantha has tons of sex, and she has it in such a way that one could consider slutty, but in the show she is never seriously judged by any of her friends.  Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda are definitely not doing it as much or with as many people as Samantha, but they never seriously call her a slut, and they never put Samantha down for having tons of sex.  I’m going to make a claim that you all are free to argue: Samantha is the first woman on television who has lots of sex and isn’t made to feel bad about it.  Samantha loves orgasms (who doesn’t?), she loves dicks, she loves her vibrator, she is open, she is experimental, she is probably one of the best role models women have ever had…and not just in regards to sex (the fact that she runs her own P.R. firm is pretty awesome as well).

And now we women refer to are more sexually active friends as ‘the samantha of the group’ instead of ‘the slutty one.’  But Samantha isn’t the only lady who gets her groove on on a regular basis.  In fact, all the women of Sex and the City are pretty active, and that’s what is so great.  As long as there have been groups of female friends (after the 1950’s) there have been, as Margaret Cho puts it, The Sweet One, The Smart One, And Then There’s The Ho.  But really, in Sex in the City those labels dissappate.  Sure, Samantha has more one night stands, but all four of the women participate in many of these themselves.  Sex and the City not only does not judge the one ‘slutty’ friend, but it shows that even the non-‘slutty’ friends can be pretty ‘slutty.’  And ladies I have to say…ain’t that the truth.  We all have give and take with our friends on which one’s the Sweet one (okay so this isn’t always negotiable), which one’s the smart one, and which one’s the ho.  

But, our new outlook to sex isn’t the only thing that rocked about Sex and the City.  Sex and the City (and I fully intend to hear back from my little friend who likes to argue about this show with me) showed dating as it really is.  It didn’t show some sweet, romantic, candlelight, 90210, Dawson’s Creek dating, no, no.   It showed the horrid,  we have nothing to talk about, he wants me to pee on him, you want to stick that where? kind of dating that anyone who has been single in the last 10 years or so has probably experienced.  It showed dating how it really is…a battlefield.  There are landmines, and undetected attacks, and more landmines.  People now date for so long that they have emotional baggage that would easily sink the Titanic yet again, and, they try to hide it.  But really, you can’t hide that much crap and sooner or later it all comes to the surface and you find out how fucking freakish everyone is.  Before sex and the city, that was never really spoken about.  Sure we told our girlfriends about the first time we touched it, the first time we licked it, the first time.  We talked about how bad certain things taste, we talked about how weird certain experiences were, and we definitely talked about how bad certain experiences were, but before sex and the city we didn’t have the assurance that every other woman was dealing with the same shit we were.  Until the funky spunk episode, how were we supposed to know that sometimes that shit just doesn’t taste right?  And that it’s okay to say, this tastes like ass and I’m not gonna take it anymore.

I warned you folks…it’s getting raunchy in here.  And you know what, you all have Sex and the City to thank for that.  For me personally, before I watched that show, I was never as up front and frank about sex as I am now.  Now, I have no problem talking about fellatio and cunnilingus (in much cruder words) and I have no qualms about having these conversations over lunch.  Thank you ladies  of the city for letting us live our lives and for letting us talk about our sexual proclivities, sometimes even in public. 

So, Julia, what of the virgins and the women who choose not to participate in copious amounts of copulation who you started off this increasingly loquacious email talking about?  Well, Sex and the City actually addresses that in an episode that takes place in the Hamptons.  Carrie looks on in a bit of Horror as her 25 year old shadow confesses that she is, in fact, a virgin…and is saving herself for marriage.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe in saving yourself for marriage.  I don’t care who you are…that is a terrible plan.  You have to test drive the car before you buy it.  In any case, Carrie, though shocked, handles herself quite well before deciding that  ‘And then I realized, twenty something girls are just fabulous until you see one with the a man who broke your heart.’ 

I guess I’m not doing a very good job of standing up for the not so sexually active, but let me take another route.  I agree with my friend, now the women and men not getting busy are stigmatized, and yes, to a certain extent they shouldn’t be stigmatized for waiting…as long as they’re waiting for the right reasons.  Yes, I am making huge moral judgements right now, but from my experiences those who decide to wait until marriage to get busy, usually get married much too young and they are almost always divorced shortly after (hello, Jessica Simpson anyone?)  Sex is not a good reason to get married, though, it seems like in certain red areas of the country this is the norm.  No wonder the divorce rate is so high, no wonder people are fucking miserable.  Still, I don’t think that choosing not to sleep with a large variety of people is something to be stigmatized or something to be looked down upon…as long as people choose to wait for the right reasons. 

We’ve come a long way from having sex meaning you get pregnant, killed, or take some sort of dramatic fall, but let’s not lean too far in the opposite direction either. 

Peace, Love, and Safe Sex,


June 14, 2007 Posted by | High School, Hollywood, Sex, Sex and the City, Television | Leave a comment

Bittersweet Symphony

The Santa Cruz that I grew up in is much different than the Santa Cruz
that most of you all know.  It wasn’t the gorgeous, open-minded,
paradise that most people see it as.  Though it is one of the most
physically beautiful places on earth (I’m not arguing that point),
being young in Santa Cruz is somewhat like being in a war.  People,
many more than you anticipated, are lost along the way, and people
don’t come back, the way they left.  The Santa Cruz I grew up in was
one where my first friends got addicted to crank at age 13 (I was 12).
 The first person who died in my circle of friends OD’d on Heroin at
the age of 15 (I was barely 14).  It was a place where I was a late
bloomer, starting to smoke cigarettes at the age of 13, starting to
drink at 14, starting to smoke pot at 15…we’ll stop there.  But the
Santa Cruz I grew up in afforded kids who didn’t fit in, a sort of
respite.  A place where we freaks could be ourselves.

For those of you who knew me then, you probably remember the different
colored hair every few weeks.  Chain bracelets, chain necklaces, and
studded belts.  The now infamous jacket covered in safety pins and
patches.  The dickies, the converse, the black band t-shirts.  I was
soooo punk rock and thought I was pretty damn awesome because of it.
Living in Santa Cruz exposed me to drugs and sex at a very very young
age (among other things), but getting involved in punk rock, believe
it or not, steered me away from taking part in too much of that stuff.
 Sure, I experimented.  I drank myself stupid.  I did things I
probably shouldn’t have, but as I got more and more in to the punk
rock scene, I actually started doing those things less and less.

My first real Punk Rock Show was at the now defunct Palookaville.  It
was a show for the release of a CD called Santa Cruz Sucks.  Pretty
fitting, I think.  Basically, this was the beginning of the end of a
punk rock scene in Santa Cruz because all the hippie liberals who were
sooo accepting didn’t want these scary looking kids with spikey hair
and chains playing their loud music and dancing in those freaky mosh
pit things where they just slam into each other hanging out around
their town.

Anyway, at that first show at Palookaville, a little band named Good
Riddance played, and my life was forever changed.  Okay, so it wasn’t
that straight forward, but I did learn alot at that first show.  I
learned that you don’t stand right next to the stage because when you
get slammed into from behind by one of the guys in the mosh pit, you
end up with bruised ribs.  I learned that people who had cars would
always drive you home because your parents didn’t want to come pick
you up that late and the nice guys with cars wanted you to see the
rest of the show…they were staying for the whole thing.  I learned
the rules of a circle pit (watch your face because there are alot of
elbows and they hurt when they hit you in the nose).  But mostly I
learned that these freak kids, though some of them would end up strung
out or pregnant, were mostly smart, politically conscious kids who
didn’t fit in with the Water Polo players and surfers who ruled the
school in Santa Cruz, just like I didn’t fit in with the dumb girls
who didn’t care about anything but drinking and having bonfires at the

At first, I didn’t really know what I was doing, but as I started
getting more and more into this scene I started learning the major
players…everyone listened to Fury 66, Good Riddance, and Riff
Raff…they were the local Santa Cruz bands.  Everyone listened to the
Sex Pistols, Crass, and the Ramones…they were the classics.  And
everyone listened to A.F.I. (before they sold out to capitol records).
 It was a great time: shows happened one, two, sometimes three times a
week.  They usually didn’t cost more than $5, and I went to every
single one.

Over the years, shows became harder and harder to put on.  Cops
cracked down on us poor punks, Palookaville closed, thursday night
showcase (where local bands played at the catalyst for $3) stopped.
There were very few shows.  There was, however, one constant
throughout my time in Santa Cruz.  A band named Good Riddance.

I can’t even count how many times I’ve seen them, but they seem to
have been around throughout my young adult life.  I remember seeing
them when A.F.I. jumped onto the stage and played about three songs
while waiting for Good Riddance (whose van was experiencing technical
difficulties).   I remember seeing them right before the fateful
election of 2000, when Russ, the lead singer, reminded us not to vote
for the lesser of two evils just because he’s the lesser of two evils.
 I even saw them in London when I was there.  But it’s not just that I
got to see them a million times.  It was also that the music they sang
was exactly what I believed.  They sang about respecting women, about
being anti-war, about not getting in fights in the middle of a mosh
pit, they would stop playing if people started fighting.  Good
Riddance, in a very big way was responsible for a huge part of my
political and social awakening.

Okay, I’ll get to the point.  On Saturday night Good Riddance played
their second to last show in San Diego.  On Sunday night they played
their last show in Santa Cruz.  On Saturday night I saw them for the
last time.  And I have to say, I was a little choked up.  Okay, I was
more than a little choked up.  It was one of the most bittersweet
nights of my life.  It was one of those nights where one part of your
life comes full circle.  Of course, my friend and I got lost and ended
up at the Mexican border (in a maneuver that can only be pulled by a
Callahan I actually got lost and ended up in another country).  We did
manage to get back and watch the show.

Now, I need a little flashback.  Think back to the Election of 2004.
This is really one of the first times in my life that I changed over
night, Literally.  I had just spent a year of my life defending
america to many a Briton who had a good question.  Why on earth is
Bush the president?  And I told them…He stole the election.  That
was the only explanation.  So in November of 2004 when he was elected
by this country, I lost it.  I lost all my idealism.  I pretty much
lost hope.  I became a little more bitter, a little more angry.

But you know what, on Saturday night, I gained back a little bit of my
youthful hope and idealism.  It’s hard to be in a room of people,
mostly young people, all of whom throw their fists in the air and
chant, ‘I STILL CARE,’ at the top of their lungs, and not gain some
hope.  Maybe if we all start caring, and I mean really caring again,
things can change.  And in the immortal words of Good Riddance:


Peace, Love, and Good Riddance,


June 14, 2007 Posted by | Music, Santa Cruz, Sex | Leave a comment

The ________ Word

Alright Peeps,
I’m back from my week of non-stop partying.  No really.  My friend
from England was in town and I didn’t do anything but work, drink, and
well, that’s it, all last week.  I’m back, I’m not entirely well
rested, and my liver is slowly recovering.  And here are some words of
wisdom for this week.

I grew up in Calfornia…Santa Cruz to be exact.  Santa Cruz prides
itself on being an accepting community (though it’s not as accepting
as everyone likes to think that it is).  But as the majority of you
know my parents were pretty darn accepting of everyone and everything.
That being said I’m sure many of you know that I tend to attract
people that maybe aren’t as accepted in american society.  People with
spikey hair and studs through their tounges.  Men who like other men,
and women who like other women.

I’m sure you all be happy to know that this trend has not been muted
as I have moved to L.A.  I still seem to be a beacon for gay people
(which I love).  I went to a party on Saturday where I ended up
surrounded by gay men…it was fabuolous.

Of course, here in L.A. I made my first lesbian friends, who are my
friends and I did not meet through my parents.  I did grow up in Santa
Cruz so it’s not like I’ve never met a lesbian, but I just never ended
up being good friends with any.   Just a weird fluke I guess.

Well, as many of you also know, anyone who lives in L.A. is not from
L.A.  This especially goes for people in Hollywood.  Those of us
fucked up enough to want to work in Hollywood are usually from places
outside of Los Angeles.

So when I got my job at Paramount Pictures I met about 35 people from
all over the country.  Including two lesbian couples, one from
butthole nowhere Pennsylvania and the other from Plano, Texas.  You
can imagine that neither of their parents know about their sexual
preferences.  You can also probably imagine how flattered I was when I
was let in on the secret.

They say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, and before my
mom starts planning the party, no this is not me coming out of the
closet.  I’m not in a closet…in fact, I don’t think anything in my
apartment counts as a closet per say.  I think that people telling you
such a huge part of who they are and trusting you with that
information is the most sincere form of flattery.  I’m always
profoundly moved when another of my friends tells me that they’re gay
because they are basically saying that they love me and trust me
enough to know this supremely important facet of their being.  It’s a
great feeling knowing that people trust you to be accepting of them.

So my friends from the middle of nowhere have only been in California
for a little over a year.  I’m pretty sure they’re not used to people
being as accepting as I pride myself on being.  To get to the point,
my friend Leanne practically forced me to watch The ‘L’ Word, which,
if you don’t know or couldn’t figure out, is a show about lesbians.
It does air on showtime so it’s explicit to say the least.  But it’s a
really great show that I normally wouldn’t have watched.

But as I was watching it I got to thinking.  Why do we have to have
shows that are solely about gay people?  Why can’t regular shows have
gay people in them?  I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are some great
exceptions to this rule (sex and the city…which I swear I will write
about, but it’ll be loooong so watch out.  And now Ugly Betty is
bringing some albiet stereotypical gay people to the small screen).

Now, don’t get me wrong…shows like Will & Grace and The ‘L’ Word are
great at bringing gay people into homes that normally wouldn’t have
it.  And I think Will & Grace especially has been a great influence on
the American public and their growing acceptance of homosexuality.
Though if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my hic friends it’s that
we’re nowhere near there yet.

Even still, why I ask you, why does there have to be gay shows?  Why
can’t shows reflect the actual landscape of America?  I think Grey’s
Anatomy does a good job, but they seem to ignore sexuality
altogether…everyone’s straight, even if there are many different
ethnic minorities represented.

So here’s my promise to you.  When I write a show it’ll involve gay
people who are just as slutty and fucked up as the straight people.
It’ll include african-american, asian, indian, kazakstani, venezuelan,
namibian, fijian, etc. people who are just as rich, educated, slutty
and fucked up as the white people.  Mexicans who are not housekeepers
or cooks in an italian restaurant, but who are just as rich, educated,
slutty and fucked up as the asian, indian, venezuelan, tongan, etc
people.  And it will include British people who are not out to do
evil, but who are just as slutty and fucked up as the evil Americans.

Peace, love, and same sex television,

June 14, 2007 Posted by | Gay/Lesbian, Grey's Anatomy, Hollywood, Sex, Sex and the City, Television | Leave a comment

Mucho Gusto Me Llamo Bradley.

I’m sorry to all the people born in the ’80’s and raised in California
because I just got that song stuck in your head.

Okay, so the subject is the beginning of a line in a song called
Caress Me Down by a band called Sublime.  Sublime was one of the best
bands of the 90’s (and maybe of all time) and their album titled
Sublime is one of those albums (that are pretty much non-existent
right now) that everyone owns or has owned at some point.  In my
generation it was Nirvana’s Nevermind, Weezer’s Blue Album, Green
Day’s Dookie, No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom, and Sublime Sublime.

But this is not the point.  For all the people who are now finishing
the line in their heads (mom you know this line because I made you
listen to this song over and over and over again when I was 14 years
old) you know that it ends with a reference to a man named Ron Jeremy.

Now, it has come to my attention that not everyone has a vast
knowledge of completely useless information like me and, as I have
been talking to people about Ronnie lately, it has come to my
attention that many people don’t know who Ron Jeremy is.

Well folks tonight’s the night.  He’s a Porn Star.  That’s right, I
went there.  Ron Jeremy is the number one porn star of all time.  If
you look him up on (Internet Adult Movie Database) you may
find that he’s done about 1800 movies.  And that’s just the porn.

No matter what your feelings on Porn are, and I’ll make mine clear in
a bit, you have to admit that 1800 movies is a pretty successful

Okay, I can feel everyone shifting nervously, wondering where I’m
going with all this.  Well, first I’d like to say that I personally am
not a big fan of porn.  I have seen it, but I didn’t inhale.  It’s
just not really for me.  I have not, do not, and will not judge people
who watch it, who like it, or who star in it.  I have the same policy
on porn as I do on most things.  Am I being forced to do it or watch
it or participate, no?  Well then why the hell do I care if other
people like it or do it?

So why on earth am I talking about porn, and more specifically, why
did I bring up Ron Jeremy?  ‘Cause I got to meet him today.

That’s right kids.  Living in L.A. has brought me many many many new
experiences, but today I saw something that, until now, has been
entirely out of my reality and comprehension.  Today, I hung out with
a big group of porn stars.  And you know what?  I had a really great

The reason I met Ron was that he was doing a book signing at my work.
You see, he just wrote an autobiography (which I read) and he was
signing it.

A few years ago another porn star wrote an autobiography.  Her name is
Jenna Jameson and her book is called ‘How to Make Love Like a
Pornstar.’  Now, I haven’t read Jenna’s book (it’s on order) but I’ve
heard it contains some rather disturbing stories about her sexual
abuse as a child and whatnot.  Basically, it contains the kind of
stuff that makes you go ‘oh, that’s why she’s a pornstar.’  (and by
the way, she’s probably the most famous female pornstar in the world
right now).

But Ronnie’s book, Ronnie’s book contains no such anecdotes.  He
didn’t have a messed up childhood.  Sure, he’s particularly well
endowed (to put it mildly) but so is Brad Pitt (supposedly) and he’s
not a pornstar.  No, Ron Jeremy’s book is a fabulously well
constructed narrative of an endlessly interesting life.  The Ron
Jeremy portrayed in ‘Ron Jeremy: The Hardest (working) Man in Showbiz’
is a great protagonist of an almost Forrest Gump-like Saga.

He tells endlessly amusing stories about everything from going to
Woodstock to hanging out with his friend Sam Kinnison, to partying at
the Playboy Mansion.  While he’s weaving these great tales of
celebrity, Ron creates this amazing portrait of a certain kind of
history of Los Angeles.  He talks about the great days of hanging out
with Poison (an ’80’s hair band.  If you’re interested, download
‘every rose has it’s thorn’) at the Viper Room (which used to be owned
by Johnny Depp.  Also, where River Phoenix died in 1993).  He talks
about the Comedy Store where comics like Jim Carrey and Sam Kinnison
were no name opening acts.  And he talks about the heyday of the Porn
industry, when porn was shot on film and had the same artistic
integrity of many films.  Where they just thought of it as film where
people had sex, not as this hidden away dirty little secret
multi-billion dollar industry.

Without seeming like he’s trying Ron shows us a side of not just Los
Angeles, but a side of him that seems long forgotten (and perhaps
never really looked for).  I found myself nearly brought to tears a
few times because you just want him to win so badly.  Ron took himself
out of the label porn star and successfully made himself a completely
loveable protagonist.  Perhaps the best real person turned protagonist
since David Copperfield.

I don’t care what your feelings on porn or pornstars are, you should
read this book because this is what good writing looks like.

So, now to the fun.  When I heard Ron Jeremy would be doing a book
signing at Booksoup, I was elated.  Ever since I first heard about him
in that Sublime song, and went home to look him up on a very very slow
dial up internet search engine, I’ve been sort of curious about Ron
Jeremy.  What was he like?  What was his life like?

Now, I’m glad I live 400 miles away because my mother is going to kill
me when I say this, but after meeting him last night, I can say that
Ron Jeremy is my father in a much different profession.  God, he made
me miss my dad so much.

I was sitting there watching him interact with all these people.
People just wanted to be near him.  And it was everyone.  Everyone
from nerdy high school kids who could spout off every movie he’s ever
made and every co-star he’s ever had, to ridiculously hot pornstars
(Lisa Sparxxx, I’m not lying that’s really how you spell her name)
with natrually ginormous boobs, to regular, everyday guys asking him
to sign their girlfriends breasts. He was answering the cell phone,
telling people to get down here and come hang out.  As he was talking
about the fact that he has to fly to Mexico City at 4am, he’s inviting
people to the Rainbow Bar & Grill to hang out.  (obviously he sleeps
about as much as I do).

And all this reminded me, to a certain extent, of a certain oyster
bar, in a certain rich part of a certain sprawling city.

The thing that was really different (or maybe similar) than any
experience I’ve ever had was the fact that these really big named
pornstars were just hanging out and chatting about whatever.  Lisa
Sparxxx and I had a great conversation.  She told me about her parents
disapproval of her career choice and how much she hates that her mom
just doesn’t get it (and no that wasn’t a dig at my obscenely
supportive mother, but we can all relate, yes?).  She talked about her
husband, her kids, her cell phone plan, everything.  She and Ronnie
talked about some tattoo expo in San Antonio that they’re both going
to next week.  And then she politely excused herself because she had
an early call time tomorrow morning.

In Hollywood, this is not an unusual thing to hear someone say.  But
when you think about it, most people don’t have to go to bed early, to
prepare for their early call time where they will be having sex with
multiple people (perhaps at the same time).  And this is when I
realized (for the 8 millionth time) that I wasn’t in Santa Cruz
anymore Todo.

But you know what?  As Lisa left and Ron flitted about signing the
covers of (what I’m assuming are) well used dvd’s, among other things.
 I started thinking.  Thinking about how nice it must be to be that
guy that everyone want’s to be around.  Thinking about how much I miss
being around that guy everyone want’s to be around (no matter how many
times I have to hear the same exact story over and over).  So, as Ron
Jeremy shook my hand, kissed my cheek, and bid adieu.  I called my
friend, met him at Canter’s Deli and had a nice quiet grilled cheese
sandwich from the best Jewish deli in the best jewish neighborhood in
the world.  And I realized that as much as I love being around that
guy.  I’m glad I’m not that guy.

Peace, love, and no offense meant by this little rant,


June 14, 2007 Posted by | Hollywood, Los Angeles, Movies, Music, Ron Jeremy, Sex | Leave a comment