BUSH: My Grandma's been in the hospital a couple times since the last post, for one-day stays. The family's been rotating to make sure someone's always around her until we can get her a home, but she seems to be getting better with time. She has lost a bunch of weight, which at her age can't be good. On the other hand I think all the intrafamily drama bullshit has effectively come to an end for the time being to further the greater good. The future is certain, David Byrne once wrote. Give us time to work it out.
ALBA: Paulena's birthday party last Friday. Ran into two more girls I hadn't seen in forever, one partying and one waitressing. Plus, I got to hang out with a bunch of Aaron's people that I hardly ever see, too. Too bad Ivan skipped out. I guess.
BUSH: I still haven't gone on a date this year. I'm about to blow the last hurdle of my 3-month resolutions. Grrr...
ALBA: I did send the Crush a note yesterday which got replied back to today. I wish it was longer, but she did sound interested in the Rosserverse. The future is certain...
ALBA: Two great books in two completely different ways, The Year Of Yes & Never Drank The Kool-Aid. I love Toure--he's like a quasi mentor. The man put in "hip-hop zeitgeist" and survived Suge Knight. And the Year book didn't change my dating philsophy at all but I feel somehow enriched for having read her experience. Probably because I was so miserable on Hallmark Day.
BUSH: I don't know why Cristal is suddenly popping up on the outskirts of the grid. Well, I have a supicion she took my friendly gift for her covering for me on New Year's Eve--and by the way, really wasn't worth it in the hindsight--into some sign of me wanting to get back together. And I think she wants to. And I don't. And lord help me if I have to tell her that. Somehow the phrase "bottom-feeding scum sucker" seems wholly appropriate and underwhelming in the same fell swoop.
ALBA: Music? Glad you asked! "Black Sweat" from Prince; funky. "Temperature" by Sean Paul. Do I know what the fuck he's saying in the verses? Does it matter? (In order: no. yes.) And, most importantly, a cover of "What You Waiting For?"...by Franz Ferdinand. No, seriously. And closing things out with a snippet of "White Wedding" was just really the icing on the cupcake. This week's throwback was almost "Electric Relaxation" by Tribe, and then almost "Make It Real" by the Jets (because everybody sleeps on the Jets), but it's my favorite diss track of all time, "No Vaseline" by Cube. Yea-yea!
ALBA: I forgot to mention at Paulena's birthday party, I did the splits. I'm NOT too old for this shit!
BUSH: Unfortunately, about 50 yards away after the party across the street from where me & Aaron's posse was...and sometimes you just know from sound how this one's going to end.
ALBA: The FSU cowgirls --> Back when I was 5, I thought I should've gone. Now I know. 5-year-old me was a psychic genius.
ALBA: Chappelle's Block Party coming out Friday. I think this and V For Vendetta are the only things I'm really psyched for movie-wise. Well, at least until Final Destination 4 comes out...
ALBA: New World Poker Tour next week! YEAH!
np: "Respect Yourself" by the Staple Singers
2/27/06
2/20/06
How I Roll, By The Numbers
How's my February? Glad you asked!
8: days total (taking out Valentine's Day)
4: total parties
2: towns partied in (Burbank, San Diego)
1¼: number of lapdances received
3: old friends rolled with
about 100: stars seen on the Walk Of fame
2: number of stars I "defaced"
1: blonde waitresses who had to straddle me to deliver my shots
7: rough number of drinks had two Saturdays ago
0: number of hangovers the next morning
1: number of ludicrously hot women who've won Vegas tournaments I've played with
1: number of ludicrously hot women who've won Vegas tournaments I've lost to
1: number of times I wished Certain People would've told me the Vegas thing before I started playing
1: snap decisions made last Friday to go to Stingaree, the hot new club in town
0: number of times I regretted it
90, roughly: number of seconds between me thinking "I'm going to run into someone I know here tonight." and then actually doing so almost literally
5: number of minutes between us hanging out again and him introducing me to some girls
2: number of girls
1: number of girls I'd never seen before, but found cute
1: number of girls I'd seen before, because they were the first girl in high school I'd ever had a crush on
9: number of years since I'd seen said crush
30: number of consecutive seconds I actually was so awed I shut up
1: in the conversation between the Crush and I, number of nurses involved
45: number of minutes I danced with Crush
10: number of minutes for her to back it up after I gave her room
.37: number of milliseconds for me to think "HOLY SHIT"
1: number of out-of-body experiences
1: number of times I busted out the Running Man
1: number of times Crush laughed and started yelling out "Go! Go! Go! Go!"
about 20: number of people who took up the chant
4: number of times I had to think of a downer
1: number of "perfect games" thrown by yours truly
2: number of times I went to Stingaree in 20 hours
3: number of Screaming Orgasms I had down the block to "warm up"
0: number of times I paid double to rush through the "express lane"
1: number of jaws dropped telling the story about Friday night Saturday night
$200: estimated cost of suit drunken white guy who talked to me Saturday night leading with "Where are all the sisters at?"
7: number of times he brought up VIP in 2 minutes
40%: my odds he actually had it
3: number of times he got shot down on the way upstairs
1: number of VIP areas the man with jungle fever had at his disposal
2: number of Grey Goose bottles he had on ice
1: number of whole glasses I poured, at his insistence
5 to 7: estimated number of shots' worth I poured into said glass
$40 to $100: estimated value of alcohol poured
1: number of times I thanked him for his largesse
0: number of times I looked back when I left right afterwards
$0: amount it cost me
4: number of jaws that dropped when I told that story
1: best club EVER. EVER ever.
1: number of fancy hotel rooms I can't even remember fully
1: number of delicious burritos at 2:30 in the morning in said fancy hotel room
16: number of shoutouts I'd like to put here: Aaron, Ivan, Amanda, Erin, Jo, Omar, Danny, Marcos, Chris, the Crush, the three guys from Texas I met in line, Geneva, her boyfriend who's name I can't pronounce, and Barlow, who's drink he bought me was doomed to be overshadowed
off the board: chances I have kavorka
np: "Sympathy For The Devil" by the Stones
8: days total (taking out Valentine's Day)
4: total parties
2: towns partied in (Burbank, San Diego)
1¼: number of lapdances received
3: old friends rolled with
about 100: stars seen on the Walk Of fame
2: number of stars I "defaced"
1: blonde waitresses who had to straddle me to deliver my shots
7: rough number of drinks had two Saturdays ago
0: number of hangovers the next morning
1: number of ludicrously hot women who've won Vegas tournaments I've played with
1: number of ludicrously hot women who've won Vegas tournaments I've lost to
1: number of times I wished Certain People would've told me the Vegas thing before I started playing
1: snap decisions made last Friday to go to Stingaree, the hot new club in town
0: number of times I regretted it
90, roughly: number of seconds between me thinking "I'm going to run into someone I know here tonight." and then actually doing so almost literally
5: number of minutes between us hanging out again and him introducing me to some girls
2: number of girls
1: number of girls I'd never seen before, but found cute
1: number of girls I'd seen before, because they were the first girl in high school I'd ever had a crush on
9: number of years since I'd seen said crush
30: number of consecutive seconds I actually was so awed I shut up
1: in the conversation between the Crush and I, number of nurses involved
45: number of minutes I danced with Crush
10: number of minutes for her to back it up after I gave her room
.37: number of milliseconds for me to think "HOLY SHIT"
1: number of out-of-body experiences
1: number of times I busted out the Running Man
1: number of times Crush laughed and started yelling out "Go! Go! Go! Go!"
about 20: number of people who took up the chant
4: number of times I had to think of a downer
1: number of "perfect games" thrown by yours truly
2: number of times I went to Stingaree in 20 hours
3: number of Screaming Orgasms I had down the block to "warm up"
0: number of times I paid double to rush through the "express lane"
1: number of jaws dropped telling the story about Friday night Saturday night
$200: estimated cost of suit drunken white guy who talked to me Saturday night leading with "Where are all the sisters at?"
7: number of times he brought up VIP in 2 minutes
40%: my odds he actually had it
3: number of times he got shot down on the way upstairs
1: number of VIP areas the man with jungle fever had at his disposal
2: number of Grey Goose bottles he had on ice
1: number of whole glasses I poured, at his insistence
5 to 7: estimated number of shots' worth I poured into said glass
$40 to $100: estimated value of alcohol poured
1: number of times I thanked him for his largesse
0: number of times I looked back when I left right afterwards
$0: amount it cost me
4: number of jaws that dropped when I told that story
1: best club EVER. EVER ever.
1: number of fancy hotel rooms I can't even remember fully
1: number of delicious burritos at 2:30 in the morning in said fancy hotel room
16: number of shoutouts I'd like to put here: Aaron, Ivan, Amanda, Erin, Jo, Omar, Danny, Marcos, Chris, the Crush, the three guys from Texas I met in line, Geneva, her boyfriend who's name I can't pronounce, and Barlow, who's drink he bought me was doomed to be overshadowed
off the board: chances I have kavorka
np: "Sympathy For The Devil" by the Stones
2/18/06
Fuck KWBR (Or How Your Hero Faced Down His Past, Bitchslapped It And Had It Go In The Kitchen To Make Me A Samich)
Here's some shit I'm writing down before I forget it:
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
READY TO RUN:
"Stay Fly" (4)
"King Without A Crown" (10)
"Unconditional" (12)
"Trap Star" (15)
15) Bubba Sparxxx feat. Ying Yang Twins ¤ Ms. New Booty (debut)
14) Juelz Santana ¤ There It Go [The Whistle Song] (6)
13) Coldplay ¤ Talk (debut)
12) Fall Out Boy ¤ Dance, Dance (11)
11) MC Lars feat. the Matches ¤ Hot Topic Is Not Punk Rock (debut)
10) Juvenile ¤ Rodeo (13)*
9) Dem Franchize Boyz feat. Jermaine Dupri, Da Brat & Bow Wow ¤ I Think They Like Me [remix] (8)
8) Young Jeezy ¤ My Hood (9)*
7) Chamillionaire feat. Lil' Flip ¤ Turn It Up (2)
6) T-Pain feat. Mike Jones ¤ I'm N Luv With A Stripper (7)
5) Ne-Yo ¤ So Sick (14)*
4) Kanye West ¤ Touch The Sky (debut)*
3) Franz Ferdinand ¤ The Fallen (5)*
2) the White Stripes ¤ The Denial Twist (1)
1) the All-American Rejects ¤ Move Along (3) {2w}
np: "And Then What" by Young Jeezy feat. Mannie Fresh
- Getting a compliment is always going to put an extra spring in your step.
- Grease on a pizza keeps in the taste.
- Oh, my heart stopped.
- There it goes.
- Waiting in line sucks.
- Making friends makes up the difference.
- Rain is the devil.
- Sometimes, a new club is hyped as the new End All Be All and you complain about standing in the rain and the cover charge and it's not worth shit.
- This is not one of those times: Stingaree is the best club in the Gaslamp, and by extension, the county. It's bigger than Kirstie Alley, multi-leveled, the rooftop is going to be TEH SHITE come summertime with the Tiki torches and the beds and whatnot, and the DJ is bananas, B A N A N A S.
- Heineken is good.
- Self-fulfilling prophecies still happen, as when I came back down from the roof thinking I'm going to run into somebody and then doing so, seeing someone for the first time in almost ten years from EHS. (OLD SCHOOL EASTLAKE REPRASENT!)
- Having him introduce me to someone else is doing nothing but make you feel drunk when you're barely on drink #2.
- Having the someone else be the first girl you had a crush on is a MINDFUCK and the only way to even attempt to keep the blood from shooting out of your ears is more Heineken.
- Heinken: nectar of the Gods.
- The only way to get over the first girl you ever had a crush on is to bump and grind the shit out of her for about half an hour. Oh, I shouldn't've, probably, but 14-Year-Old Butch was yelling out "REVENGE, MOTHERFUCKER! You do it now or I KEEL YOU SCUM! That's it! That's what I'm fucking talking about!" the whole time. He's a bad influence. Maybe even a Bad Influence.
- Yeah, I should wrap this up so I have that dream where she uses all that nurse practioning to check my prostate with her mouth. It's an overshare, but I'm drunk. (Charlie Murphy: That's why/I say/FUCK IT.)
- "Perfect Blue Buildings" from the Counting Crows is a godsend at a moment/post like this.
- The Running Man is still like Spanish Fly. How did the Running Man ever go away? I swear, every time I bust out the Running Man everybody loses their shit and I get surrounded with people yelling "Go, go, go, go!" like Common's in the house or something. Can I get a ruling on this?
- Being drunk is still great.
- Bumping and grinding is still great.
- Old school--especially "WHOOMP! (There It Is)"--oh, you guessed it--still great.
- Work in 11-odd hours should be interesting.
- So should the party tomorrow night after your shift ends. 4 parties in 9 days.
- YOU ARE AWESOME. Stop doubting it. (This applies to every one of my friends, but is mostly here as a reminder to me.)
- SATURDAY MORNING ADDENDUM: Of course she's on MySpace. I mean, seriously.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
READY TO RUN:
"Stay Fly" (4)
"King Without A Crown" (10)
"Unconditional" (12)
"Trap Star" (15)
15) Bubba Sparxxx feat. Ying Yang Twins ¤ Ms. New Booty (debut)
14) Juelz Santana ¤ There It Go [The Whistle Song] (6)
13) Coldplay ¤ Talk (debut)
12) Fall Out Boy ¤ Dance, Dance (11)
11) MC Lars feat. the Matches ¤ Hot Topic Is Not Punk Rock (debut)
10) Juvenile ¤ Rodeo (13)*
9) Dem Franchize Boyz feat. Jermaine Dupri, Da Brat & Bow Wow ¤ I Think They Like Me [remix] (8)
8) Young Jeezy ¤ My Hood (9)*
7) Chamillionaire feat. Lil' Flip ¤ Turn It Up (2)
6) T-Pain feat. Mike Jones ¤ I'm N Luv With A Stripper (7)
5) Ne-Yo ¤ So Sick (14)*
4) Kanye West ¤ Touch The Sky (debut)*
3) Franz Ferdinand ¤ The Fallen (5)*
2) the White Stripes ¤ The Denial Twist (1)
1) the All-American Rejects ¤ Move Along (3) {2w}
np: "And Then What" by Young Jeezy feat. Mannie Fresh
2/15/06
2/13/06
The Sobriety Battle Of Los Angeles
Beverly Hills
That's where I want to be
(gimme gimme gimme gimme)
Living in Beverly Hills
Beverly Hills
Rolling like a celebrity
(gimme gimme gimme gimme)
Living in Beverly Hills
--Weezer, "Beverly Hills"
I don't know.
Holy God.
Maybe technology is killing me from the inside out, or maybe the last part of me that refuses not to believe that this is all self-flagellating rising action before the triumphant denoument. (Don't you guys love the fact I'm a journalism geek? DON'T YOU!?) TV, magazines, websites--all point to The Dream. Ubiquitous, rich, famous, therapied and botoxed out of my flippin' skull, 4 houses, 3 Hummers, 2 girlfriends (one a singer-actress, the other an actress-singer), and my own private island.
Those things have taught me my reality should be nothing but the best--I should've gone up and left two corpses where there once were credit cards, running over and into Jessica Alba as a result, eating dinner together before going to the local karoake bar (selections? "Love And Happiness", "Rock N' Roll Ain't Noise Pollution" around midnight for everybody going nutso drunk off their ass, and closing the joint out with "Let's Get It On" or "Sexual Healing"--depending on the day) and back to her five-star hotel, where despite having my body weight in alcohol I would've put on a display of sexual gymnastics to the point where I would've had to quit my job and take a month-long 17-city nationwide tour to demonstrate the Rosser to the less fortunate. At this very moment her head would be looking over my shoulder as she put her chin against it, pinching me to know when I've gone too far.
See what I mean? CRAZY.
(Of course, all the best things were accomplished by people assumed nuts...)
Anyway, the point before the recap: we are conditioned to think anything less than the peak of awesomeness ceases to be awesome. But there is such a thing as non-demonstrative non-ostentacious really great awesome. It just doesn't get the hype something ludicrously awesome does. It plays Marvin Harrison to Chad Johnson if that helps you.
Saturday and I'm up so fucking early I start regretting not going out the night before and just staying up through it to the end. Like, 7. Trust me, when you set up your college schedule and job to make it so that you usually don't have to be conscious until 9 or 10, let alone out the door at 8, this makes a difference. It's Aaron, Ivan and I going up to la-la to see Amanda. Once there, she's giving us the touristplus treatment.
Butch's Things I've Learned, #47, #48, #49: The only thing I regret about this weekend--not going to the Pulp Fiction diner, Lou's from Fight Club, or Sunnydale High.
We hit the big brother to the north, and here's a surprise: besides a small accident, we make it in a little over two hours. Past Disneyland, Knotts, all that work. Even though she was expecting us a little later, because who the fuck actually says they're going to get from LA to SD in 2.5 and then does so, Amanda is ready to show us about Burbank and the Metropolitan Greater Los Angeles Area. We get some good food at a little mom and pop and then it's off to the damn races. [This part will be greatly enhanced with pictures later in the week, at which point I can remove this sidenote.] Past the Warner Brothers and sister lot, and past DreamWorks, a bunch of divisions of Sony or Warner, past NBC.
Horrifying.
Not just this is where they allow Leno to attempt comedy but there's a row of plus-sizes apparently applying for the Biggest Loser. It's not sad they're fat and willing to trade their dignity for television time; it's sad how long the line is. If it's true life eats souls, this town is the express lane.
Butch's Things I've Learned #5: FUCK LENO.
We go by Sacred Heart, actually, after that--like everything great on TV it looks horribly rundown from the outside, though they were filming. We run around (and miss a golden opportunity to drive into the lot and into infamy shortly followed by County when the security guard crosses the street and leaves the lot, if only for a 10-second-window, open) and then continue onward.
Ambulance, check. Exterior upper, check. Actual logo or sign? Fail (logo was draped off, sign's probably in the back where we didn't get to see anything).
After such a morbid look into the human psyche, it quickly becomes clear that we need to steal a page from the book of Brandon Boyd and drown it out with buzzing lights.
The Walk Of Fame it is.
The Walk Of Fame is a lot less elite than you'd think it'd be, with a lot of repeats. Even so, a few blocks of it is quite entertaining: I mean, someone had the visionary sense to put Hasselhoff and Swayze next to each other and DeanO way down the block from Sammy. Ivan steps on Reitman's name and gets his own star for a moment. I take pictures of many name old-time black celebs' stars for my mom (assuming she'll care), and take my picture with Chris Rock's, pretend to spit on Leno's, and et alsoforthia. Amanda & Ivan get one next to Don Francisco's. Aaron thinks about passing out on Charlie Sheen's, doesn't, and regrets it afterwards. Fun, fun, fun. We stop in a script & poster shop where I buy the pilot of Scrubs. A couple of cut scenes, and the fact Dr. Cox's original name was PHIL!
Butch's Things I've Learned #74,261: Little things make big differences.
I think I speak for every fan of the show when I say that would have never worked ever and they would've been cancelled quicker than you can say "Emily's Reasons Why Not". Still room for you on the show, Heather, but you're the Janitor's girl now.
We also stop in a sex museum for a couple minutes and this is only notable for the noticable blanching of face when Amanda shows Aaron and I the nipple clamps.
***
And now, the real reason anybody worth their salt finds their way to Tinseltown when all you can really be expected to do is look from the outside in--
CELEBRITY STALKING!
Butch's Things I've Learned #674: The Playboy Mansion is very secluded from the public.
Butch's Things I've Learned #4,362: The Osbournes still haven't changed the front gates.
Butch's Things I've Learned #62: Pauly Shore has an inflatable cow in his front yard, tethered down.
Butch's Things I've Learned #78: Halle Berry's house is nice without being ostentacious.
Butch's Things I've Learned #79: I should call ahead to make sure she's there.
Anyway, we spend too much time driving up and down Hillcrest Drive, Charing Cross Road, and four streets all named the same fucking thing (jesus h. vishnu, the highest per capita on the goddamn galaxy and you people can't give your streets different names?!) and deciding whether or not Brittany Murphy's a big enough star for us to go by (isn't...sorry.)
Butch's Things I've Learned #784: Driving by David Spade's house and yelling "Get a real job, hippie!" at the top of your lungs--even if it's Aaron's idea--is still fun.
By the way, looking around at houses in Beverly Hills is like watching your eyes turn into green dollar signs and beating the maxim "The meek shall inherit the earth" to death with a shovel.
There's something about taking Paparazzo 101 that depletes the energy source, so Amanda's the usual 17 steps ahead of us and knows what's on the menu next on the trip.
Amanda and LA being the hosts, the locale becomes just as important as the food.
Three words, loyal reader: Goth Mexican restaurant.
No, really.
The Velvet Margarita Cantina is blacker than I am, and improbably a lot cooler as well. Black mariachi hats turn into a mock chandelier. Velvet paintings of Atlantis hang next to Elvis. Plasma screens play Fantasy Island in French while Elvis saves a villa on the next one over. Despite it filling quickly we're there right as they open; wouldn't you know Amanda could sweet talk a Klan member into moving to Compton and has talked us into reservations while we loitered next door?
I drink a margarita drink, put some salad in my system to break up the debauchery, and then slowly consume my chicken asado tacos. Ivan falls for our awesome red-headed waitress and it's a shame because without me there he probably would've had a shot. She brings out a birthday ice cream and apple empanada platter right after they sweep my dishes. The plate is filled with powdered sugar, which I blow everywhere in the course of making my wish. (Insert Kate Moss joke here.) They have a nice patio in back and little mock shrines to (just remebering the last 3--Bruce Lee, Sid Vicious, and Scarface) between floor and restrooms.
Highest Possible Recommendation.
Back to Amanda's place, where we decompose temporarily.
In an hour, it's back out. If this city never sleeps Saturday night, God only knows what LA's like. Even though we're not hitting The Scene in order to give me something to do next time other than get thrown off of Halle Berry property we are hitting A scene.
Off to the Universal CityWalk we go. It's very Vegasy, and the Latin place is absolutely jumpin', but no time for love, Dr. Jones.
So, it's Howl At The Moon what left this on my right arm palmside down. To get into it: Howl has two guys playing piano. They sing classic songs and dirty songs, and every happy birthday gets punctuated with a rousing en masse YOU BITCH! YOU SLUT! YOU WHORE! It is raucous, loud, and crazy. How Amanda came up with this place for moi is beyond me. We stand sort of on the upper level while groups of people sip from buckets of alcohol (soooooooo what I'm getting next time), and after downing a shot and ordering the mandatory Heinie--
--and looking rather shocked, I must say, that I do such things or at any rate do them this quickly--
Butch's Things I've Learned #126: I'm immune to all the long-term effects of booze, apparently. Told you I was the shit, didn't I?
--but it sure doesn't take long for Amanda to order me up a special shot served up by a chesty blonde who apparently absolutely has to be on my lap to administer the whatever-the-fuck-it-is she dropped down my throat or the responding whipped cream. There is an awesome moment as I remember what else Aaron got not 48 hours before that I also loved the shit out of after the party limped home and suddenly find myself wondering exactly where the ones are supposed to go. Having drank for dinner, during the break, and the second I got the possibility I find myself getting from low buzz to chin music pretty quick. Also should be noted--rum, beer, tequila, at the least. And that's before the couple sitting next to me and in front of us buys me a slippery nipple. Which would find itself ursurped in my Favorite New Drink Discovered This Weekend in a day but c'mon. It's a Werther's Original that you can drink that can fuck you up! Is it any wonder I didn't have the heart to tell them she wasn't my girlfriend? I should be so lucky as to get somebody to rent big-chested blondes for my birthday in the future. Serious, like.
Yes, I did the Robot.
Yes, I did the Running Man.
No, I didn't get to sing.
Yes, I was stinking drunk and closed the fucker out. That's how I roll.
Butch's Things I've Learned #83: If it's worth it, it's worth it until they have to kick you out.
Drunk as I am, Aaron steals the post-game wrapup show by morphing into Barney Gumble and doing a rant pro-candy-cane and anti-harp-seal for the entirety of the way back. It must be said despite never touching a drop of firewater he manages to sound drunker than I actually am. In order to compensate, back at her place I start going up the wrong set of steps and do a belly flop onto her couch. I pause to lay out my sleeping bag and crawl in it, and within five minutes it's ash to ash, dust to dust, fade to blaaaaaaaaaaack...
***
8:32. Hellllllllllllll no.
9:57. No.
11:17. There we go.
Aaron went into the trip on just enough sleep to drive him insane, is hibernating. I read Rolling Stone as Ivan and Amanda come out of the woodwork. Once Aaron's up, I shower. (Song choices: "Sugar, We're Going Down", "Rock And Roll Ain't Noise Pollution", and "Take Me To The River" as I shaved the beard.)
It takes us a while to get going, but Amanda's down the block from a highly-respected eatery named Hill Street Something-Or-Other. Yes, I said "Let's be careful in there" as we pulled in. I decide to have some Belgian waffle with my syrup and butter. Knott's makes an apple cinnamon jelly that tastes like the inside of an apple pie and I think I will be licking some off of Jess or Katherine in the dream this evening when I kill off this post.
We get back and watch the end of the Matrix. I was thinking we should've gone out to see the 3 places we missed I wanted to hit, buuuuuuuuuut...
Butch's Things I've Learned #4,171: Passing out + bread + syrup + real butter = groggy.
After a bit, we start playing Illuminati Poker. It's the version of Texas Hold 'Em you've heard me write about a couple of times where land, people, superpowers are bet in lieu of cash. It only gets named tonight because of a joke I told after Amanda bitchslapped Ivan with a full house and got Oprah and Bill Gates' net worths amongst other winnings...
B: I was going to say after you won that hand, you've become a member of the Illuminati, but now I think you are the Illuminati!
(not pictured: light bulb)
So it's going well as I deal and drink while Amanda quietly and then overwhelmingly takes the boys down, and then her roomate Kataneh gets involved.
This is still a family-friendly post, I swear it.
But in keeping with the motif of the evening...
Butch's Things I've Learned #3: Hot women are trouble.
Butch's Things I've Learned: #4: Hot women with poker knowledge, as more attractive as that may make them, are real trouble.
Butch's Things I've Learned #6: It would be real nice if you were informed they won a tournament in Vegas before you actually start playing against them.
Aaron gets the final hand winner-takes-everything-awesome-ever-in-perpetuity-through-the-universe in the last hand of IllumiPoker (Ha! I've already shortened my own phrase! I am so riding my nut right now.) Kataneh is practically begging to play us for money, but even without it I go out first. (Qs and As vs. Amanda's flush draw, and Al Green gave it to her.) Ivan goes out shortly after. I don't really care, as he has introduced me to Amaretto.
Butch's Things I've Learned #36: Amaretto--ain't nothing wrong with THAT!
Aaron is left to defend the entirety of the male species against the girls. Kataneh shakes him like a British nanny and shortly thereafter gets rid of Amanda. I think she goes into the Hot Friends Of Friends Mt. Rushmore (who're the other 3 names? Oh, I'll never tell. 8 letters, 6 letters, 5 letters.) first-ballot. Though for my immediate future, using Amanda to spot the marks in Vegas should work much better.
After Irvine but before San Diego...a nice way of saying it all looked the same to me...I thought about both towns, and all the friends, and all the small and big presents. I complain so much because my destiny isn't quite fulfilled. And for everything good I have I see the bad moon on the rise for it. Not this time. I stared off into the sky and the spattering of stars, and thought about my friends being my family.
I spent most of the ride home quietly overjoyed and nearly overwhelmed; Adam Duritz told me to hold on to these moments as they pass and I believe him.
And so before we go our seperate ways, I get the moment I was denied in the CityWalk.
Happy birthday to me (butch)
Happy birthday to me (butch)
Happy birthday dear butch
YOU BITCH!
YOU SLUT!
YOU WHORE!
Happy birthday to me...
***
Last thought: tomorrow's Valentine's Day. In the immortal words of Christopher Wallace--rest his soul--fuck all you hos.
np: "Smile Like You Mean It" by the Killers
That's where I want to be
(gimme gimme gimme gimme)
Living in Beverly Hills
Beverly Hills
Rolling like a celebrity
(gimme gimme gimme gimme)
Living in Beverly Hills
--Weezer, "Beverly Hills"
I don't know.
Holy God.
Maybe technology is killing me from the inside out, or maybe the last part of me that refuses not to believe that this is all self-flagellating rising action before the triumphant denoument. (Don't you guys love the fact I'm a journalism geek? DON'T YOU!?) TV, magazines, websites--all point to The Dream. Ubiquitous, rich, famous, therapied and botoxed out of my flippin' skull, 4 houses, 3 Hummers, 2 girlfriends (one a singer-actress, the other an actress-singer), and my own private island.
Those things have taught me my reality should be nothing but the best--I should've gone up and left two corpses where there once were credit cards, running over and into Jessica Alba as a result, eating dinner together before going to the local karoake bar (selections? "Love And Happiness", "Rock N' Roll Ain't Noise Pollution" around midnight for everybody going nutso drunk off their ass, and closing the joint out with "Let's Get It On" or "Sexual Healing"--depending on the day) and back to her five-star hotel, where despite having my body weight in alcohol I would've put on a display of sexual gymnastics to the point where I would've had to quit my job and take a month-long 17-city nationwide tour to demonstrate the Rosser to the less fortunate. At this very moment her head would be looking over my shoulder as she put her chin against it, pinching me to know when I've gone too far.
See what I mean? CRAZY.
(Of course, all the best things were accomplished by people assumed nuts...)
Anyway, the point before the recap: we are conditioned to think anything less than the peak of awesomeness ceases to be awesome. But there is such a thing as non-demonstrative non-ostentacious really great awesome. It just doesn't get the hype something ludicrously awesome does. It plays Marvin Harrison to Chad Johnson if that helps you.
Saturday and I'm up so fucking early I start regretting not going out the night before and just staying up through it to the end. Like, 7. Trust me, when you set up your college schedule and job to make it so that you usually don't have to be conscious until 9 or 10, let alone out the door at 8, this makes a difference. It's Aaron, Ivan and I going up to la-la to see Amanda. Once there, she's giving us the touristplus treatment.
Butch's Things I've Learned, #47, #48, #49: The only thing I regret about this weekend--not going to the Pulp Fiction diner, Lou's from Fight Club, or Sunnydale High.
We hit the big brother to the north, and here's a surprise: besides a small accident, we make it in a little over two hours. Past Disneyland, Knotts, all that work. Even though she was expecting us a little later, because who the fuck actually says they're going to get from LA to SD in 2.5 and then does so, Amanda is ready to show us about Burbank and the Metropolitan Greater Los Angeles Area. We get some good food at a little mom and pop and then it's off to the damn races. [This part will be greatly enhanced with pictures later in the week, at which point I can remove this sidenote.] Past the Warner Brothers and sister lot, and past DreamWorks, a bunch of divisions of Sony or Warner, past NBC.
Horrifying.
Not just this is where they allow Leno to attempt comedy but there's a row of plus-sizes apparently applying for the Biggest Loser. It's not sad they're fat and willing to trade their dignity for television time; it's sad how long the line is. If it's true life eats souls, this town is the express lane.
Butch's Things I've Learned #5: FUCK LENO.
We go by Sacred Heart, actually, after that--like everything great on TV it looks horribly rundown from the outside, though they were filming. We run around (and miss a golden opportunity to drive into the lot and into infamy shortly followed by County when the security guard crosses the street and leaves the lot, if only for a 10-second-window, open) and then continue onward.
Ambulance, check. Exterior upper, check. Actual logo or sign? Fail (logo was draped off, sign's probably in the back where we didn't get to see anything).
After such a morbid look into the human psyche, it quickly becomes clear that we need to steal a page from the book of Brandon Boyd and drown it out with buzzing lights.
The Walk Of Fame it is.
The Walk Of Fame is a lot less elite than you'd think it'd be, with a lot of repeats. Even so, a few blocks of it is quite entertaining: I mean, someone had the visionary sense to put Hasselhoff and Swayze next to each other and DeanO way down the block from Sammy. Ivan steps on Reitman's name and gets his own star for a moment. I take pictures of many name old-time black celebs' stars for my mom (assuming she'll care), and take my picture with Chris Rock's, pretend to spit on Leno's, and et alsoforthia. Amanda & Ivan get one next to Don Francisco's. Aaron thinks about passing out on Charlie Sheen's, doesn't, and regrets it afterwards. Fun, fun, fun. We stop in a script & poster shop where I buy the pilot of Scrubs. A couple of cut scenes, and the fact Dr. Cox's original name was PHIL!
Butch's Things I've Learned #74,261: Little things make big differences.
I think I speak for every fan of the show when I say that would have never worked ever and they would've been cancelled quicker than you can say "Emily's Reasons Why Not". Still room for you on the show, Heather, but you're the Janitor's girl now.
We also stop in a sex museum for a couple minutes and this is only notable for the noticable blanching of face when Amanda shows Aaron and I the nipple clamps.
***
And now, the real reason anybody worth their salt finds their way to Tinseltown when all you can really be expected to do is look from the outside in--
CELEBRITY STALKING!
Butch's Things I've Learned #674: The Playboy Mansion is very secluded from the public.
Butch's Things I've Learned #4,362: The Osbournes still haven't changed the front gates.
Butch's Things I've Learned #62: Pauly Shore has an inflatable cow in his front yard, tethered down.
Butch's Things I've Learned #78: Halle Berry's house is nice without being ostentacious.
Butch's Things I've Learned #79: I should call ahead to make sure she's there.
Anyway, we spend too much time driving up and down Hillcrest Drive, Charing Cross Road, and four streets all named the same fucking thing (jesus h. vishnu, the highest per capita on the goddamn galaxy and you people can't give your streets different names?!) and deciding whether or not Brittany Murphy's a big enough star for us to go by (isn't...sorry.)
Butch's Things I've Learned #784: Driving by David Spade's house and yelling "Get a real job, hippie!" at the top of your lungs--even if it's Aaron's idea--is still fun.
By the way, looking around at houses in Beverly Hills is like watching your eyes turn into green dollar signs and beating the maxim "The meek shall inherit the earth" to death with a shovel.
There's something about taking Paparazzo 101 that depletes the energy source, so Amanda's the usual 17 steps ahead of us and knows what's on the menu next on the trip.
Amanda and LA being the hosts, the locale becomes just as important as the food.
Three words, loyal reader: Goth Mexican restaurant.
No, really.
The Velvet Margarita Cantina is blacker than I am, and improbably a lot cooler as well. Black mariachi hats turn into a mock chandelier. Velvet paintings of Atlantis hang next to Elvis. Plasma screens play Fantasy Island in French while Elvis saves a villa on the next one over. Despite it filling quickly we're there right as they open; wouldn't you know Amanda could sweet talk a Klan member into moving to Compton and has talked us into reservations while we loitered next door?
I drink a margarita drink, put some salad in my system to break up the debauchery, and then slowly consume my chicken asado tacos. Ivan falls for our awesome red-headed waitress and it's a shame because without me there he probably would've had a shot. She brings out a birthday ice cream and apple empanada platter right after they sweep my dishes. The plate is filled with powdered sugar, which I blow everywhere in the course of making my wish. (Insert Kate Moss joke here.) They have a nice patio in back and little mock shrines to (just remebering the last 3--Bruce Lee, Sid Vicious, and Scarface) between floor and restrooms.
Highest Possible Recommendation.
Back to Amanda's place, where we decompose temporarily.
In an hour, it's back out. If this city never sleeps Saturday night, God only knows what LA's like. Even though we're not hitting The Scene in order to give me something to do next time other than get thrown off of Halle Berry property we are hitting A scene.
Off to the Universal CityWalk we go. It's very Vegasy, and the Latin place is absolutely jumpin', but no time for love, Dr. Jones.
So, it's Howl At The Moon what left this on my right arm palmside down. To get into it: Howl has two guys playing piano. They sing classic songs and dirty songs, and every happy birthday gets punctuated with a rousing en masse YOU BITCH! YOU SLUT! YOU WHORE! It is raucous, loud, and crazy. How Amanda came up with this place for moi is beyond me. We stand sort of on the upper level while groups of people sip from buckets of alcohol (soooooooo what I'm getting next time), and after downing a shot and ordering the mandatory Heinie--
--and looking rather shocked, I must say, that I do such things or at any rate do them this quickly--
Butch's Things I've Learned #126: I'm immune to all the long-term effects of booze, apparently. Told you I was the shit, didn't I?
--but it sure doesn't take long for Amanda to order me up a special shot served up by a chesty blonde who apparently absolutely has to be on my lap to administer the whatever-the-fuck-it-is she dropped down my throat or the responding whipped cream. There is an awesome moment as I remember what else Aaron got not 48 hours before that I also loved the shit out of after the party limped home and suddenly find myself wondering exactly where the ones are supposed to go. Having drank for dinner, during the break, and the second I got the possibility I find myself getting from low buzz to chin music pretty quick. Also should be noted--rum, beer, tequila, at the least. And that's before the couple sitting next to me and in front of us buys me a slippery nipple. Which would find itself ursurped in my Favorite New Drink Discovered This Weekend in a day but c'mon. It's a Werther's Original that you can drink that can fuck you up! Is it any wonder I didn't have the heart to tell them she wasn't my girlfriend? I should be so lucky as to get somebody to rent big-chested blondes for my birthday in the future. Serious, like.
Yes, I did the Robot.
Yes, I did the Running Man.
No, I didn't get to sing.
Yes, I was stinking drunk and closed the fucker out. That's how I roll.
Butch's Things I've Learned #83: If it's worth it, it's worth it until they have to kick you out.
Drunk as I am, Aaron steals the post-game wrapup show by morphing into Barney Gumble and doing a rant pro-candy-cane and anti-harp-seal for the entirety of the way back. It must be said despite never touching a drop of firewater he manages to sound drunker than I actually am. In order to compensate, back at her place I start going up the wrong set of steps and do a belly flop onto her couch. I pause to lay out my sleeping bag and crawl in it, and within five minutes it's ash to ash, dust to dust, fade to blaaaaaaaaaaack...
***
8:32. Hellllllllllllll no.
9:57. No.
11:17. There we go.
Aaron went into the trip on just enough sleep to drive him insane, is hibernating. I read Rolling Stone as Ivan and Amanda come out of the woodwork. Once Aaron's up, I shower. (Song choices: "Sugar, We're Going Down", "Rock And Roll Ain't Noise Pollution", and "Take Me To The River" as I shaved the beard.)
It takes us a while to get going, but Amanda's down the block from a highly-respected eatery named Hill Street Something-Or-Other. Yes, I said "Let's be careful in there" as we pulled in. I decide to have some Belgian waffle with my syrup and butter. Knott's makes an apple cinnamon jelly that tastes like the inside of an apple pie and I think I will be licking some off of Jess or Katherine in the dream this evening when I kill off this post.
We get back and watch the end of the Matrix. I was thinking we should've gone out to see the 3 places we missed I wanted to hit, buuuuuuuuuut...
Butch's Things I've Learned #4,171: Passing out + bread + syrup + real butter = groggy.
After a bit, we start playing Illuminati Poker. It's the version of Texas Hold 'Em you've heard me write about a couple of times where land, people, superpowers are bet in lieu of cash. It only gets named tonight because of a joke I told after Amanda bitchslapped Ivan with a full house and got Oprah and Bill Gates' net worths amongst other winnings...
B: I was going to say after you won that hand, you've become a member of the Illuminati, but now I think you are the Illuminati!
(not pictured: light bulb)
So it's going well as I deal and drink while Amanda quietly and then overwhelmingly takes the boys down, and then her roomate Kataneh gets involved.
This is still a family-friendly post, I swear it.
But in keeping with the motif of the evening...
Butch's Things I've Learned #3: Hot women are trouble.
Butch's Things I've Learned: #4: Hot women with poker knowledge, as more attractive as that may make them, are real trouble.
Butch's Things I've Learned #6: It would be real nice if you were informed they won a tournament in Vegas before you actually start playing against them.
Aaron gets the final hand winner-takes-everything-awesome-ever-in-perpetuity-through-the-universe in the last hand of IllumiPoker (Ha! I've already shortened my own phrase! I am so riding my nut right now.) Kataneh is practically begging to play us for money, but even without it I go out first. (Qs and As vs. Amanda's flush draw, and Al Green gave it to her.) Ivan goes out shortly after. I don't really care, as he has introduced me to Amaretto.
Butch's Things I've Learned #36: Amaretto--ain't nothing wrong with THAT!
Aaron is left to defend the entirety of the male species against the girls. Kataneh shakes him like a British nanny and shortly thereafter gets rid of Amanda. I think she goes into the Hot Friends Of Friends Mt. Rushmore (who're the other 3 names? Oh, I'll never tell. 8 letters, 6 letters, 5 letters.) first-ballot. Though for my immediate future, using Amanda to spot the marks in Vegas should work much better.
After Irvine but before San Diego...a nice way of saying it all looked the same to me...I thought about both towns, and all the friends, and all the small and big presents. I complain so much because my destiny isn't quite fulfilled. And for everything good I have I see the bad moon on the rise for it. Not this time. I stared off into the sky and the spattering of stars, and thought about my friends being my family.
I spent most of the ride home quietly overjoyed and nearly overwhelmed; Adam Duritz told me to hold on to these moments as they pass and I believe him.
And so before we go our seperate ways, I get the moment I was denied in the CityWalk.
Happy birthday to me (butch)
Happy birthday to me (butch)
Happy birthday dear butch
YOU BITCH!
YOU SLUT!
YOU WHORE!
Happy birthday to me...
***
Last thought: tomorrow's Valentine's Day. In the immortal words of Christopher Wallace--rest his soul--fuck all you hos.
np: "Smile Like You Mean It" by the Killers
2/10/06
Yesterday, Today, The Past and The Future All Horribly Colliding In One Shot
The party yesterday went all right--well, okay, I fucked it up failing to get reservations. In my defense?
1) I wasn't expecting it to be packed on Thursday night. Never underestimate a $5 pint night within throwing distance of a major party college.
2) I expected 6 people to show up and throughout the evening peaked at 10. So not everybody sat down, or together, and it was like chorus-verse-verse-verse-instrumental-chorus-instrumental-verse. Next year, I'm not planning shit--I got the luck of an Arrested Development cast member. Probably Buster.
But I did get 4 awesome DVDs and the Bill Simmons book, the management was kind enough to fix my heater for the first time since Thanksgiving so I suppose I can't be too perturbed.
Up to LA, back Sunday, pictures next weekish at some point.
Random Thought:
The SI Swimsuit Issue is played out. It was pre-FHM, Maxim, Loaded, and a billion other men's mags I know for 4 seconds a month based off cover only, let alone the increasingly splintered mags appealing to race and age as a unit. It came in February, so it hit a maximum number of East Coasters suffering through another winter. (Unrelated Random Thought: every time I see the word "winter" after 20+ in SoCal, I suddenly turn into Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. "What is this hail you speak of? I'm just a simple black man who saw a torrent from the sky and became afraid God was choosing golf as a leisure option...") It was once a year, and since SI was the Bible before the Internet ("If there was no pornography on the Internet, there'd be one website left and it'd be called BRING BACK THE PORN"--Cox) that was pretty much it for hot chicks wearing not much.
Internet.
Men's mags.
The proliferation of cable.
chipchipchipchip--like having a bad breakup, a spoon, and Ben & Jerry's. You think that pint's lasting forever and then you hear the scrape of metal on recycled material and it's like WTF!? My late uncle and I used to love playing Keep Away From Mom with it, and now that it's coming out, I find myself barely able to rent a fuck, let alone give one.
Probably because my Stuff got here a couple days ago, and I don't know if you know this, but this Stacy Keibler chick has quite the tush.
Anyway, hello it's me, I'm not at home...etsoforthia. (Sorry, Lance.)
np: "Touch The Sky" by Kanye
1) I wasn't expecting it to be packed on Thursday night. Never underestimate a $5 pint night within throwing distance of a major party college.
2) I expected 6 people to show up and throughout the evening peaked at 10. So not everybody sat down, or together, and it was like chorus-verse-verse-verse-instrumental-chorus-instrumental-verse. Next year, I'm not planning shit--I got the luck of an Arrested Development cast member. Probably Buster.
But I did get 4 awesome DVDs and the Bill Simmons book, the management was kind enough to fix my heater for the first time since Thanksgiving so I suppose I can't be too perturbed.
Up to LA, back Sunday, pictures next weekish at some point.
Random Thought:
The SI Swimsuit Issue is played out. It was pre-FHM, Maxim, Loaded, and a billion other men's mags I know for 4 seconds a month based off cover only, let alone the increasingly splintered mags appealing to race and age as a unit. It came in February, so it hit a maximum number of East Coasters suffering through another winter. (Unrelated Random Thought: every time I see the word "winter" after 20+ in SoCal, I suddenly turn into Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. "What is this hail you speak of? I'm just a simple black man who saw a torrent from the sky and became afraid God was choosing golf as a leisure option...") It was once a year, and since SI was the Bible before the Internet ("If there was no pornography on the Internet, there'd be one website left and it'd be called BRING BACK THE PORN"--Cox) that was pretty much it for hot chicks wearing not much.
Internet.
Men's mags.
The proliferation of cable.
chipchipchipchip--like having a bad breakup, a spoon, and Ben & Jerry's. You think that pint's lasting forever and then you hear the scrape of metal on recycled material and it's like WTF!? My late uncle and I used to love playing Keep Away From Mom with it, and now that it's coming out, I find myself barely able to rent a fuck, let alone give one.
Probably because my Stuff got here a couple days ago, and I don't know if you know this, but this Stacy Keibler chick has quite the tush.
Anyway, hello it's me, I'm not at home...etsoforthia. (Sorry, Lance.)
np: "Touch The Sky" by Kanye
2/9/06
3³
There was a place
And the name of the place escapes me
When I can't remember, it irritates me
Could be I can't remember
Could be I choose to not
Let's move along the song and try to find a plot
There was a girl
And I don't know her name either
She gave me love and I said I'd never leave her
If I did, I'd come back someday and find her
Maybe I will, I should write down a reminder
ONE DAY
One day who knows?
SOMEDAY
Someday I suppose
There was a verse that I was gonna write
I haven't yet
But there's still a chance I might
An open book that I still want to close
I'll find the time someday I suppose
A place and time I wanna be
And spend a storyline that's happy in the end
Plans are made with promises so certainly uncertain
I can't wait to set things straight before they draw the curtain
ONE DAY
One day who knows?
SOMEDAY
Someday I suppose
The more I sort it out
The more things get distorted
I sort of think I'm better off just leaving it unsorted
The more I try to change its course the more off course it goes
Of course I'll reach my destination someday I suppose
Sort it out, get distorted
One day who knows?
Hide behind unreported
Someday I suppose
There was a place
And the name of the place escapes me
When I can't remember, it irritates me
Could be I can't remember
Could be I choose to not
Let's move this song along and try to find a plot
There was a girl
And I don't know her name either
She gave me love and I said I'd never leave her
If I did, I'd come back someday and find her
Maybe I will, I should write down a reminder
ONE DAY
One day who knows?
SOMEDAY
Someday I suppose
The more I sort it out
The more things get distorted
I sort of think I'm better off just leaving it unsorted
The more I try to change its course the more off course it goes
Of course I'll reach my destination someday I suppose
Sort it out, get distorted (The more I sort it out, the more things get distorted)
One day who knows? (I sort of think I'm better off just leaving it unsorted)
Hide behind, unreported (The more I try to change its course the more off course it goes)
Someday I suppose... (I know I'll reach my destination)
--the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Someday I Suppose"
And the name of the place escapes me
When I can't remember, it irritates me
Could be I can't remember
Could be I choose to not
Let's move along the song and try to find a plot
There was a girl
And I don't know her name either
She gave me love and I said I'd never leave her
If I did, I'd come back someday and find her
Maybe I will, I should write down a reminder
ONE DAY
One day who knows?
SOMEDAY
Someday I suppose
There was a verse that I was gonna write
I haven't yet
But there's still a chance I might
An open book that I still want to close
I'll find the time someday I suppose
A place and time I wanna be
And spend a storyline that's happy in the end
Plans are made with promises so certainly uncertain
I can't wait to set things straight before they draw the curtain
ONE DAY
One day who knows?
SOMEDAY
Someday I suppose
The more I sort it out
The more things get distorted
I sort of think I'm better off just leaving it unsorted
The more I try to change its course the more off course it goes
Of course I'll reach my destination someday I suppose
Sort it out, get distorted
One day who knows?
Hide behind unreported
Someday I suppose
There was a place
And the name of the place escapes me
When I can't remember, it irritates me
Could be I can't remember
Could be I choose to not
Let's move this song along and try to find a plot
There was a girl
And I don't know her name either
She gave me love and I said I'd never leave her
If I did, I'd come back someday and find her
Maybe I will, I should write down a reminder
ONE DAY
One day who knows?
SOMEDAY
Someday I suppose
The more I sort it out
The more things get distorted
I sort of think I'm better off just leaving it unsorted
The more I try to change its course the more off course it goes
Of course I'll reach my destination someday I suppose
Sort it out, get distorted (The more I sort it out, the more things get distorted)
One day who knows? (I sort of think I'm better off just leaving it unsorted)
Hide behind, unreported (The more I try to change its course the more off course it goes)
Someday I suppose... (I know I'll reach my destination)
--the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Someday I Suppose"
2/6/06
Everything Has Come To Life
Since the original Bell-Mars dream sequence post, Aaron's been watching them film upcoming episodes on campus, and the Center's been featured (the parking garage from last week and the exterior shot), and now this...
...coming soon to a newsstand near you. Could've sworn I was thinking that just days ago.
Dupin, it's starting to get closer to when than if...
np: "1999" Limp Bizkit cover
...coming soon to a newsstand near you. Could've sworn I was thinking that just days ago.
Dupin, it's starting to get closer to when than if...
np: "1999" Limp Bizkit cover
2/4/06
KWBR
SEND ME ON MY WAY:
"The Flute Song" (10)
"Do You Want To" (13)
"I Know You Don't Love Me" (14)
"Run It (remix)" (15)
15) Young Jeezy ¤ Trap Star (debut)
14) Ne-Yo ¤ So Sick (debut)
13) Juvenile ¤ Rodeo (12)
12) the Bravery ¤ Unconditional (9)
11) Fall Out Boy ¤ Dance, Dance (6)
10) Matisyahu ¤ King Without A Crown (11)
9) Young Jeezy ¤ My Hood (debut)
8) Dem Franchize Boyz feat. Jermaine Dupri, Da Brat & Bow Wow ¤ I Think They Like Me [remix] (5)
7) T-Pain feat. Mike Jones ¤ I'm 'N Luv With A Stripper (8)*
6) Juelz Santana ¤ There It Go [The Whistle Song] (3)
5) Franz Ferdinand ¤ The Fallen (7)*
4) Three Six Mafia feat. Eightball, MJG, & Young Buck ¤ Stay Fly (1)
3) the All-American Rejects ¤ Move Along (debut)
2) Chamillionaire feat. Lil' Flip ¤ Turn It Up (4)*
1) the White Stripes ¤ The Denial Twist (2) {2w}
np: "Sloop John B" by the Beach Boys
"The Flute Song" (10)
"Do You Want To" (13)
"I Know You Don't Love Me" (14)
"Run It (remix)" (15)
15) Young Jeezy ¤ Trap Star (debut)
14) Ne-Yo ¤ So Sick (debut)
13) Juvenile ¤ Rodeo (12)
12) the Bravery ¤ Unconditional (9)
11) Fall Out Boy ¤ Dance, Dance (6)
10) Matisyahu ¤ King Without A Crown (11)
9) Young Jeezy ¤ My Hood (debut)
8) Dem Franchize Boyz feat. Jermaine Dupri, Da Brat & Bow Wow ¤ I Think They Like Me [remix] (5)
7) T-Pain feat. Mike Jones ¤ I'm 'N Luv With A Stripper (8)*
6) Juelz Santana ¤ There It Go [The Whistle Song] (3)
5) Franz Ferdinand ¤ The Fallen (7)*
4) Three Six Mafia feat. Eightball, MJG, & Young Buck ¤ Stay Fly (1)
3) the All-American Rejects ¤ Move Along (debut)
2) Chamillionaire feat. Lil' Flip ¤ Turn It Up (4)*
1) the White Stripes ¤ The Denial Twist (2) {2w}
np: "Sloop John B" by the Beach Boys
2/3/06
Friday Barometer™
More out of a sense of obligation than anything else...
ALBA: I remember in the first one of the year I was supposed to pimp an old school jam in here every week. I forgot until a couple days ago. So I'll try to get back on track, and considering what's on the radio I think this'll be a fun throwback. Butch's Old Skool Pick of the Week: Mary J. Blige's "Real Love".
BUSH: Payday. A 911 of a payday. If I cashed the whole thing in to get with a hooker, I would have to worry about her dental plan, let's just say that.
BUSH: The lack of money is sort of taking me down a couple paces considering in the next week and a half there's the Super Bowl, my birthday party (both local and LA), and hunting for other horribly disfigured singles for Valentine's, to say nothing of February 15th, the Christmas of candy.
ALBA: Down as I feel about it at this second, the fact remains: Super Bowl birthday party birthday party maybe getting out there for V-Day. Still should be good times.
ALBA: I could always get my taxes done if I get really hard up for cash. Ah, to have no dependents...
ALBA: ...but just barely, being single at Valentine's. I don't find myself filled with my usual amount of vitriolic anger. Of course, they could be having National White Day and I'd have the same level of involvement this year. As much as I keep reminding myself that I shouldn't force things for the sake of it, I always end up not forcing them.
BUSH: How come Aaron gets to see them film Veronica Mars? Nigga doesn't even watch the show! He wouldn't know Logan Echolls from Logan's Run! Bah.
ALBA: I like the shirt I got for 20% of it's original price last week; so taking it to L.A.
np: "Sheep Go To Heaven" by Cake
ALBA: I remember in the first one of the year I was supposed to pimp an old school jam in here every week. I forgot until a couple days ago. So I'll try to get back on track, and considering what's on the radio I think this'll be a fun throwback. Butch's Old Skool Pick of the Week: Mary J. Blige's "Real Love".
BUSH: Payday. A 911 of a payday. If I cashed the whole thing in to get with a hooker, I would have to worry about her dental plan, let's just say that.
BUSH: The lack of money is sort of taking me down a couple paces considering in the next week and a half there's the Super Bowl, my birthday party (both local and LA), and hunting for other horribly disfigured singles for Valentine's, to say nothing of February 15th, the Christmas of candy.
ALBA: Down as I feel about it at this second, the fact remains: Super Bowl birthday party birthday party maybe getting out there for V-Day. Still should be good times.
ALBA: I could always get my taxes done if I get really hard up for cash. Ah, to have no dependents...
ALBA: ...but just barely, being single at Valentine's. I don't find myself filled with my usual amount of vitriolic anger. Of course, they could be having National White Day and I'd have the same level of involvement this year. As much as I keep reminding myself that I shouldn't force things for the sake of it, I always end up not forcing them.
BUSH: How come Aaron gets to see them film Veronica Mars? Nigga doesn't even watch the show! He wouldn't know Logan Echolls from Logan's Run! Bah.
ALBA: I like the shirt I got for 20% of it's original price last week; so taking it to L.A.
np: "Sheep Go To Heaven" by Cake
2/2/06
2/1/06
The Birthday Party V.I.P. List: February '06
- Jessica Alba (retains)
- Trish Stratus (2)
- Eva Longoria (4)
- Katherine Heigl (9)*
- JLH (6)
- Shakira (5)
- Stacy Keibler (18)
- Jessica Biel (8)*
- Assa Guerass (™ Orangio Inc.) (7)
- Salma Hayek (10)
- Jennifer Walcott (15)*
- Halle Berry (11)
- Brooke Burke (13)
- Kate Beckinsale (debut)
- Josie Maran (19)
- Charisma Carpenter (20)
- Rachel Bilson (16)
- Carmen Electra (17)
- Summer Altice (12)
- Sofia Vergara (24)
- Raquel Gibson (25)
- Kim Smith (14)
- Mayra Veronica (29)*
- Shannon Elizabeth (23)
- Lacey Chabert (28)
- Alyssa Milano (27)
- Gail Kim (32)*
- Gabrielle Union (26)
- Mariah Carey (35)*
- Nikki Cox (22)
- Kristen Bell (debut)
- Beyonce (21)
- Jessica Simpson (30)
- Scarlett Johansson (debut)
- Eliza Dushku (re-entry)
- Jamie Pressly (re-entry)
- Rachel McAdams (39)
- Esther Baxter (31)
- Monica Bellucci (re-entry)
- Michelle Trachtenberg (debut)
ALSO RECEIVING VOTES:
Sarah Shahi, Lindsay Lohan, Natalie Portman, Mickie James, Alyson Hannigan, Melyssa Ford
DROPPED FROM RANKINGS:
Angelina Jolie (3), Leeann Tweeden (33), Ali Landry (34), Kristanna Loken (37), K.D. Aubert (38), Kelly Hu (40)
np: "Fearless (Richard X remix)" by the Bravery
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