Downtown/Union's "Rental(s) for the Weekend"
Mike Tyson Documentary
Anvil! The Story of Anvil.
Ghetto Rich
Mike Tyson Documentary
Anvil! The Story of Anvil.
Ghetto Rich
Party Down? Don't mind if I do.
Party Down? What's that? Oh, just the best show to hit the movie channel network Starz since....well...its probably the best show they have ever come up with. Starz really isn't the "HBO" of great programing yet. I do say, "yet," because if they continue making shows like "Party Down" they will be.
Party Down (if you haven't went to Wikipedia or IMDB already) is about a group of misfits that work for a catering company in LA called (you guessed it) Party Down. Now I haven't worked in the food industry in LA, but this can't be too far off the boat.
First, you have the boss who is a former class clown, and who is highly influenced by motivational tapes. With his newly found knowledge, he tries to inspire his crew to do their best. In turn, trying to get offered the general manager position of a new "all you can eat" soup and salad restaurant HIS boss is trying to open.
Second, the other main characters are struggling actors and comedians, which isn't a stretch for the workforce here in LA. Everyone here is an "actor," "comedian" and a "model." They just happen to be serving you crab won tons while they wait for their agent to call them back. (Reminds me, call agent back Monday).
The show taking place in LA, is perfect for the concept. The situations given are very different from the week before because of their surroundings. Weddings, Birthday Parties, and Business events all run differently and Party Down definitely shows how a group of wanna-be stars make it happen even if that's not what they want to do. If done properly this show could last quite a long time.
The cast includes Martin Starr (Freaks and Geeks, and a few Judd Apatow movies), Lizzy Caplan (True Blood), and Adam Scott (Step Brothers, Knocked Up). Oh yea, Fred Savage directs for the show. How awesome is that?
So go get Starz on-demand, watch all of season 1, and wait for season 2. I have a feeling its only going to get better.
Party Down (if you haven't went to Wikipedia or IMDB already) is about a group of misfits that work for a catering company in LA called (you guessed it) Party Down. Now I haven't worked in the food industry in LA, but this can't be too far off the boat.
First, you have the boss who is a former class clown, and who is highly influenced by motivational tapes. With his newly found knowledge, he tries to inspire his crew to do their best. In turn, trying to get offered the general manager position of a new "all you can eat" soup and salad restaurant HIS boss is trying to open.
Second, the other main characters are struggling actors and comedians, which isn't a stretch for the workforce here in LA. Everyone here is an "actor," "comedian" and a "model." They just happen to be serving you crab won tons while they wait for their agent to call them back. (Reminds me, call agent back Monday).
The show taking place in LA, is perfect for the concept. The situations given are very different from the week before because of their surroundings. Weddings, Birthday Parties, and Business events all run differently and Party Down definitely shows how a group of wanna-be stars make it happen even if that's not what they want to do. If done properly this show could last quite a long time.
The cast includes Martin Starr (Freaks and Geeks, and a few Judd Apatow movies), Lizzy Caplan (True Blood), and Adam Scott (Step Brothers, Knocked Up). Oh yea, Fred Savage directs for the show. How awesome is that?
So go get Starz on-demand, watch all of season 1, and wait for season 2. I have a feeling its only going to get better.
2009.05.27
Downtown/Union tells us their "Youtube Pick(s) of the Week"
Check them out at Mr. T's Bowl tonight!
Check them out at Mr. T's Bowl tonight!
Kittens Inspired by Kittens
Retarded Policeman!
Above the Smog - Observations of a Pilot
Kris Allen is the new American Idol, Lebron James beats Kobe Bryant as the best player in the NBA, and So You Think You Can Dance? will air two hours every Tuesday night this fall. If you're excited to hear me weigh in on any of the above, I'll try and make it simple:
Some of what I've learned in my years of flying that I otherwise may not have known:
There are dolphins living off the coast of Malibu. Lots of them. My theory is that they're all related to Flipper, who was the most famous superstar dolphin of all time and is now in the Promises rehab facility in Malibu due to a trout addiction. Hollywood isn't easy, even for the stars.
The distance from the San Fernando Valley to LAX is only about half a mile. You can be hovering over the valley and see the airport from Van Nuys. When you're on the ground it feels like it's about 35 miles due to the traffic. City planners got clever and posted signs at the 405 and 10 interchange with sayings like "LAX Airport 5 Miles" or "You're Almost There, Don't Give Up Now!" to fool drivers. LAX is half a block from the 405 and 10 interchange. If drivers knew that, they'd pressure the city to clear up the traffic, but the mayor is too busy feeling the warm front of the new weather girl at Telemundo to deal with that.
A lot of people have celebrations going on in Compton. Stray bullets fly through the air at all hours of the day and night as people shoot their guns high above their heads in joy. It's nice to see people enjoying life again.
The layout of Disneyland is shaped like a Swastika. The FAA doesn't allow us to fly within a three-mile radius of the park unless you're above 10,000 feet. So I flew at 10,000 feet, and sure enough. All heil Mickey Mouse.
You won't find it on Google maps, but there is a secret spot where the 110, the 10, the 405, the 105, the 710 and the 605 freeways all converge. Here, time stops and goblins fly through the air and Paris Hilton is the mayor and nothing is what it seems.
I am no longer a 13-year old girl and therefore haven't watched American Idol since Paula fell off the wagon for the fifth time and Simon made that 78-year old woman cry because her rendition of Holla Back Girl "made me want to dig my eyes out with a bloody spoon."
I could care less what Lebron James and Kobe Bryant do because sports bore me to the point of exhaustion, and if I have to read one more Facebook status that says something like "Come on Cavs, let's get it together!" I may go postal. No Calf is reading your Facebook updates, and even if one were, I don't think he'd go "you know, he's right? We really DO need to get it together!" and then he'd solve world hunger while winning the Super Bowl and building an animal shelter all at once because YOU told him to straighten up and fly right. Do the Cavs even play football? This is how little I care.
As for dancing reality shows...well, when Jesus gets back he's going to be pissed, so I'll let him deal with that.
When it seems like things are becoming too ridiculous to deal with here on the ground, I take to the skies. That's just what I did yesterday. We drove to the airport, grabbed a helicopter and took off.
Having flown in the Southern California region for five years now, I've learned some very interesting things about our city. When you're coming in on a commercial jet that has a landing speed of 210 miles per hour, you're not afforded much chance to really see what L.A. looks like from the air. Also, it's L.A., and the layer of smog that hangs over downtown like a gentle reminder that our city will soon resemble the opening scenes from Wall-E blocks most aerial views anyway. Luckily, the planes I fly are a little slower, a little more maneuverable, and allow me the opportunity to see L.A. the way most people never will.
Some of what I've learned in my years of flying that I otherwise may not have known:There are dolphins living off the coast of Malibu. Lots of them. My theory is that they're all related to Flipper, who was the most famous superstar dolphin of all time and is now in the Promises rehab facility in Malibu due to a trout addiction. Hollywood isn't easy, even for the stars.
The distance from the San Fernando Valley to LAX is only about half a mile. You can be hovering over the valley and see the airport from Van Nuys. When you're on the ground it feels like it's about 35 miles due to the traffic. City planners got clever and posted signs at the 405 and 10 interchange with sayings like "LAX Airport 5 Miles" or "You're Almost There, Don't Give Up Now!" to fool drivers. LAX is half a block from the 405 and 10 interchange. If drivers knew that, they'd pressure the city to clear up the traffic, but the mayor is too busy feeling the warm front of the new weather girl at Telemundo to deal with that.
A lot of people have celebrations going on in Compton. Stray bullets fly through the air at all hours of the day and night as people shoot their guns high above their heads in joy. It's nice to see people enjoying life again.
The layout of Disneyland is shaped like a Swastika. The FAA doesn't allow us to fly within a three-mile radius of the park unless you're above 10,000 feet. So I flew at 10,000 feet, and sure enough. All heil Mickey Mouse.
You won't find it on Google maps, but there is a secret spot where the 110, the 10, the 405, the 105, the 710 and the 605 freeways all converge. Here, time stops and goblins fly through the air and Paris Hilton is the mayor and nothing is what it seems.
Everyone but me has a swimming pool.
The L.A. River is a myth. Someone built a concrete trench that weaves its way through the city and out to the ocean, but according to Wikipedia, the source of all information in the world, a river requires water. There is no water in the L.A. River. Just a sweet place to rollerblade.
For Grey's Anatomy fans, I hate to break it to you but Seattle Grace Hospital isn't really in Seattle. It's the Veteran's Administration Hospital and it's located 80 feet north of the Van Nuys runway. McDreamy lied to you.
The Hollywood sign is a great place to stash a body. The W provides the most cover, I've found.
That said, if you're ever in the need of a little space, hop into a plane and leave the ground for a little while. I'm headed to the Grand Canyon for Memorial Day Weekend and flying will put me there in just over two hours, mainly due to the fact that I won't have to sit on the 10 freeway in Duarte for half a day while the CHP cleans up the remnants of the camper that tipped over in front of us.
Sounds easier said than done? Visit www.HollywoodAviators.com, where $99 will give you an introductory lesson that puts YOU at the controls of an airplane. I did it five years ago and I've never looked back. Well I looked back once when we hit some turbulence and my beer can rolled into the back seat but I took care of it.
The L.A. River is a myth. Someone built a concrete trench that weaves its way through the city and out to the ocean, but according to Wikipedia, the source of all information in the world, a river requires water. There is no water in the L.A. River. Just a sweet place to rollerblade.
For Grey's Anatomy fans, I hate to break it to you but Seattle Grace Hospital isn't really in Seattle. It's the Veteran's Administration Hospital and it's located 80 feet north of the Van Nuys runway. McDreamy lied to you.
The Hollywood sign is a great place to stash a body. The W provides the most cover, I've found.
That said, if you're ever in the need of a little space, hop into a plane and leave the ground for a little while. I'm headed to the Grand Canyon for Memorial Day Weekend and flying will put me there in just over two hours, mainly due to the fact that I won't have to sit on the 10 freeway in Duarte for half a day while the CHP cleans up the remnants of the camper that tipped over in front of us.
Sounds easier said than done? Visit www.HollywoodAviators.com, where $99 will give you an introductory lesson that puts YOU at the controls of an airplane. I did it five years ago and I've never looked back. Well I looked back once when we hit some turbulence and my beer can rolled into the back seat but I took care of it.
People Say Things That Piss Me Off
Many of you, like Andrew, like to say catch phrases. I call you people...Crazy. I will give you two examples. "Every dog has its day" and "A bird in hand beats two in the bush." These I can handle, even thought they make no sense and I find worthless. Here are a few more for your reading pleasure:
1. "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas."
I love Vegas, but tell that to the guy that walked away from the Bunny Ranch with Herpes. Or the girl that lost all her money to the Blackjack table. Frankly, this is a saying most reserved for people that have casual sex and don't want to tell their partners/girlfriends/grandmothers that they are whores. Yea, I said it whores. Better yet, crack whores.
2. "We Work Hard, and Play Hard."
Really, or is this just a saying that bosses tell you as a new employee so you'll work 12 hours a day for a week and then pile on more work for the weekend?
Boss: "We work hard, and play hard here."
Me: "Doesn't look like YOU'RE working at all. What?!?!? You're going to Florida this weekend to visit your boyfriend? Oh thats cool...I'll be here in this hole in the ground doing all this work while you cook in the sun and hopefully get skin cancer."
Oh! Whatever happens in Florida, apparently stays there too.
3. "What Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Stronger."
Here is a brain buster I have always hated. What about getting hit by a car and breaking every bone in your body? What about a stroke? Better yet, what about severe dismemberment? I don't have feet, but look on the bright side, that Combine didn't kill me...even though I wish it did. Let's see the guy with no feet squat 600 pounds.
So the next time you say one of these, please think about it. You never know when your grandmother will call and ask about your weekend in Florida. Hopefully, your reply isn't, "Oh, it went swimmingly, I got Herpes, Skin Cancer, and had my feet cut off by a Combine."
1. "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas."
I love Vegas, but tell that to the guy that walked away from the Bunny Ranch with Herpes. Or the girl that lost all her money to the Blackjack table. Frankly, this is a saying most reserved for people that have casual sex and don't want to tell their partners/girlfriends/grandmothers that they are whores. Yea, I said it whores. Better yet, crack whores.2. "We Work Hard, and Play Hard."
Really, or is this just a saying that bosses tell you as a new employee so you'll work 12 hours a day for a week and then pile on more work for the weekend?Boss: "We work hard, and play hard here."
Me: "Doesn't look like YOU'RE working at all. What?!?!? You're going to Florida this weekend to visit your boyfriend? Oh thats cool...I'll be here in this hole in the ground doing all this work while you cook in the sun and hopefully get skin cancer."
Oh! Whatever happens in Florida, apparently stays there too.
3. "What Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Stronger."
Here is a brain buster I have always hated. What about getting hit by a car and breaking every bone in your body? What about a stroke? Better yet, what about severe dismemberment? I don't have feet, but look on the bright side, that Combine didn't kill me...even though I wish it did. Let's see the guy with no feet squat 600 pounds. So the next time you say one of these, please think about it. You never know when your grandmother will call and ask about your weekend in Florida. Hopefully, your reply isn't, "Oh, it went swimmingly, I got Herpes, Skin Cancer, and had my feet cut off by a Combine."
Andrew and J.J. Report on the Renaissance Faire
Thousands of middle-aged men and women emerge from the black hole of their parent's basement once a year to experience the middle ages in the Southern California desert. Andrew and J.J. brave the heat and the nerds to take you into the center of it all.
Monday Morning, and the case of "Missing Water"
I'm taking over Andrew's day this week to talk about my horrible Monday morning. Like many Monday mornings, I don't want to go to work. I share this with millions of human beings, not only Americans even though we are far superior.
So its 8:25am, I wake up on my own without the alarm clock. Good sign its going to be a great day. I jump in the shower after brushing my teeth, and continue this streak of awesomeness.
5 minutes in, I'm feeling good.
I wash my hair and other body parts and then my "unmentionables"...why they are called "unmentionables" beats me. But anyways, I'm washing my balls and all of a sudden the water pressure starts to drop. My first reaction is to turn up the knob, which I do, and discover that it doesn't return the needed water pressure.
15 minutes into the day mind you.
The water pressure continues to drop and within seconds, there is no more running water and I have soaping "unmentionables." The only word in my vocabulary to convey my frustration is "fuck," which I say very loudly. I get out of the shower, check the faucet in the bathroom. No water. I run down stairs and check the kitchen and the other bathroom sinks. No water. Clearly God, wants to play a cruel joke on me.
I walk back upstairs and dry off as best as I can and I dress myself. I walk down stairs and pour myself a bowl of cereal. I reach into the refrigerator and I'm surprised with another absence of liquid, the milk. Once again, the word "fuck" comes to mind, and I pour the cereal back into the box.
I look in the freezer. "A burrito will have to do." I put the burrito onto a small plate and set it to cook for 2 and a half minutes. Enough time for me to find a remote and turn on the TV for some early morning programing.
3...2...1...
Ding! I pull open the microwave door, grab the plate. 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi. "Oh FUCK!" The plate is hotter than Satan's Asshole after Taco Night and I almost drop my breakfast on the floor. By the way.
30 minutes into my day.
I casually throw the plate onto the table, just seconds before my hand turns black due to the third degree burns and I sit down.
I wait for the burrito and plate to cool for the recommended 5 minutes before devouring and I pick up my fork. I then proceed to stab my fork into my ice cold burrito. Could my day be much worse?
Wait for it.
"Fuck it." I eat both ends of the burrito and then I eat the remaining ice cube, they call the "center." At least I have food in my stomach. Naturally, after eating my burrito I grab a glass out of the cabinet and go to the sink. Turn the knob, no FUCKING WATER!
36 Minutes In
At this point, I am two seconds from throwing the glass out the window and jumping onto the grassy area outside where they are clearly watering our lawn to make it that abnormal green color that you only get in Easter baskets. But I resist and text Brandon. Verbatim. "Water Shut off while I was in the shower...can I have the last of that coke?" To me, this made sense. To Brandon, he thought I was a raving lunatic, but as a good friend says "yea, but its flat."
So I pour a half a glass of flat coke and rinse down that ice cold burrito. I go back upstairs, grab my things and I head out the door. On my way to my car, I see a man working on some water pipes. Clearly, this man has caused my day to start off the way it has. I look at the man making eye contact and say, "Good Morning!"
Good thing I brushed my teeth first.
So its 8:25am, I wake up on my own without the alarm clock. Good sign its going to be a great day. I jump in the shower after brushing my teeth, and continue this streak of awesomeness.
5 minutes in, I'm feeling good.
I wash my hair and other body parts and then my "unmentionables"...why they are called "unmentionables" beats me. But anyways, I'm washing my balls and all of a sudden the water pressure starts to drop. My first reaction is to turn up the knob, which I do, and discover that it doesn't return the needed water pressure.
15 minutes into the day mind you.
The water pressure continues to drop and within seconds, there is no more running water and I have soaping "unmentionables." The only word in my vocabulary to convey my frustration is "fuck," which I say very loudly. I get out of the shower, check the faucet in the bathroom. No water. I run down stairs and check the kitchen and the other bathroom sinks. No water. Clearly God, wants to play a cruel joke on me.
I walk back upstairs and dry off as best as I can and I dress myself. I walk down stairs and pour myself a bowl of cereal. I reach into the refrigerator and I'm surprised with another absence of liquid, the milk. Once again, the word "fuck" comes to mind, and I pour the cereal back into the box.
I look in the freezer. "A burrito will have to do." I put the burrito onto a small plate and set it to cook for 2 and a half minutes. Enough time for me to find a remote and turn on the TV for some early morning programing.
3...2...1...
Ding! I pull open the microwave door, grab the plate. 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi. "Oh FUCK!" The plate is hotter than Satan's Asshole after Taco Night and I almost drop my breakfast on the floor. By the way.
30 minutes into my day.
I casually throw the plate onto the table, just seconds before my hand turns black due to the third degree burns and I sit down.
I wait for the burrito and plate to cool for the recommended 5 minutes before devouring and I pick up my fork. I then proceed to stab my fork into my ice cold burrito. Could my day be much worse?
Wait for it.
"Fuck it." I eat both ends of the burrito and then I eat the remaining ice cube, they call the "center." At least I have food in my stomach. Naturally, after eating my burrito I grab a glass out of the cabinet and go to the sink. Turn the knob, no FUCKING WATER!
36 Minutes In
At this point, I am two seconds from throwing the glass out the window and jumping onto the grassy area outside where they are clearly watering our lawn to make it that abnormal green color that you only get in Easter baskets. But I resist and text Brandon. Verbatim. "Water Shut off while I was in the shower...can I have the last of that coke?" To me, this made sense. To Brandon, he thought I was a raving lunatic, but as a good friend says "yea, but its flat."
So I pour a half a glass of flat coke and rinse down that ice cold burrito. I go back upstairs, grab my things and I head out the door. On my way to my car, I see a man working on some water pipes. Clearly, this man has caused my day to start off the way it has. I look at the man making eye contact and say, "Good Morning!"
Good thing I brushed my teeth first.
The Big Dig
Okay, so Tuesday is my day to blog. I have Tuesdays, J.J. disappoints you on Thursdays, and that's the schedule. Well, I haven't blogged the last couple of weeks. While J.J. is aware of his shortcomings in the writing department (be gentle with him, he's a special little boy,) he's doing the job, and I haven't been, and that's even more disappointing to you, the loyal follower. It's like, you LOVE watching Friends and you look forward to it each week. You're not a big fan of Full House, but you watch it because it's on. Then one day, Friends isn't there, and while Full House is always a disappointment due to the constant canned laughter after every stupid thing Michelle Tanner says, you appreciate the fact that it's still airing new episodes while Friends has fallen off the map. I realize this scenario makes no sense, considering the fact that both Friends and Full House were shot on Stage 24 on the Warner Bros. lot in Burbank, so of course they weren't airing new episodes at the same time. That's a fact, by the way. Take the Warner Bros. backlot tour sometime. They'll vouch for me. Anyway, I have an excuse. Settle down, Uncle Jessie.
I've been Spring Cleaning. I capitalize it because I consider it a holiday, like Christmas or Clam Chowder Day (February 21st.) It never occurs to me how much stuff I accumulate until one day I'm looking for a place to store an extra paper clip and I realize I have NO MORE ROOM. Then, out come the garbage cans and I belt myself in to prepare for a wild trip down Memory Lane. I capitalize it because it's the name of a registered business in Standish, Maine.
Going through the various items of garbage I've built up over the years, I am reminded of events in my life...the time I dumped an entire package of Hostess doughnuts into the school drinking fountain in 7th grade before being spotted by a loud-mouthed little girl...the weird kid in Boy Scouts who now resides in a mental institution in Utah for doing unspeakable things to a frog...the year I didn't get the drum set I wanted for my birthday...and the list goes on. It's like walking through a museum of my life, complete with artifacts I can touch and am permitted to break in half and throw away if I choose to do so. Beat that, Smithsonian.
I have this pack rat thing (I also have a rat pack thing but that's because I am often mistaken for Sammy Davis Jr.) where I keep stuff because I think I'll have a use for it one day. In a box in Seattle, I have a half-eaten bagel that was featured in my high school senior film because I am DETERMINED that one day Planet Hollywood is going to come asking for it. Going through boxes yesterday, I discovered a portable CD player I bought in 1996 for $200 because it featured "Super G-Shock Proof Resistance Technology," meaning you could TURN IT UPSIDE DOWN and it still wouldn't skip. I accidentally microwaved my iPod in a cup of soup last week and it still works fine, so what do I need a CD player for? I found a book from a college English class that I never bothered to read while I was in the class, but I wanted to "do the right thing" and read it eventually, even though I successfully failed the class six years ago. All of these useless items are headed to charity tomorrow. Well, except for the bagel in Seattle, which I am determined is somehow the cause of my dad's severe asthma.
I took about ten loads to the garbage can and now have two truck loads of stuff to haul to Goodwill. While I will shed a tear or two as I bid farewell to the pair of two-dollar headphones I once acquired on an ill-fated flight to Minneapolis (ill-fated due to the fact that I ended up in Minneapolis) I have come to the realization the Spring Cleaning is more than just a cleansing of the home - it is a cleaning of the soul. And sometimes the garage and the closet under the stairs. If you're feeling stifled or in need of a little refreshment, open up the closets, pull out the drawers, clear your schedule and discard all of your precious memories. You'll feel amazing.
I've been Spring Cleaning. I capitalize it because I consider it a holiday, like Christmas or Clam Chowder Day (February 21st.) It never occurs to me how much stuff I accumulate until one day I'm looking for a place to store an extra paper clip and I realize I have NO MORE ROOM. Then, out come the garbage cans and I belt myself in to prepare for a wild trip down Memory Lane. I capitalize it because it's the name of a registered business in Standish, Maine.
Going through the various items of garbage I've built up over the years, I am reminded of events in my life...the time I dumped an entire package of Hostess doughnuts into the school drinking fountain in 7th grade before being spotted by a loud-mouthed little girl...the weird kid in Boy Scouts who now resides in a mental institution in Utah for doing unspeakable things to a frog...the year I didn't get the drum set I wanted for my birthday...and the list goes on. It's like walking through a museum of my life, complete with artifacts I can touch and am permitted to break in half and throw away if I choose to do so. Beat that, Smithsonian.
I have this pack rat thing (I also have a rat pack thing but that's because I am often mistaken for Sammy Davis Jr.) where I keep stuff because I think I'll have a use for it one day. In a box in Seattle, I have a half-eaten bagel that was featured in my high school senior film because I am DETERMINED that one day Planet Hollywood is going to come asking for it. Going through boxes yesterday, I discovered a portable CD player I bought in 1996 for $200 because it featured "Super G-Shock Proof Resistance Technology," meaning you could TURN IT UPSIDE DOWN and it still wouldn't skip. I accidentally microwaved my iPod in a cup of soup last week and it still works fine, so what do I need a CD player for? I found a book from a college English class that I never bothered to read while I was in the class, but I wanted to "do the right thing" and read it eventually, even though I successfully failed the class six years ago. All of these useless items are headed to charity tomorrow. Well, except for the bagel in Seattle, which I am determined is somehow the cause of my dad's severe asthma.
I took about ten loads to the garbage can and now have two truck loads of stuff to haul to Goodwill. While I will shed a tear or two as I bid farewell to the pair of two-dollar headphones I once acquired on an ill-fated flight to Minneapolis (ill-fated due to the fact that I ended up in Minneapolis) I have come to the realization the Spring Cleaning is more than just a cleansing of the home - it is a cleaning of the soul. And sometimes the garage and the closet under the stairs. If you're feeling stifled or in need of a little refreshment, open up the closets, pull out the drawers, clear your schedule and discard all of your precious memories. You'll feel amazing.
Sharing an Ipod
Not too long ago my friend Erica came to visit from New York. We were driving around a lot in my car, which has an Ipod...connection. Thats it. To listen to each others music we would have to swap out our Ipods, back and forth. This led to being a drag, so I decided to copy her music to my Ipod. Great Idea until the day she decides to leave and I realize that I have all her girly music on my Ipod.
Fast forward to this week. I'm editing, everything is stressful like most weeks and I want to kill myself when out of no where Michael Jackson's song "Man in the Mirror" starts to play. I, being by myself, didn't think anything tooooo strange with it, since I know that this music was just from Erica's Ipod. Then 15 minutes pass and Josh, my intern, comes into the room and sits down. He watches me edit and sure enough some operatic music comes on. From what Josh has discovered, this music is very different than the music I normally listen to. He comments "What the hell is this?" Without missing a beat, I look him square in the eye and say, "If you want to stay in this room you are going to enjoy the Phantom of the Opera!" I then continue to work and he now thinks that I have something for men that have half of a face.
Thanks a lot Erica.
Fast forward to this week. I'm editing, everything is stressful like most weeks and I want to kill myself when out of no where Michael Jackson's song "Man in the Mirror" starts to play. I, being by myself, didn't think anything tooooo strange with it, since I know that this music was just from Erica's Ipod. Then 15 minutes pass and Josh, my intern, comes into the room and sits down. He watches me edit and sure enough some operatic music comes on. From what Josh has discovered, this music is very different than the music I normally listen to. He comments "What the hell is this?" Without missing a beat, I look him square in the eye and say, "If you want to stay in this room you are going to enjoy the Phantom of the Opera!" I then continue to work and he now thinks that I have something for men that have half of a face.Thanks a lot Erica.
2009.05.08
A & J are on the phone with Jamie the director of "Two Million Stupid Women" and find out that its not just a clever name.
Blog troubles
Tuesday is Andrew's blog day. Mine is on Thursday and it mostly consists of me sitting around for 20 minutes trying to think of something clever to say. I write a full paragraph, read it, erase it and write it again.
Is this the norm? Do bloggers just write what is on their minds without editing their thoughts? Is there a structure to their madness? I personally have never been a great writer. I'm what they call an "ideas man" which is a bit clique since its a huge and arrogant self proclamation. You usually say "Tom's an ideas man" or "Susan, now she's an ideas woman...." (Maybe not the last one, but I hope you get the idea).
I come up with some funny things to say in my head, but they never get to paper. Frankly, because I write like an 8th grader at a junior high dance. I have a lot of witty things to say to Renee dancing with her friends, but I just don't know how to say it without spilling fruit punch on her new white dress. Consequently this causes Chad, her boyfriend, to hit me in the face and staining my shirt with another scarlet liquid.
One thing that does save me in writing a blog weekly is the pictures I put up. They add to the blog and at least they give you something to look. Much like illustrations in a "Winnie the Pooh" book. Sure the book is great, but I want to read the next ten pages so I can see more pictures.
So I guess this is basically an apology to all of you that read our blog on Thursdays. If its not funny, I'm sorry. And if you think its hilarious, can you spot me a few bucks so I can get this red stain out of my shirt?
Is this the norm? Do bloggers just write what is on their minds without editing their thoughts? Is there a structure to their madness? I personally have never been a great writer. I'm what they call an "ideas man" which is a bit clique since its a huge and arrogant self proclamation. You usually say "Tom's an ideas man" or "Susan, now she's an ideas woman...." (Maybe not the last one, but I hope you get the idea).
I come up with some funny things to say in my head, but they never get to paper. Frankly, because I write like an 8th grader at a junior high dance. I have a lot of witty things to say to Renee dancing with her friends, but I just don't know how to say it without spilling fruit punch on her new white dress. Consequently this causes Chad, her boyfriend, to hit me in the face and staining my shirt with another scarlet liquid.
One thing that does save me in writing a blog weekly is the pictures I put up. They add to the blog and at least they give you something to look. Much like illustrations in a "Winnie the Pooh" book. Sure the book is great, but I want to read the next ten pages so I can see more pictures.
So I guess this is basically an apology to all of you that read our blog on Thursdays. If its not funny, I'm sorry. And if you think its hilarious, can you spot me a few bucks so I can get this red stain out of my shirt?
Andrew and J.J. Report on the British Film Festival
Andrew and J.J. take you on yet another adventure. This time they take you to the 1st Annual British Film Festival. They interview celebrities, eat bacon wrapped hot dogs, and mingle with the elite.
Tickets for Faire: An American Renaissance
The director of Faire: An American Renaissance has just sent us an email saying that they have 20 tickets to give out for his film on Thursday at 2pm. If you are interested email info@fairedocumentary.com
Hobbes has finally gotten off his lazy ass and got some prizes for us to give away. Real prizes like vacations for two to Italy and stuff like that. He won't tell us what we have to do for those... I just hope it doesn't involve us being nude.This week's contest winner will receive a ticket for 2 to see the 2-hour season finale of "24" on May 12th, a week before it airs on Fox.
The first person to email us at andrewandjj@gmail.com with the correct answer to the following question will be our winner.
"What telephone number has been used frequently on the show that fans can call and leave voice mail messages for 'Jack' and the crew?"
2009.05.04
Andrew and J.J. talk with directors Adam and Aden from "The Beverages"
The Beverages Teaser from Adam Garcia on Vimeo.
2009.05.01
Paul's last day this week on "Ten Minutes with Andrew and J.J." where we remember a better time. We also discuss the Rental for the Weekend: Fronterz (yea thats with a "Z")
Check out the British Film Festival May 3rd - 8th.
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