Sunday, December 31, 2006

MySpace is now HisSpace

A year or so ago I joined the ranks of MySpace as a way to keep up with all of my Portfolio Center friends. I figured it was a little juvenile but at the same time it seemed like a good way to keep up with everyone as we made our way back out into the world. I've since denied hundreds of freaks, weirdos, losers, dorkwads, dweebs, and would-be hookers as they've asked to be my friend. I don't suppose I need a bunch of cyber friends. Nor do I have any aspiration to have 3000 friends. It's stupid.

I should also mention it's the world's worst website in terms of the way it functions. It's literally held together with duct tape and toothpicks. Everything to do with it is harder than it should be. A google application, it is most certainly not.

Then yesterday something funny happened and a guy hacked my password. Somehow. I've since changed said password everywhere it is used so we're good there. Then my friend Kelly sends me a screen shot of her page where apparently this guy is posing as me. Weird, 'cause it doesn't show up anywhere else as me, just her page. Here it is—his picture is just beneath the words "MachoBack" (you know, 'cause I'm bringing macho back—my normal pic is me with a photoshopped mustache):

First I'm gonna find him. Then I'm gonna kill him.

What a joke. That's gonna do it for me and that piece of crap site.

Friday, December 29, 2006


Justin was kind enough to drive me from the airport (where I dropped off the rental) to the car dealer (where I picked up the new ride). And since it was out I-20, we figured we'd get in a little rock climbing at Boat Rock. We climbed with a dude named Will who is much better than either of us.

And a little fun with depth of field.

New car, caviar, four-star day dream

Our long national nightmare is over.

Well, mine is anyway. I bought a new ride today.

It's an '07 VW Jetta (keepin' it real!) and it's the Wolfsburg Edition which basically means it's got a few more bells and whistles. And for the first time in my life, power windows and doors! Pretty sad, right? And it's got one of those remote key thingys. And a slot in the door that holds a full sized water bottle. And a little thing in the trunk that lets you hang grocery bags. It even has heated seats. And it has a glove box, unlike my '96 (I don't know either, but for whatever reason it didn't have one). And it's not red. And it smells heavenly. It's like I've joined the current century. I did stick with my beloved manual transmission, however. 'Cause I'm not always gonna live in A-t-l-a-n-t-----------------a. (that was a typographic representation of traffic here.)

(note the simpicity of the dash—no funny bidness, just what you need laid out intuitively)

Most importantly, it is dope. Pardon my French, but I'd go so far as to say it is dope as fuck.

You'll all be glad to know the 2.5-liter, 150-hp, 5-cylinder engine runs on a timing chain, not a timing belt. In short, we won't have to worry about that little breakage problem no mo.

And Mom, it's safe. It's got 10 airbags. So when me and my hip but not too hip friends are discussing some pop culture topic and get run over by an SUV we might be able to get out and say "holy.....

That's it. I'm off to try to make use of the last 6 days of my 32nd year.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Gonna pack my bags a little heavy this time

Well, I'm back to Atlanta this morning to sort out a car or something. Maybe a whoopass full-suspension bike. Who knows.

Wish I could have stayed longer.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

When you're back in your old neighborhood

After running a few errands today, I took a little drive down nostalgia lane. The cool thing about me and this town is I spent my whole life here. On almost every corner is a memory. Seriously.

That’s where my dog ran away and we caught him. That’s where we first kissed. That’s where I lived. That’s where I used to ride my bike. That’s where we used to go buy our school shoes. That’s where I asked you to prom. That’s where we broke up. That’s where we went for drinks when I graduated college. That’s where I learned to skate. That’s where I went to school. That’s where Liberty Lunch used to be. That’s where my grandfather lived. That’s where he died. That’s where I sacked groceries for two summers. That’s where I used to swim. That’s where we romped through the creek. This is the room where I lived.

This is the house I grew up in. You probably can't make it out, but that tree on the far right behind the fence, the lighter of the two, was where I spent hours as a kid. It was my spaceship, it was my airplane, it was my towering skyscraper from which I would dangle. It is at least twice as tall now. And I would wait on that little concrete wall with my Bee Gees lunchbox for the carpool each morning to kindergarten.

This is where I went to elementary school. We were the Armadillos. The name is no relation.

This is where I grew up. It may the hot cool town to everyone else, but to me it’ll always be home.

A home full of memories.

All the lights are coming on

Christmas was delightful. We went to church which is always a beautiful service full of hymns and handbells. Unfortuntely this year Ben McKenzie (of "The O.C." fame) was not there as he usually is since his parents go to our church—it always adds to the excitement and makes the teenaged girls squeal.

Then we had a wonderful family get together on Christmas Eve and then another at my aunt and uncle’s new house on Christmas day. Here was the scene.

Despite being a tad windy, the view from the deck more than made up for it.

Then we took a hike up to the always beautiful Mount Bonnell, the highest point in Austin, to take in the view.

Then I took what I was calling the “Door’s cover photo” of Johanna (Shelli's friend), Martin, Shelli and my Dad.

Then the sun started going down and I took some pics.

And one of the radio towers out west. In high school we always referred to these as the “seven towers” from the U2 lyric “I see seven towers but I only see one way out.” Michael Dell’s house is atop that knob to the right.

Then last night I went to meet one of my best friends in the whole world, Slade, for a drink. Slade and I met I guess freshman year of high school (we had come up through two different elementary/junior high systems) but really became friends sophomore year and have been ever since. He’s in Sacramento now so when we cross paths it’s always a special occasion.

Slade took it up a notch by showing up with our old friend Holden who is a hunting and fishing guide in Montana.

It's always so fun to come home. And fall into the mind of "gosh, maybe I should move back here."

Decisions, decisions.

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Well that was fun

Last night a group of us braved the monsoon that has taken over our fair city to go to the always splendid Club DeVille on Red River. It's one of my favorite places in town despite the rain keeping us off the patio. It was dead when we got there but then turned itself into a dance party as a full retrospective of 80's music kept us reminiscing about early concerts we had been to and stuff like that. Mine? Met at Work, the Cargo tour, 1983. I was nine. Mom took Martin and I to the Erwin Center to see it and it was amazing. Then I saw Hall and Oates there in 1986. Also a winner. Aimee Mann's Til Tuesday opened for them.

My old college and childhood buds Ty and David came out for some drinks. Always a good time with those cats.

We drank some beers.

We took a group photo.

Then Will (I guess whose job it was to check ID's at the door) joined our table and began a singalong with his flashlight as the mic. Oh and the best stoner song ever? "Magic Man" by Heart. According to Will.

There was more singing.

Some air guitar.

Then Will decided to dance on the bar.

And his friend decided to do whatever this is.

Good times. Clearly.

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Is she vomiting?

Greetings from Austin. The flight in last night was uneventful aside from the girl in front of me who literally as we were turning from the taxi-way to the runway began hurling. As soon as it was safe to do so they took her to the bathroom where she stayed for the remainder of the flight. I felt horrible for her. Apparently a bum turkey sandwich was to blame. Isn't it always?

The walk to the train to the airport could have been eventful but thankfully Thomas was there. Long story short, the walk from my apartment to the Civic Center stop is right down Pine Street which is like Cracktown central, including a shelter which tends to attract the element. Needless to say, white guy carrying two bags (not of the trash variety) would be conspicuous. But as I was walking the first block I ended up next to Thomas and we kind of fell into time together. He asked if I was going home for Christmas, I said yes and told him where, and we talked a bit about the weather and how warm it was and didn't feel like Christmas. And he said hello to every crackhead on the street which I thought was so nice. I felt like I had been allowed into some sort of inner sanctuary walking along with him, no one asking me for change or anything.

At Peachtree he turned south and I continued straight for another block to the station. As we parted, I said "have a merry Christmas" to which he replied "You have a merry Christmas too, young man."

I love how old black guys say "young man."

Friday, December 22, 2006

A Festivus, for the rest of us

Well, things being what they've been the past few days, these things didn't make it in the mail like we had planned but I thought everyone should see how the Christmas card turned out. So, to everyone who reads this, Merry Christmas. Or Happy Hannukah. Or whatever you say in front of Kwanza.

And inside they were to have these little "deep thoughts." Here are some of the better ones:

A funny thing to do is instead of putting out cookies for Santa put out pork rinds. Sure, he’d probably eat them. But who really likes those?

Who named those reindeer? Half of them sound like hookers.

Sometimes I think of those less fortunate. But then I think to myself "stop being so selfish."

Christmas. That’s probbably Spanish for “more Christ.” I think.

I wonder if reindeer taste like chicken. Not that I would, I mean, oh, you thought. No, I mean I was just wondering. I wouldn’t eat a chicken, don't be ridiculous.

Oh, and of course a donation was made in all your names to the Human Fund.

Happy Holidays, all.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

She looks so natural

For those who would like to view Ol' Red before she is shipped off somewhere to be sold off for parts, she will be available for viewing for the next week or so until I get home from Christmas and sort out this transportation conundrum. I had her towed home tonight so she could rest in the parking lot, not some sterile garage. I know that's what she would have wanted.

Just look at that glow! She's glorious! Could be the flash, however.

I decided trying to navigate one of the busiest streets in town in a powerless automobile might just be more than I need right now. The woman who came to tow her (I know, I was surprised too—I mean, I was expecting Jethro) was this super nice little Asian girl who I swear had the thing up and ready to go in less than 4 minutes. And then she whipped the truck into reverse and navigated the car right into the parking space at my place which wasn't the easiest spot to get into. And all in one shot. It was astounding.

Speaking of the garage, it was like picking up a dead dog at the vet as everyone who worked on Ol' Red came out and shared their stories about how she was in such great shape but just couldn't stand the stress of the timing belt break. I sat in the car for a while as I waited for the tow truck and reminisced about all the times I spent driving it. I've had dreams recently of driving her back to Santa Monica where she came from and dumping her in the ocean (a sea burial, if you will) but looking back she probably wouldn't have made it.

I'm gonna miss those birds. Chirp-chirp, little buddies.

God rest her soul.

Day 2

Not as good as Day 1. This morning I decided to do the ol' transferooni from the Ponce bus to the train. Everything was going fine until we stop at a stop and the driver gets up and then gets off the bus. I'm thinking "ahh crap, a wheelchair." But, oh no. The driver proceeds to walk over to a Chevron to buy something. He's gone like five minutes. And no one seemed to be bothered. Let me put it this way, you pulled that crap in NYC and that'd be the last stop you make. Either the MTA would take you out or some UES grandma would beat you down with her purse.

Then since only one of the two northbound trains goes to my stop, I had to take one then get off and tranfer to another. And that's never fun. Total time: about an hour and ten minutes. Kind of like living on Long Island or Jersey I suppose.

And at some point I've got to figure out a way to get my car home. And then where to put it at my place. I don't know that a tow-truck could fit under the garage. Or Justin and I can just push it home.

And it's supposed to rain. The fun never ends.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Here's to the crazy ones

What's that? You're car is dead? Like never to drive again, dead? That sucks.

Let's get on to the fun stuff, however. This morning's commute, in pictures:

Exiting cracktown on the way to the station.

The footwear.

Those Sackajaweeas (I don't know how to spell it, either) the post office passed off on me? Well now they're Marta's!

And like that, the "Breeze" card is mine. I only bought the round trip. Looks like I need to look into the pass now.

And wah-lah! The building. From the side no one walks up to. No idea why the hell it's sideways like this. And frankly, don't care right now.

Total time: 48 minutes, door-to-door. Not too bad.

Now on to the even funnier stuff. Considering at this point my best bet is to just get my car and sort it out next week, Justin is all gung-ho to "roll it home" to my place 'cause it is, quite literally, all downhill to my place from the auto place. Except for one little 1-2% grade. We went out for some beers tonight and after he dropped me off said he was bringing a blanket to protect his bumper but we were going to go over lunch and "push" my car home. I think his exact words were something like "fuck calling a tow-truck, man! We'll push that shit to yo place."

I've got to go pay the piper the $200 I owe them for running the test that told me my car is toast tomorrow morning. Yeah, that can't come soon enough. Whoopee!

Oh and if anyone needs a $4000 paper-weight, call me.

Red's Dead

It's a sad day. The mortuary, err, garage called and Ol' Red is a lost cause. We're gonna have to put her down. Like cataracts on a 15 year old dog, it's not worth it to fix. So we're looking for a pasture to send her out to. Any tips to that end would be appareciated. Did I mention it's the Santa Monica edition? Leather seats, CD player, pretty new tires, a wasted oil change from two weeks ago—all this could be yours for like whatever you'll give me. I mean the other option is replace the engine and then sell it but I need to get on with my life.

More on the rail commute this morning later, but all in all it was good. And good thing 'cause that's my way around now! I'm gonna learn to love it.

I think the moral of this story is cars blow. Could their be a more anitquated piece of machinery? I mean, at its core, the basics of the internal combustion engine haven't changed since the tail end of the 1800's. Fucking pitiful, if you ask me. We've gone to the moon since and yet that's the best we can do? This calls for a speech.

Look for it soon.

Dawn of the 'Heads

I'll admit to not being a huge morning person. Sure , I'll wake up early but it jolts my system to wake up and immediately exercise unless it involves mountains. I haven't gotten up and just run two miles prior to 7:15 AM since I lived in Dallas I don't think. Oh yeah, (and I guess it is almost the shortest day of the year) but it is frikkin' dark out there at 6:45! I thought my clock was wrong. I mean who gets up that early?

I'll tell you who: your friendly neighborhood Crack Afficianados.

Ev-er-y-where. It was like Dawn of the Dead! Mumbling, stumbling and of course the requisite staring. Lots of staring. That's their favorite. I mean they're almost always out and about but not in such numbers and so mobile. By the time I roll out they're usually safely reclined in Crack Park across the street. Atlanta rocks.

I'm off to the train.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006


Well, folks, tonight's commute home was a bit of a doozy.

I was even gonna stop and cut my hair on the way home. So I went to turn onto Peachtree and got stuck behind some BMW adorned with Tri-Delt stickers who apparently was unclear on the whole "right on red" thing. Loads of opportunities, she passed them all up. When the light turned green she apparently was unclear on the whole "green means go" thing as well. So I busted a move around her.

Something didn't feel quite right with Ol' Red.

Then on came a little light. It was shaped like a little engine. That can't be good. A hundred yards later or so the rest of the little lights came on. It was like Christmas on the dash! On Dasher, I shouted! Mush, mush! Gooooo! Not really, but in hindsight that would have been funny.

Then she died.

It was only by some miracle I was able to get from the left lane across three lanes of SUV's to the shoulder purely on borrowed momentum, without power steering and without getting hit. Without even thinking, I even opened the door and pushed with my foot to get the little Jetta out of the roadway and coast her to a stop. Right in the driveway of the Grand Hyatt.

This was gonna be real fun. Limos, town cars, rich guys. They all slowed for a gander. Take a look at the guy in the '96 Jetta!!!! But wait, is that the Santa Monica edition?

Straight up it is.

I called AAA who then called a tow-truck. 90 minutes earliest, they say. A guy stopped and suggested it was the timing belt. A girl in a white BMW pulled over to ask if needed a ride. I didn't know what to make of that. Honestly, I was like "what in the world would drive a cute girl in a BMW to pull over and offer me a ride." Maybe the south is actually friendly. Or maybe it was just me. Who knows.

Then Calvin pulled over.

Now, Calvin's an older black gentlemen, an ex-Marine and a mechanic who immediately is waaaaay too helpful. He asks me to pop the hood as he searches his truck for a flashlight. It takes forever and he comes up empty. Yet he finds a little penlight and takes a look under the hood. "That's your timing belt, alright," he says. And he offers to fix it. "Tow it to your place, I'll go buy the part and meet you there. $150. They'll charge you $250 at the shop." Too good to be true? A kindly gent pulls over and saves the day? An angel? God I wanted to believe him!

But I was thinking the same thing.

He recites the AutoZone number from memory (good sign) and so I call them and it turns out a timing belt is only $16 so he says give me $20 and we exchange phone numbers. He then tells me his number and admits it's an Econo Lodge up on 285. He offers an "extension 370" but then admits, "weell, that's my room number." I suppose "extension does have an exective ring to it. And perhaps your assistant ir Esmerelda who works the night shift at the front desk? But I digress. Then despite having grown up here in Atlanta isn't sure where North meets Piedmont. That seems odd. Two major streets, no? the pieces weren't adding up. Even his smokescreen story about things having changed since he grew up here. I mean, it's not like they pick up and move whole streets. The city just gets taller and wider.

The red flags are going off. But God I wanted to trust him!

So I tell him, "Dude, Ol' Red is my ride. She's never let me down. I think I'm gonna put my trust in the good folks at AAA and who they recommend." He sticks around for like another half hour chatting while I say I think I'm gonna go pro on this one. He finally gives in and drives off. For a drink at Johnny's Hideway. Where he was gonna go anyway for a drink before coming over to fix it. He had to meet a lady friend.

Then Justin calls. Apparently a friend of his old girlfriend's saw me and called him. No doubt countless other co-workers saw me too. Justin doubles back from the gym to check on me. I say I'm fine, the tow truck comes.

Meanwhile I shoud mention Mom and Dad are in Austin scouring the internet for a VW repair place. They find one not too far from my place.

The tow truck guys load it up and we get in the cab. Me in the middle. Two funnier black dudes you'll not meet. The dude in the passenger seat talked non-stop about women with a particular fascination with a certain part of them of which he "needed to get some of. Baaaaad." It was pretty funny. We eventually dropped off the ride and I walked the mile or so home.

Total time? 3:56 minutes.

The place didn't have a key drop so I left a note on the dash urging any would-be midtown tow trucks not to tow her. I gotta jog up there first thing in the AM and give them the key. Hopefully they can do it or we're screwed. In three-and-a-half years Ol' Red hasn't given me a day's trouble so I hope she's ok. I really don't wanna buy a car. Truthfully, I don't even want one at all.

So I'm taking the train in to work tomorrow. Perhaps this is the start of the Carless in ATL chapter?

I'll take pictures.

Monday, December 18, 2006

O Holy Night

Most of my readers and all of my friends know of my obsession with Studio 60. Tonight they replayed the Christmas espisode which ends with this little moment of, well, magic. Fortunately, NBC has become smart enough to post these things up for people to share. So allow me.

It's like 4 minutes long but I assure you worth every second. How that show is not eating all other tv alive is beyond me.

So this is the new year

Like many Americans, I hate New Year's. Well, not the whole starting over/new beginning part but the New Year's Eve celebration part. Yet for most of my adult life as much as I have sworn it off, I have been suckered into this belief that one must be in the right place, at the right time, surrounded by all of your best friends in order to ring it in in style.


But I think that's kind of crap. Talk about amateur night. New Year's blows. At least in the city.

The last couple of years I was lucky enough to spend the holiday in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina at the beauiful Green River Preserve summer camp (free of the kiddos, of course) with people whom I genuinely liked, eating and drinking in total comfort, nowhere else to go. What's more, the drive back was no more than 2.5 hours so it was an easy trek. Honestly, it was like camping except for we stayed in quite splendid cabins. And there were fireworks! A scary amount of them, honestly. And late-night, drunken jam sessions/drum circles. And hikes through the woods complete with stargazing.

But, sadly, this year it looks like I'll be back to the city unless some miracle trip develops.

Fortunately, our man Jeff Nixon is coming back to Atlanta and so a bunch of us are going to see the Drive by Truckers at the Variety Playhouse so that should be fun. At least we'll be in one place.

But it still sucks. And everyone knows the real party has always been on the 4th.

"I wish the world was flat like the old days
Then i could travel just by folding a map"

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Just put Timberlake on the cast!

This is where my indie cred goes out the window but the answer to saving SNL is Justin Timberlake. The guy's crazy talented and a major comic talent. And a majorly good musician. And he knocked out the funniest skits of the season in one night. I swear to god he wrote half of them:

The "Santa vs. homeless shelter" dance-off.

The "Dick in a Box" short with Andy Samberg.

The return of the "Barry Gibb Talk Show" wtih the great Jimmy Fallon making a cameo.

"Hip Hop Kids" - you gotta recognize your sedimentary rock formations, yo!

Not to mention the muthafucka brought sexy back!

Oh, and I should also mention my undying love of Amy Pohler. Could have something to do with it. She's about as good as it gets in my book.

I was lucky enough in my first year in NYC to get tickets through the August lottery to see SNL in January of 2001. Charlie Sheen hosted and Nellie Furtado was the musical guest. Will Ferrell was still in the cast. As New Yorkers, we always felt that was our show. My friend Lauren worked as Lorne's assistant and so we always knew all the inside drama. There was a buzz Saturday night and Sunday morning about what happened. Even without Tivo and Youtube we knew what they had done because it was newsworthy.

That's why I still take it personally. It should define the cutting edge of comedy culture. It used to. It should now. Hire me if you can't do it yourselves.

But then this is what you get for doing fuck all for the entire weekend aside from sitting in your apartment doing a bunch of work and book revisions in preparation for your new year PR launch. You spend the weekend sitting in your apartment, drnking way too much coffee, warming your cold feet on your powerbook plug, listening to too much Modest Mouse and Ryan Adams, and you come up with some extra ideas.

Can Hunger

This morning I saw an ad for the Kroger grocery chain's "Can Hunger" drive (worst logo ever, btw) and was reminded of a little project we did back in school.

As part of some local art-school competition here in Atlanta, we at the Portfolio Center were asked to submit designs for sculptures to be built out of Kroger private-label products and displayed in a local mall. All products used in our designs would then be donated to a local food bank.

I was teamed up with the limitlessly talented Robert Finkle. He and I were initially a little suspicious of whether we were competing with like junior high kids or something so we came up with all these really high-minded conceptual works of art first. I figured if we were gonna do it we should "art" this thing up such that people would feel small and artistically retarded upon viewing our Dada-esque works that they wouldn't be able to grasp. "What do all the doll heads covered in spagetti sauce signify?" they would ask. And their heads would no doubt hurt.

Given the structural hurdles and fears of a canned good collpase, we decided on a less complicated though no less conceptual design we called "Can Hunger"—the bad pun was ours first. They ripped it. At any rate, our "sculpture" was chosen to be built and so we had to go out to the glorious Discover Mills mall and build it on a Saturday morning for all to see.

The structure itself was nothing more than a huge can made from, you guessed it, cans. The trick was three "windows" in its wall through which you could view little signs we made (I told you this thing was pretty deep). One of the windows was high up, one a little lower and one around waist-high and through each one read the message "100% of hunger in men/women/children is preventable." The men one was the top one, women in the middle, etc. All type was done on cardboard and the title of the project was written on a piece leaned up against it.

It was no contest and we won the competition handily. Check it (and excuse the underwear exposure. We had both agreed to do the tough-guy/rapper pose but only one guy acutally did it):

We each won $250 gift cards to the mall. Despite swearing if I won I was gonna buy a gun at the massive Bass Pro Shops I instead just bought some sunglasses, a jacket and some shoes.

Another funny story is we were given a $50 gift card to Home Depot with which to buy any hardware we needed for the build. Since we basically needed a dowl rod, some fishing line and three pieces of metal we had some cash left over and used it to buy supplies (lights, tape, etc.) for the world's greatest 80's party that took place that night at the Acorn Avenue house.

It rocked.

Oh, and working all day because we're pitching an account on 1/4 is no fun. Just in case you were wondering how I spent my sunny and 70-degree day.

Friday, December 15, 2006

We're on a road to nowhere

A fascinating look at our lives from a NY Times article on census data findings:

The link: hp&ex=1166245200&en=d40213194fc19049&ei=5094&partner=homepage

Good lord, what will become of us?

Oh and here's some Christmas ad humor, for those of you who enjoy that kind of thing.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

As promised, speed-skating

I don't even know what to say other than here it is:

It was late.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

This Christmas cheer is delicious. Can I get another?

Last night was the big company Christmas party. This year it was at Club 1150 which, being a club/discoteque and all, was an odd venue but it turned out to be a pretty good time. Even without glow sticks and ecstacy or whatever people do at clubs nowadays. The food was pretty darn good, there was a lot of dancing and apparently we hired a bunch of really funny people this past year.

Best of all it was close to home so I didn't have to drive. Which meant I could drink. And drink we did. People were geting after it. There was even a tequila shot at one point. Yowzers. We had a a couple of drinks at the Four Seasons before heading over, a bunch of drinks there and then a couple of drinks afterward at a bar across the street. Made it home a shade past two. On a school night. Needless to say, this morning was a little slow for everyone. Here's a pic of me at the party—I don't know what I'm doing with my face either. Note the pocket-square (it's the new tie, by the way.)

Not too much crazy happened but I do remember an epiode of "speed-skating" that I broke into when a girl dumped an entire glass of ice water on the floor of the bar. Hey, it's ice. I'm skating. It was documented on film and I'm trying to get my hands on it 'cause I heard it's pretty funny.

Stay tuned for hilarious speed-skating photos.

Monday, December 11, 2006

A sneak peek

Against my better judgement, I'm posting up an outtake from today's photo shoot for the world's worst holiday card. Sadly, today was a frikkin' zoo (I can't even get into it but involved some calls to LA, some editing over the phone and lots and lots and lots of praying) or I would have taken more time to do up my hair and we probably would have both gone for some sort of slacks or something equally John Mark Karr-like.

Sadly, as fun as this picture may be, there was no way to crop it without my torn-up jeans being in it. We needed one of those big fuzzy things they make you pose on at like Olan Mills but, man, are those things hard to find!

But how 'bout them sweaters, huh? Ladie's extra-larges, in case you're wondering. And yes, that is the most cheesy, vacant smile I could possibly muster. Frankly, looking at it now on screen, I'm a little freaked out myself.

But the shot we ended up going with makes this one look almost normal by comparison. Trust me.

City of Angels

Rather than go out Saturday night I stayed in and made this little iMovie of the recent LA trip. It's pretty simple and probably doesn't mean anything to anyone but me but I thought I'd post it up. I tried to post it all day yesterday but something was up with my home connection. So here it is.

"And earthquakes are to a girl's guitar
They're just another good vibration."

Sunday, December 10, 2006

It had a heart made of sound

Here's something fun to try: see how long you can watch this little video without smiling.

Sweet, right? The band is the Soft Lightes. They're out of California. They only have an EP on iTunes but they sound cool.

Thanks to Jeff Bell for pointing that little guy out.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

Let the sweater find you

At a shade past 12:19 this afternoon, I received the following text message from Justin:

i have 2 god awful sweaters in my possesion.

The early bird apparently got the sweaters. Justin had already hit the JC Penney in the suburbs while I was just pulling out of my place to hit up the Marts, K and Wal. While listening to some Jeff Buckley this morning I decided against cutting my hair and so slept in and read the papers.

In your face, sweet old ladies.

Tomorrow we shoot.

Friday, December 08, 2006

Look where my hand was

At lunch today Justin and I went on a search for sweaters at the mall and came back with, well, the glaring truth that Atlanta's done gone and fancied itself up. I mean, what happened to bad taste? Used to be on every corner. Do old ladies shop at like the other side of the store where rock stars like Slash shop? Do they all have stylists? Is there a knitting conspiracy about?

Justin even stopped two sweet old ladies (SOL's) at the mall who were wearing god-awful Christmas sweaters (no bedazzling, but at this point I'd take it) and asked them where they scored them. Well he asked where they got them. Old people don't use words like "score", I suppose. Here's how it went down*:

JUSTIN: Pardon me, where did you all get those great sweaters?

SOL1: Well, I honestly don't remember (She was clearly lying. Then again, old people are forgetful)

SOL2: I think we got them in Columbus (One can only assume Columbus, GA. Unless she was throwing us off the path)

JUSTIN: Thanks so much. I just know my mother would love one of those. (I'd go half-truth on that one)

SOL1&2: Oh, that's so sweet! (they meant that, no doubt about it)

And scene.

This is one of those rare occasions when everyone's day gets made but for totally different reasons.

Tomorrow, we're gonna scour the outskirts in the hopes of shooting Sunday. We really need to get these rolling otherwise we would just eBay and be done. We gots to get these things mail-borne by mid-week. I mean, it's almost mid-December already.

On a side note, ever have one of those days when you wake up with a tune on your head and that thing just starts synching up with everything that day? Today that song for me was the Talking Heads' "Once in a Lifetime."

Same as it ever was. Same. as. it. ever. was.

* it should be noted that during the above scene Howard was safely downstage feigning interest in a window display so as to avoid any awkward lying Justin may have gotten himself into. And to keep from saying things like "oh, come on! You don't remember? Puh-lease! That's such a lie! Just tell us where you got the sweaters, you old bat!" or "how much for both of them?"

Thursday, December 07, 2006

I could rock around this. Maybe even in the new, old-fashioned way.

Check out this little number from ebay.

I've got like 32 minutes and 12 seconds to make a decision on whether I want to part with $9.95 on this thing. It's Lord and Taylor! Woo-hoo.

The thing is, I need it fast—like this weekend. Oh yeah, and I need one for Justin. Unless we shot each other separately and then 'shopped us in. That could work.

Genius! A Christmas miracle, per chance?

UPDATE: Lost last minute bidding war, item sold for $15.50.