The Laid-Off Peripatetic (LOP)

I’m off to Kansas tomorrow. And given that the most technologically advanced gadget my parents possess is an automated coffee maker, I won’t be blogging while I’m there. I will however, be making a stop at the local bar in Hanston, Kansas, for $5 beer night (that’s a flat rate for the night, not per beer). So, here is an early Merry Christmas greeting and I’ll chat with you in about a weekish. For now, this whirling dirvish must pack for a 5:45 a.m. flight. Eek. So, over the river and through the woods I go…

Off to greener pastures...for the time being

Palm Frond Dweller

I used to watch Saturday Night Live religiously as a child. In the era of the Frightened Family, I created my own prop that entailed a flap of faux hair that would stand on end when I pulled a hidden string. I even sent Lorne Michaels a letter requesting a spot on his show. Scratch that. I sent him 10+ letters until finally one day his secretary…sorry, administrative assistant… called to tell me there was no room for me on the show and that I needed to cease my correspondence. (This took place before stalking was illegal, of course.) I was crushed. But the prop construction continued. For awhile, anyway.

I’ve since moved on, probably because Saturday Night Live began to suck—quite a lot, actually. It’s been years since I watched it, which explains why I had no idea the skit “Dick in a Box” existed. But, the Happy Couple brought it to my attention and now, I can’t stop giggling. Also, I was ambivalent about Justin Timberlake, thinking him to be more of a tool than not. However, that changed in a 180 kind of way post “Dick in a Box” viewing.

So, this is my Christmas gift to you, my five readers (excluding my Mom and Dad because they don’t own a computer). And as it happens, it’s a topical video as well that happens to touch on Christmas, Kwanzaa and Hannukah. The bonus video at the bottom is from the Lonely Island album as well and is as equally as funny and raunchy.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhwbxEfy7fg

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pXfHLUlZf4

Fa lalalalalalalalala jingle jingle ho

How is it that Christmas is a week-and-a-half away? It’s as though someone shoved me through a time warp while showering in my old Chicago apartment. Though I’m not blogging naked—that would be weird and a little uncomfortable because there is a slight chill in the air. My kingdom for a Snuggy.

So, I’m traveling home for the holidays via plane and like many of you, not looking forward to the throngs of people that will descend on the airports. Of course, my presence will add to that number and therefore, I will probably be annoying someone else; but at least I can offer my seat-mate hygiene and an ass that needs only one seat.

My destination is Wichita, Kansas, via Dallas—home of Wranglers and the male camel toe. For two hours I’m stuck in the mundane world of ya’ll and fixin’ and have nowhere to go but the bar. It’s not my druthers, for the majority of my time at home is going to be spent drinking, eating and smoking cigars with Pappy Burke. So starting the process early isn’t in my best interest, physically speaking, that is.

If only I had a cubby hole in which to hang out away from the crowds, maybe take a nap, read without the incessant surround-sound whining of children who’ve had too much sugar and too little parenting. Enter the day room. This concept is found in airports around the world and now has been introduced in the States. Atlanta Airport is the first to introduce Minute Suites—rooms that can be rented by the hour. Sure it sounds sleazy, but each new renter gets cleans sheets, so try not to think about the creepy guy with the comb-over in the polyester suit who just walked out of your room zipping up his pants.

These rooms are equipped with daybeds, wi-fi, satellite TV and rent for $30 an hour. Nappers can use the in-room alarm clock or call for a wake-up call. Fascinating. I don’t know if Jeeves comes with the package, but wouldn’t it be a bonus if he did and had the accent to boot?

I’ve traveled enough to covet solitude in an airport, so I would definitely pay the $30. I would probably spend that much or more at the bar; and if I could catch an old episode of The A-Team, then it would be doubly enticing.

On an aside…

Who deems them classics?

I want to know who has the power to grant certain books Classic Status. I ask because I just finished reading Lolita. It was fine and I learned several new words (kudos to Vladmir for having such an amazing grasp on the English language), but I’ve read far better. Maybe there were intricate details that I somehow missed while being privy to the innermost thoughts of a pervert. Or not. And don’t even get me started on Anna Karenina.

Here’s a couple factoids, by the by (compliments of Deutsch): Hitler only had one nut (which explains a few things.) And it is National Cupcake Day. I want to know if there is national holiday set aside for the nuclear cream inside Twinkies. Is there? Huh?

I believe I blogged previously about the movie New Moon. But just in case you missed it, here’s a recap. It dragged interminably for the first half, picked up the pace a bit in the second half, but mostly sucked. Buff boys were half-naked the vast majority of the time, which made the perpetual moping bearable. Anyway, the link below is the abridged version only much funnier and with LOL cats.

http://microsuede.blogspot.com/2009/11/movie-review-twilight-saga-new-moon.html

Also, if you have a chance, watch Late Night With Conan O’Brien. He’s incorporated Cody Devereaux, the depressed, brooding vampire who experiences death by sunlight on every show (R.I.P. 1598-Today); and Wolf-Boy, who is dumb as a box of rocks, but can move his pectoral muscles…almost as though he’s doing Morse Code.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=mj4PWV1v3II

Water-resistant Ninja gear

Christmas came early today. I hate trite sayings, but I can’t help but use them when they are true. The Happy Couple and I exchanged gifts and guess what I got—ninja accoutrement…picture a ninja sword handle on an umbrella. The best part is that it came with a carrying case so that it is both easily transportable and also looks like a sword. Hee hee. This increases the possibility that a roving officer of the law might stop me for carrying what appears to be a deadly weapon. But, for the opportunity to be a waterproof ninja, I’m willing to take that chance.

Never mind the Cheetah flannel pants and the fuzzy pink slippers—even ninjas need comfortable loungewear

In Europe, it’s not uncommon for parents to allow their chitlins to partake of spirits. I know this only because someone I once knew told me a story of a crazy Frenchman who became irate when the waiter at a restaurant in Chicago wouldn’t serve his 12-year-old son a glass of wine. I realize that my source sounds questionable, probably because she is. She was completely unhinged in a need-electric-shock-therapy-and-drugs kind of way, but the story is still funny.

Anyway, Europeans aren’t the only ones who like to feed their kids some sauce. Below is my Dad’s Hot Toddy recipe—the same one he served to me and my sisters from the time we could hold a cup. His magical healing elixir wasn’t doled out for our breakfast or on a nightly basis—that would smack of bad parenting. No, we only received the mug of love when suffering from a cold/flu-type thing. Dad’s concoction was the panacea for all that ails, or so he said. In truth, he loaded it with enough whiskey to knock us out for the night. What’s the saying? Ah yes, sleep is the best medicine. Now that cold and flu season is upon us, I thought I’d share. I hope the Toddy’s tremendous healing properties work as well for you.

Martin’s Hot Toddy Recipe: Mix hot water, a shot of whiskey, honey and a squeeze of lemon. It’s basic, but effective; even moreso if the liver is unfamiliar with the effects of Maker’s Mark.

Culture in Transit

I had my first LA bus experience this week—well, two actually. Though the transit system isn’t anything close to what Chicago has to offer, it still offers the same curious sights, sounds and smells. I didn’t see anyone without pants or puking, so it wasn’t quite the same. But the cost is only $1.25 a ride. Not bad. As far as my destinations, well, trip one was to play the part of makeup ginnea pig for a makeup artist who needed a mug on which to let her client practice. Um yeah, in the end, I looked like a member of the Insane Clown Posse. Trip two was to the chiropractor. It wasn’t exciting, but it was necessary.

Unlrelated funny sign

I overheard this conversation between two early 20-something women while hiking down Runyon Canyon and wanted to share. (Editor’s note: Though it may seem unlikely, I have neither embellished or paraphrased.)

“Some guy is taking me out tonight.”

“What’s this guy’s name?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you, like, not know his name?”

“I totally just talk to my dates until I figure out their names and then I put them in the customer file.”

[no segue, but the same girl is speaking]

“When I, like, totally get famous, there will probably be a photo of me, like, picking my butt and I, like, totally won’t care. I’ll be like, yeah, this is totally me.”

“Totally.”

THE END (Thank God)

I love all things ninja. Why this is, I have no idea. My parents didn’t ship me to a covert ninja camp at a Bhutan monastery when I was a child. Yet, I have a ninja outfit (official ninja speak) that I have worn on more than one occasion and am constantly looking for other excuses to wear it. I dream, eat and sleep in ninja. I own throwing stars and a cross bow. Granted, they are plastic and the crossbow shoots suction-cup darts, but those are silly technicalities.

When I heard about the movie Ninja Assassin, I waited with bated breath for its release. It was the fight scenes and the stealthy crawl of the ninja that I love. I watch. I learn, for I am a ninja in training…one that needs guidance beyond what “Ninja for Dummies” can offer. And I couldn’t have asked for a more comely teacher than the lead in Ninja Assassin. Rain is the actor who plays Raizo—bad ninja turned good after killing only a few people—and has officially become my new hunk crush for obvious reasons.

Rain was kind enough to take time out of his busy schedule to pose in my living room. Of course, I was happy to lend him a ninja-esque weapon to ensure the photo was authentic. We later compared six packs.

The gore and gratuitous violence was to be expected—the promo poster gave that away. Typically I cringe and watch through the slits in whichever hand is covering my face when heads are lopped off and blood gushes like Buckingham Fountain, but not so much in this movie. Probably because the blood was an unnatural shade of red…possibly a nice Sherwin Williams Fire Engine Red matte. The odd color wasn’t comforting by any means, but it wasn’t realistic either, which is why it was bearable to watch it spewing from necks.

Michele and I loved the movie, but Deutsch was less than thrilled, probably because the premise consisted of minimal plot with a focus on maximum shirtless Rain. And I was just fine with that. But it was a fun action flick with beautifully choreographed fight scenes. And what a concept—the actors actually had mad martial arts skills instead of the typical Hollywood-cut-and-paste-create-a-martial-artist software program used for those who’ve never thrown a kick other than when they’ve accidentally slipped on ice.

Our Thanksgiving began on Wednesday with the 1st Annual Pre-Thanksgiving Walkabout. It was a vampire/werewolf theme for no other reason than because we had purchased movie tickets to see New Moon. Wow it was bad. But the shirtless wolf-boys made it most bearable; which initiated a moment of self-discovery—I think I’m a cougar. Most of those young bucks were half my age, but that didn’t stop me from salivating. I should have brought a drop cloth and a mop.

Anyway, the bar/restaurant portion of our walkabout included visits to the following:

Dillon’s, a new Irish pub in Hollywood that charges a mere $3 for a beer—and that’s every kind of beer, not just the canned water that Budweiser and Coors attempt to pass off as beer.

Hungry Cat’s happy hour—$6 specialty drinks created from fresh fruit and the like. They are of a slightly less caliber than those at the Roosevelt Hotel, but they’ll certainly do in a pinch. Our bartender, Jake, was wonderfully sarcastic and even played in our reindeer games when we asked him to describe the milk base of each cheese selection with animal noises. The best was a cow, sheep combo: MoooooBaaaaaaaa

The Well, which is owned by the same people who own The Woods. I realize this means nothing to those who don’t live in Hollywood, but both bars are great. The Well even made the cut for the World’s Best Bars.

Oh, and speaking of cocktails (even though I wasn’t really, but I needed a segue), The Burgundy Room on Cahuenga has become one of my new favorite hangouts. It is dark, dank and has the oddest mercurial glow behind the bar…it’s kind of like drinking in a spaceship.

Essex was our last stop and rightfully so, it was about 11 p.m. and there was absolutely no need to imbibe any further. Even though it doesn’t appear as such, I actually do have an OFF switch.

Thanksgiving Day was dedicated to eating our bevy of appetizers to which we all contributed (though I forgot how sadly lacking in cooking skills I am) and toasting family and friends. And even though it’s post gluttony, I am still thankful that:

• I never again have to endure another inarticulate speech from G.W.
• I am in possession of real, live ninja attire
• Britney Spears has stopped procreating (this is wishful thinking more than anything
• I’m not lactose intolerant
• Webster’s Dictionary has never acknowledged y’all and fixin’ as words because they aren’t
• I no longer work for an epic prick
• There is a street named Lunt in Chicago (hee, it never gets old)
• I have the best friends ever
• My family is still alive, kicking and crazy as ever, which only makes Christmas that much more interesting

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I’m still feeling the effects of sugar, fat and carbohydrate induced food coma, but that’s what being an American is all about. Gobble Gobble.

Mild-mannered tattoo artist and DJ, Josh Schneider, is one multifaceted guy. I first met him at Coach & Horses, a bar on Sunset Blvd. in LA, that features DJ Jazzy S spinning 80s hits (and yes, I made that moniker up…luckily Josh doesn’t know where I live—hee hee) on Thursday nights. This event is known as Technoir to the tavern denizens. By day, he artfully wields a mighty tattoo wand. I’m sure the term “needle” is more accurate, but, oh wait…I almost passed out. (If you are interested in having one or more tattooos applied to your person, Josh is your guy. Check out his Web site at www.joshschneidertattoo.com or visit him at Freak Chic, 7365 Melsrose Ave, Los Angeles.

Josh posing in front of his artwork

What foreign country would you like to visit and why?

I would most like to visit the U.K., specifically England because English culture has influenced so much of my life between music, fashion, film and attitude. I’m listening to Madness as I write this actually!

What is your favorite vacation destination? Please list your most memorable travel moment. (Tricky Josh consolidated these questions…please, read on)

My favorite vacation destination is also the home of my favorite travel memories—Australia! if you have not been “down under” yet, I couldn’t recommend a better place to explore! Some of my favorite memories were white water rafting and petting a ‘roo, koala and a wombat! My favorite moment was quite simple actually—sitting on my best mate’s back porch, drinking Aussie rum, listrning to Men at Work and watching a thunder and lightning storm. It was really quite beautiful.

What is your favorite weekend getaway? Do you take snacks? If so, what kind?

My favorite weekend getaway would have to be San Fransisco. I’ve been there about a dozen times, mostly getting tattooed. Does Zanax count as a snack?

Are you a hotel or hostel kind of guy?

I prefer staying with friends. I like planning some of the trip, because usually i work half of the trip and then do whatever during my free time.

Thanks Josh!

I was either walking away with a photo or a story about getting my ass kicked by a guy wearing a lamp shade on his head. But, this was a happy ending, for my stealthy, ninja ways kicked in and I was able to snap a few photos before he knew what had happened. He turned around once, but we pulled the old “group tourist photo” trick. Lamp shade guy had no idea…or it’s possible that he just didn’t care.

Only in LA. And to think I documented all of this fodder enroute to the Arclight Theatre where we saw 2012.

As for my review—the movie was campy and ridiculous. Save your money and wait until HBO features it two years from now. There were great actors in it: John Cusak, Amanda Peet, Oliver Platt, Danny Glover, yada yada; but it still isn’t worth it. The writers interjected levity where there should not have been levity; and it was drowning in cheese. The previews were my favorite part.

Here are a few things that I could have purchased with the money I spent on a 2012 movie ticket:

• half of what a PVC French maid outfit would cost (not that I’ve researched it)
• 7 rawhide doggie bones
• 4 bottles of Boones Farm (there’s a fan club by the way)
• bribe to stay out of a Mexican prison
• one hour’s worth of Pai Gow poker (if you know what you’re doing)
• a Man Groomer
• one Wiglet from CVS, two from Walgreen’s
• a Kenny G CD
• an appetizer at the Chicken Ranch