Creepy, right?
My gut reaction to this image is whatever the typed version of the noise for “shudder of disgust” is.
Okay: so is my shudder coming from a universal, lizard brain response that something here is chafing against the natural order of things, or am I just the culturally conditioned product of a California upbringing in the late 20th century that happens to disapprove of a kid that old still hanging on the teat? (or am I maybe just a little bit jealous of that kid?)
Dear Little Girl:
What I saw happen to you this weekend was a travesty that broke my heart so I feel that I have to write about it in the hopes that you will read this and not give up on your dreams. And that you’ll continue believing that magic does exist in the world.
You see, I was at the same Mother’s Day gathering as you and I overheard what that grown-up woman said to you about unicorns. She told you that unicorns do not exist and that if you wanted to be a big girl, you must stop believing in them. I saw the expression on your face when this woman said that. I saw your look of disappointment. Your look of sadness. That all-too-familiar look of the innocence of youth being crushed like an aluminum can at the recycling center. I don’t know if the woman who told you this was your mom or a friend or a crazy homeless woman who had randomly wandered off the street, but whoever she was—she’s a lying whore!
Because I am here to tell you that unicorns are real. They are as real as the sun up in the sky. As real as the breasts hair $2000 Louis Vitton purse on the woman walking by my table at this very moment. As real as this bottle of Jack Daniels I’ve almost killed off while writing the previous sentence. And how do I know this?
Have you ever gone on a hiking trip when you’re feeling fatigued? My filmmaker friend Ringo and I decided to take a hike in the Malibu canyon to smell the soil and grass and to clear our heads when we were a bit exhausted by the hustling and bustling of Los Angeles. You’d be surprise what Los Angeles has to offer just thirty minutes away from where you are.
We read about a burned down mansion on the Solitice Canyon trail in Malibu and thought it would be perfectly inspiring to go check out the ruins reminiscent of how Wordsworth wrote “Tintern Abbey.”We drove along the coastline for about half an hour from West Los Angeles to the Soltice Canyon Park and parked in the parking area.
So we’re about halfway through the shoot of Internet Icon, our YouTube competition show premiering this summer, and we’re down to our top six finalists. By this weekend, we’ll be down to our final two and the winner will ultimately be decided by viewer votes when the show debuts later this summer on our upcoming YOMYOMF Network on YouTube.
(l to r): Internet Icon judge Christine Lakin, host Chester See, producer Andy Fickman & judge Ryan Higa.
I have to say the experience of being involved with this show hasn’t turned out how I expected. Everyone’s been working long hours and fighting fatigue to make a great show under the leadership of uber-producers Andy Fickman and Betsy Sullenger (Oops Doughnuts), Bobby Smith Jr. (Ashore Entertainment) and director D.J. Viola—that’s not the surprising part. But what has been unexpected is the level of talent of our contestants and the high quality of work they are consistently producing under very adverse conditions.
Here’s how the typical day plays out: the contestants are given a “challenge” for that day’s videos. I don’t want to give away what the specific challenges are, but it might go something like this—everyone is given a grocery bag full of food and they must make a video incorporating every item in that bag.
Greasy hamburgers. Beer. Red Bull. Water. Sweating it out.
None of it works. Not really. The only cure I know of for that most dreaded of fatigues – the hangover – is…wait for it….time.
But in Las Vegas, Dr. Jason Burke is trying a capital S “scientific” approach to beating time, and he’s put it on wheels: the Hangover Heaven bus.
Burke, an anesthesiologist, had an “a-ha” moment when he realized that the symptoms of a hangover – the nausea, the headaches, the aches and pains, the disorientation, the desire for a quick death – were not so different from the symptoms of patients recovering in the post-anesthesia care unit.
Us Offenders love Nicholas Cage. Well, I do. He is a national treasure (get it? get it?) and I’ve blogged upon his undeadness here and here. Check out this latest montage of Nicholas Cage’s greatest performances but done in the rendition of John Cage’s 4’33″. Yeah, read the Wikipedia log about this. I didn’t get it at first, but now I do. Enjoy!
I’m an avid Asian fusion cuisine fan. Although there are a lot of Asian fusion places in L.A., I only really haunt a few of them. On the top of my list is Restaurant 2117 on Sawtelle, a modest and no-frills Japanese French and Italian cuisine. The quality of the ingredients and taste of the dishes rival the “best” L.A. restaurants I’ve been to. For years, I’ve consistently gone back for casual lunches and special occasion dinners. My favorite is the fried soft shell crab over risotto, which is a must for me if they have it in season. I love their garlic soup that tastes like an onion soup but is—of course—garlicky. Surprisingly I also love their vegan stew, which is as delicious and satisfying as vegan cuisine can be. They have a variety of excellent pasta dishes that I’ve tasted but I usually order a special off their board.
Her breathing changes. “I’m scared,” she announces.
“You’re almost there!” we yell.
It’s a girls’ weekend and we’re backpacking and rock climbing in Arizona. We’re all seasoned backpackers with bombproof gear in pretty jewel tones. We all dehydrate our own meals. We can tie knots that would make a boy scout cry. And when we go out in the woods, we talk about boys and drink high quality port from a Platypus collapsible drink container.
But this particular friend is new to rock climbing and as hardcore as she is in other things, it is awkward to be hanging from a rope and holding onto a crack with just your fingernails.
“I want to come down.”
I once bought a Thomas Kinkade jigsaw puzzle at Target. I hated the painting, but enjoyed the puzzle.
His paintings hang in an estimated one out of every 20 homes in America (I don’t think one out of every twenty homes in America has central heating!).
Kinkade, 54, died at his home in Northern California two Saturdays ago, according to his family, of “natural causes.” His wife Nanette said in a statement “Thom provided a wonderful life for his family. We are shocked and saddened by his death.”
That’s one view.
(Once the tool of my existence)
When Kodak filed for bankruptcy earlier this year, it was a definite signal to the end of an era—the era of 35mm & 16mm filmmaking. As an independent filmmaker, I have to admit that I have little nostalgia for 35mm or 16mm filmmaking. I was lucky enough to be part of the generation who started making films on celluloid and have pretty much “upgraded” to digital filmmaking. Nevertheless, that process has been an invaluable and forever memorable experience. Filmmaking has “evolutionized”.
I check the voice mail at the bars I co-own every week or so: 10% are robo calls swearing up and down that they can improve my credit card processing fees, 10% are robo calls swearing up and down that they have instant cash for my business, and 80% are hungover customers calling in to say they think they forget their…credit card, cell phones, scarves, purses, wallets, keys, etc., at the bar…wondering – hoping, praying – that we’ve found them.
The calls always sound a little apologetic and desperate, and I always erase the messages without checking for the lost stuff, and without returning the calls.
Forgot something in a bar?
Saw this over at Jezebel: Check out this advertisement depicting a South Asian couple, who are very fair skinned (just an observation), and the woman’s ennui of suffering through the idea that her vagina is just too brown. But don’t fret! There’s a new product out there that allows you to whiten your hoochie-coo.
It’s as if the woman in the commercial was suffering through some kind of infection, or worse, the blue waffle (Inside YOMYOMF joke… By all means, DO NOT GOOGLE “blue waffle.” I will never forgive you, Offender Jerome. You’ve been warned). No, she was just depressed because, hey, her vagina was too dark. Never mind the fact that her equally fair skinned boyfriend/husband had no worries in the world, sipping his coffee and getting ready for yet another awesome day!
