Pizza Nista

I had to share this...

I'm currently shooting a movie in Los Angeles.  It's got it's strengths and weaknesses, but I'm having a good time through it all.  Last night, we were filming in the tunnels downtown, and after a solid 5 hours of shooting, Bart (the writer/director/producer) took us all out for pizza at Pizza Nista.  At this point, I think everyone was a little tired and hungry.  We got our pizzas, Brandon knocked the garlic rolls out of the server's hands, chuckles were had, whatever.  As the meal came to an end, plates were stacked, napkins were scattered akimbo, and there was a piece of spinach (from the fantastic spinach/goat cheese pizza) left on the table, sprinkled with a little bit of hot pepper.

Taylor says "Hey Brandon.  I'll give you seventy cents to eat that spinach."  You know, just to say something.

Before he has a chance to answer, Sarah butts in.  "What?  What's wrong with it?"  My ears perked up.

"Oh, I was just telling Brandon I'd give him seventy cents to eat that spinach."

"Seventy cents?" Sarah says, clearly interested.  "I'll do it."

"I don't even have seventy cents."  Taylor is forced to admit.  Her bluff has been called.

"Well then I won't do it."  I've clearly found my soulmate.  After a beat, Sarah continues: "What should I eat?"  I'm obviously first to answer her call.

"I'll give you five dollars to eat half that hot pepper shaker."  I fear it was a low-ball, but I only had six dollars.  But that's now important.  What's important is that she was serious, and so was I.  She grabs at it.  Murmurs of "Whoa, that's a lot..." and "No way..." dance from the perimeter of droopy-eyed mouths at the table.  I'm blocking them out.  Sarah weighs out the possibilities, but ultimately, she really wants to eat something for money.

"How about I eat a big handful?"

"Two bucks."  I tell her.

"Two bucks?"  She pours herself a respectable handful.  The consensus around the table is that this is worth more than two dollars.  Three at least.  But this is no longer their game into which they can chime  and chirp.  This is between Sarah and myself.  I don't budge, and she doesn't ask me to.  We know what this is.  Those other fucks don't.  With confident whiplash, she downs the handful of red pepper.  She's not phased or grossed-out.  She's not pulling a face or even sweating the heroic load of spices she just ingested.  She's chili, baby.  Goat cheese gravy.  Emotions have never been so genuinely present and connected (which is a shame, seeing as how we're shooting a fucking movie).  I hand over my double-Washington, knowing full well that I would be doing so on one knee were she not already involved with Bart.  I knew Sarah wasn't doing this for the two dollars.  She wasn't even doing it for the attention.  She was simply doing it for the silent glory of eating something that there was no reason to eat for a meager, purely symbolic reward.  A beat of my own heart, blown in from the same winds that move me.

Bless you, Sarah.

Touched,
-LS^2

Hot Chip

I don't think it's funny to mess with homeless people or drive-thru attendants.  If you do, fuck you.

-LS^2

Headbreathers

I'm at the Valley Plaza Public Library.  Public libraries attract very heavy breathers.  At 3pm on Saturday they'll be showing One Direction videos.  I'm happy for any One Direction fans who will be attending.  I had a student in Mungyeong named Hye Won who loved One Direction.  It was the only thing about her that made me think she wasn't brilliant and on her way to a righteously fulfilling life.  Then again, what do I know?  I touted Saved by the Bell as my all-time favorite television show into my late-twenties.  I really need to do more consistent check-ins with my psyche before speaking.

Okay, gotta go to the bathroom.  Remember: 3pm Saturday!

On my way to Bart's,
-LS^2

Not for (Garage) Sale

Well, they did it.  The Broncos beat the Patriots.  Congratulations, guys.  I guess the Broncos coat I had in 1989 doesn't seem to stupid now, does it?!

I'm sorry to dismantle your idea of me as the perfect human, but I have a terrible rash on my foot.  It looks like poison ivy on ecstasy.  It's somethin'.  I also have zero idea how I got it.  There I was, watchin' π on the TV when my in-between-toes started to itch.  Scratch-scratch-scratch later, and I see that they're bubblin' up.  "Yuck" I remember saying.  Shower, dry, voila.  But the next day, it was twice as bad.  Then today, it was fugly.  It feels weird now, but I'm hoping my tried-and-true technique of turning a blind eye to every medical malady that has come my way since strutting out from under the umbrella of insurance will do the trick.  Wish me luck, heathens.

Tonight I'll watch Jimmy play some guitars and the come home (because that's where I live).  But before I go, you should watch this.  Her name is Nana and she's delightfully hilarious in the oddest way.  She's also quite the fun dance partner.  She also shares a name with my grandmother (Nana, not Virginia).

Get well (if applicable),
-LS^2

Lucas, age 7

Toe Jam & the Piggies

Nana & the Happy Cats

Happy Holiday, America!
feat: Jingle Cats

The Year of the Horse

Today is the Lunar New Year*.  Some may call this the real New Year's Eve, but not I.  Last year I was living in Korea at this time, and we got a few days off for this wondrous event.  I remember being in bed early but hearing the festivities of my boss and his family through the walls.  It sounded like they were repeatedly throwing fire wood on the ground, and occasionally this brought them great joy.  I learned later that it was a form of gambling that families traditionally do.  Even the kids.  Seems unfair, but they all had a good time.  I guess going rum-and-egg-nog for rum-and-egg-nog with your kids is pretty imbalanced too, but luckily I was a seasoned drinker by then.  And they weren't my kids.

The Summer of 2001 was a strange one for me.  I was fresh off my first year of college and living back at "home."  I worked at the Amoco Pep Stop and hung out with Ken Bossler a lot.  By virtue of that, I was getting into stuff that coulda got me in trouble.  Luckily, I'm smart and Ken-whether you'd think it or not-took really good care of me.  Better than he did for himself.  We rode bikes a lot and played frisbee a lot.  Near the beginning of August, my mind hurt a little and I decided to quit my job.  It was a self-induced freak out that I blamed on narrow-minded farmers but in all honesty was just me having a hard time dealing with my chemical imbalances.  So I called Cindy and asked if it would screw things up if I left and didn't come back.  She gave me a sympathetic but worried "No" and after settling up my tab (approximately $25 for oatmeal cream pies), I left the store, removed my shirt and never looked back.  So this set the tone for my last 3 weeks in Mt. Pleasant.  There was lots of McDonald's, guitar and TV. Chandra Levy's disappearance was big news, which strangely paralleled the local Missing Person case of Mt. Pleasant's own Nicole Forshee-Syperda.  I had just acquired John Frusciante's 2nd solo album "Smile from the Streets You Hold" (A Fall Thru the Ground is still one of my most haunting memories).  I watched a lot of The Amanda Bynes Show and Zoom (Alisa was my favorite.  I thought she was energetic and sweet).  I waited until 3pm when the mail and the newspaper would come, which signaled that my friend Ryan would be home soon.  I'd watch for his work van, then call him.  I think it got on his nerves, but I was fine with that.  I also went to Burlington once with Pam and took her to Venus' Adult Bookstore.  It was her first time, and I hoped to parlay this into sex, but instead we just talked about it a bunch.  Oh, and at some point in there, I severely pissed off Alea and after I made a midnight sojourn to her house and scratched on her window (I think to apologize), she lambasted me with "You're the biggest fucking prick I've ever met."  While that certainly wasn't true, my behavior that night certainly warranted such a thrashing.  We made up.

So yeah.  Those are the things I'm reflecting on in this Saturday afternoon.  That, and that today is Sam's funeral.  I believe Marco is playing guitar at it and Sam has been or will be cremated.  It weighs heavy on my heart, and I hope everyone can make the most of what this gives them.  Goodnight, Sam.

I love all of you, but I love Marco the most.

-LS^2

* mad author of anguish's note = it wasn't really the Lunar New Year.  That's this January 31.  I'm sorry if this changes anything for the worse.

Alisa: Then

Alisa: Now

Chandra Levy, the abducted

John Frusciante

A Fall Thru the Ground

"Smile From the Streets You Hold"

Marco Salazar

Please welcome the man I love the most, Marco Andréas Salazar.

Marco Salazar

Natural Ice

Buckets,

-LS^2

RIP Sam Kennedy

At some time last night, my brother's good friend Sam Kennedy took his own life.  This is the 2nd suicide of someone I know (though have not been terribly close to) I've reported on this blog.  Doesn't that seem like too many?  Doesn't one seem like too many?

I didn't know Sam well, but he was always kind to me.  I think he looked up to Marco a lot and because Marco and I look up to each other, Sam was happy to put his trust in us.  He also had some amazing boots.  I worry about the families and friends surrounding the situation, and obviously I'm most worried for Marco.  I don't like this weighing on him, and I hope he finds a healthy system with which to deal with it and some good people to stick with.

I hope you're all well out there, y'all.  Talk to someone before you hurt yourself.

Love,
-LS^2

Goodnight, Sam.

"Tonight's About ME, Not Your F*ckin' Hip!"

It's Friday night, 4 minutes of 7:00.  Am I the only one with a bottle of wine watching Van Halen interviews?

No?

Good.

-LS^2

The Volume is Wheelie

I tend to be a homebody.  At the moment, I am "sans employment" as I am plotting another Asian takeover in about a month.  So this lack of a job means no money, plenty of freedom.  But I suppose I generally just end up staying close to the hub.  Not sure why...

So I'm at the library now, and I know why I don't come here for my solace too often.  While there are books and humans who will assist you in taking these books home, the Hollywood Library on Ivar more resembles a bus station or soupless soup kitchen.  Droves of the homeless settle in here to have loud conversations and panhandle.  It's not terribly relaxing, and the employees-understandably-do not exhibit a heroic amount of patience, even when I approach them with my apologies for existing pre-caked on my face.  It's the way of the big city, right?

I applied for a line of credit today from Wells Fargo.  I haven't touched it yet, but it'll help my credit, which is already remarkable.  Good thing, too, because very shortly I'm going to need some financial institution to loan me some money so I can get a head start on wherever I will be landing next month, whether that be Korea or Taiwan (it's gonna be Taiwan).

Cat's outta the bag!  I'm going to Taiwan!  Despite multiple job offers and secure positions offered in Korea and China, I'm taking what is easily the riskiest option.  This will aid in my attempt to live a half-baked life until I die.  I will ride a scooter, become a foreign movie star and be the most okay teacher the world has ever seen!  And I'll get to see Zeus.  Ryan.  Zeus.

I want wings, dude.  Me hungry.

Why are all these people making ridiculous noises?  I suppose mental competence plays a role.  I'm no hater, but rather just a naive library-goer.  I owe this place $12, so I guess I don't have any more stake in these tables than the next guy.  I should take care of that.

Oy.

Wandering gracefully,
LS^2

Olga

Your Vagina

No Sign Off Necessary,

-LS^2

We're All Infected

I stay home a lot.  I go on walks, too, but I stay home a lot.  Nowadays that means cleaning with Ryan, reading, making fruit smoothies.  It gets old, man.  So tonight I'm goin' to UCB to see some pupil comedy.  If I had money, I'd get blackout drunk, too.  But I don't.  And it's a new year.  And I don't actually wanna.  Come on, now.  That's the old me.  Gimme a break.

Sometimes when I have sex (I haven't lately) or when I get really sick (I haven't lately), I start to hallucinate.  Many times, it's a riddle of sorts I have to solve but is ultimately unsolvable.  Past hallucinations include:

-reaching a mirage
-finding a way to sneak attack an opposing front-line in a ground war
-lowering a cheesy puff into a pinhole via cross-stitch string
-figuring out a language I've never spoken
-getting 3 kids dressed in black off of my driveway

I don't know where these come from or why my illness and love-making trigger such a cacophony of mental hyjinx in my mind.  So it goes.  I should do more field work.  Lick more flowers and handrails.

Hire me, motherfuckers.  I'm tired of waiting!

Profanity in a Can,
-LS^2

  

To give you an idea...

30 Seconds to Lars

It's the 2nd!  I'd've happily lied and proclaimed "It's the 1st!" in at attempt to trick you, but you'd find out.  You always do.

My body's so sore I walk like Frankenstein's little boy toy.

I had dinner with Tamar at Lala's.  She's a wonderful.  That's all you get.

I just took Slaughterhouse-Five from the library.  There's a bar in Iowa City called The Foxhead inside of which many famous authors were rumored (and verified) to have spent time drinkin'.  Kurt Vonnegut was one of them.  He's sort of a darling of Iowa City.  I used to live in the house that bordered his backyard.  Anyway, the bathroom was covered in literary graffiti, and right above the toilet it said:

Vonnegut.

Vonnegut?

Vonnegut?!

FUCK Vonnegut!

PHILIP K. DICK!!!

Yeah?  Well that's just, like, your opinion, man.  But what the fuck do I care?  I'm just Lucas.  Lucas Salazar.  Eat shit if you don't like it.  Eat the shit from the toilet.  At The Foxhead.

Okay, I'm'a read somethin' now.  I got a few options.  But no Philip K. Dick.

Bye bye!

-LS^2

This bar.  A guy named Sully

offered to fight me here.  I declined.