In checking in with AOL News this morning, I was informed that I've most likely been using Reynold's Wrap all wrong. My general approach is to unroll between 15-20 yards of foil, cover it in latex-saturated towelettes, cook it for 40 minutes in an industrial rubber oven, spray it with a 50/50 mix of moisturizing cream and Stoli, crinkle it up, cover my body in it, let it settle to form a cast of my body, let sit for 3 hours, punch up the groin area, mail it to Vlassic and request that my likeness by their new spokesthing. Now tell me, AOL, is that what you had in mind?
This morning, I was riding my bike down Hollywood Blvd. when I saw John Ennis. He looks great. It was quite the thing, as just the day before, my mate Rollin told me that they were performing together in a piece at Second City on Sunday. So when I saw him, I shouted "Rollin Perry!" This caught his attention and I explained why I shouted someone else's name at him. He understood and sang Rollin's praises. I then mentioned that we had in fact met before through Stacey, my boss at Argentum. "Oh yeah, Stacey. I love that guy. And now I love you too." I thanked him for his kind words and he invited me to his show on Sunday. "I'll try and make it." As his light turned to Walk, he left me with this: "If you ever need anything, let me know. I'll do anything you want." For fuck's sake, his kindness wins. He wins. John Ennis wins. And when John Ennis wins, we all win. So congratulations. You won.
I'm ready to play some disc golf with The Funk Bros.
-LS^2
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Impending Reeves
It's been a minute. And to you-my thirsty babies-I apologize. I've been interviewing like madness and trying to narrow down where I will move. My back? Get off it.
I got the hungers. I want breakfast. Nowish. I should have bought more snoovie fixin's Monday. Oranges and kale, that's what I'm dealin' with.
Gotta give some shit away to Goodwill. Last time I went there, there was a fight in the parking lot-the second fight I saw that day. The first one left my bike stomped by a 90 pound homeless boy. After all was said and done, all pieces of all parties were still in place and functional.
I'm still tired.
I'm still hungry.
Gotta walk Judy now.
Kiss,
-LS^2
I got the hungers. I want breakfast. Nowish. I should have bought more snoovie fixin's Monday. Oranges and kale, that's what I'm dealin' with.
Gotta give some shit away to Goodwill. Last time I went there, there was a fight in the parking lot-the second fight I saw that day. The first one left my bike stomped by a 90 pound homeless boy. After all was said and done, all pieces of all parties were still in place and functional.
I'm still tired.
I'm still hungry.
Gotta walk Judy now.
Kiss,
-LS^2
Drama Queen.
Arlen at Runyon.
Charming street art.
Some of the cloudy majesty
of Runyon.
of Runyon.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
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
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
Saturday, January 25, 2014
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
-LS^2
Friday, January 24, 2014
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
Okay, gotta go to the bathroom. Remember: 3pm Saturday!
On my way to Bart's,
-LS^2
Sunday, January 19, 2014
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
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
feat: Jingle Cats
Saturday, January 18, 2014
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.
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"
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