Christmas Break '08

My family and I watched a Real Housewives of Orange County marathon on Bravo the other day. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I love Bravo. Real Housewives (both of them) is good, Top Chef is quality, I even like Project Runway (for Heidi). I'm not proud of it, but I am looking forward to the new Real Housewives of Orange County on Tuesday when Jeanette, Bob, and I will anxiously await the new girl being introduced to all the Coto ladies. Sah-weet.

In other news, I lost a $20 bet to my father over video games, was made to tell the story when my Grandmother informed me about the dangers of anal sex at our family Christmas get-together (it really is a classic) and have eaten my weight in peanut butter Hershey's kiss cookies...CCRB here I come.

Jeanette thinks my beard was actually a good idea and says I should grow it full time. So much for all the Rabbi jokes.

Definitely one of the best things about graduating is never having to sleep on a dorm mattress ever again.

Did I mention I like peanut butter Hershey's kiss cookies?

Best Day of the Semester

So, today, I was sitting in Angell Hall against the windows watching The Addams Family (for a paper, I swear) on my computer as a smiling girl came up to me and handed me a piece of candy and a flyer advertising her a capella group's concert tomorrow night. On a boombox on the group's table nearby was playing their version of Ben E. King's classic "Stand By Me," as I told the girl that it was one of the only songs I can currently play on the guitar. I asked her if they'd be singing it at the concert and she informed me that they had retired the singing of the song, but that I should still come. I told her I wouldn't be attending if I weren't guaranteed the singing acapella style of "Stand By Me," so the girl kiddingly told me that for $10, her and her fellow singers would sing it to me on the spot. Much to her surprise, I whipped out a 10-dollar bill...



Aaaaaand, I was serenaded by 5 girls in the middle of Angell Hall. Best $10 I've ever spent.

So Long No Shave November...

I desperately wanted to keep it, but my aunt told me that I will be subject to a family photo this Friday. Thus, No Shave November has come to a premature end. It was a glorious 3-quarters of a month, but all things must see their itchy, razor-burn filled conclusion. Probably the best part was the mustache finale, where I channeled my inner-Tom Selack. Except I'm sexier and you know it!

Things That Make Me Happy

Not in the best mood, so I'm gonna make like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music and Recall some of my favorite things.

1. Cupcakes, the perfect food. The Cupcake Station, a new cupcake-only bakery in Ann Arbor has changed my life.

2. Playing the guitar- finally getting lessons= the best decision of my life

3. Classic video football finishes that have me screaming up and down the hallway in joy.

4. Finishing those pesky screenplay pages.

5. Eating at Betsy Barbour (all girls, schwing) dining hall- far better than West Quad dining facility, which sucks.

6. Reading Cosmo- I love advice so much, I no longer care who its aimed at..it's a guilty pleasure for sure (its always a little embarrassing buying one, but at least I'm reading, that's better than my dad can say...

7. ...while drinking a salted carmel hot chocolate from Starbucks. Salt+chocolate= great combo

8. Seeing the Texas Longhorns play well. The prospect of a Texas-USC rematch has made this terrible Michigan season so much more palatable.

9. The movie Religulous....just go see it, so funny.

10. Voting for the first time. I'm not gonna say who I'm voting for, but let's just say his first name rhymes with 'Yo Mamma'

The Mann House: True Life

I found this on Jeanette's blog. Apparently my stepmom found a bat late at night and my dad fled the scene. I can see him with i t-shirt and underwear girl-running from the bedroom to our basement. I'm so glad the men in our family are so brave. Although, I can't blame him, I had my roomate kill a spider in my bathroom a few weeks back. Anyway, without further ado:

My parents and the bat.

I was awakened last night from a dead sleep to the light flutter of bird wings. Ah, in my dream state I thought maybe it would fly, fly away and I was back to sleep. Soon, I realized birds don't fly in houses at night but, OMG, BATS DO!!!! And then I saw it - the outline of bat wings on the ceiling. I screamed at the heart patient to my side - IT'S A BAT and all hell broke loose. Dog and cats scattered. Bob ran out of the room and I hid under the covers screaming. Now mind you, I am the voice of reason in the house. I can handle bugs, spiders, birds, and the occasional mouse but I draw the line at BATS! So, with Bob long gone and safely out of deaths grip(a shout out to Bob THANKS), I hovered under the covers as the BAT the size of a prehistoric flying dinosaur flew about the room. Rather than stay there and risk life and limb, I escaped with a sheet as my shield. Even in my panic, I managed to open the deck door and slam the bedroom door shut, all with the hope the evil doer would LEAVE. Needless to say, it was a restless night of sleep on the couch for all. I have no doubt I saw a collar and tag around this mangy animals neck that read: If found contact The Munsters at 1313 Mockingbird Lane.

Laguna Beach, Guitar Hero, and the Day I was in an Earthquake with an Olsen Twin.

Well, I know everyone wants to hear about the latter part of the title to this post, but be patient. First thing's first. This weekend I drove down to lovely (and very spacious) Laguna Beach where I met Adam and Co. for a little beach time and fun in the sun. It was my first foray into the O.C. and I must say...it's a lot like Plano, TX with a beach...and pretty people. It's all good. I found out Adam likes, um, big girls, that I'm the only male in California with chest hair, and that I can catch a frisbee but am still unable to throw one. Not pretty. I just went down for the day as I had to be at work early Monday morning, but Adam is coming this weekend to LA to see a Dodgers Game, see a show at the Hollywood Bowl (Yay! I get to go! Finally!!), and rock LA. 

Speaking of rocking, I've finally been sucked into Guitar Hero. After watching Gentz and Amy and every other SW person own this year, I've finally stepped up to the plate and learned how to play the guitar....hero. I'm rhythmically challenged, but I'm addicted. When I'm bored, I go to the Best Buy down the street and play their demo. I feel like a homeless person with a home, yet sans video game system. I'm not proud. 

And lastly, today I had just returned from an emergency Blockbuster run and Office Depot errand to my desk at work. I was working on a small project when the suspended lights from the ceiling started to sway and the room, yes, started to shake, beginning the 10 or so seconds of my first ever Earthquake experience. There were a  couple screams and shouts around the office, yet when the shaking stopped, there was a nice calm for about 20 seconds. I stepped away from my desk and to the middle of the office where everyone in my company had gathered, including, yes, an Olsen twin. She was very nice and down-to-earth, but a little shaken up (as we all were) by the rattling. Everyone was talking about what to do in case of an earthquake, but when the commotion came to a hault, everyone went back to what they were doing. No one even thought of going home. Gotta love California. This has been the most crazy summer.

But yes, that was when I was in an earthquake with an Olsen twin. I can no longer explain the things that happen in my life. 

To My Father...

My second favorite person in the entire world- whom I always long to call on the telephone- provided Adam isn't picking up. My dad always likes when I mention him in my blog, so here you go big guy. What a fine example you set for me- such great traits I inherit such as, but not limited to the following: 

1) An adeptness at making jokes involving a penis, vagina and/or mammories. Truly a gift. "I'll have the black cod...k" 

2) Wearing out peoples' flaws so that they actually think that you hate them...when you actually like them.  

3) The rubbery, disapproving face, perfect for letting someone know that you, um, disapprove. 

4) A high-pitched squeal voice- leading to a never-ending chorus at my mother's family's dinners when my cousins chant "Do Bob! Do Bob!" "JEEEEEAAANEEETTTTTEEEEEE!!! Can you feel my foreheaaad!?"

5) A weird, sarcastic cadence that has a meter all it's own and can make any innocuous line of English seem stupid.

6) His jumpshot. OK, so he's not all bad...

7) ...And conversely, the ability to do little else at a high level on a basketball court.

8)  Skinny, girl legs which make me look 80, rather than 21.

9) Dominance at video games. Oh, wait, I didn't inherit this. I'm more of a pioneer in my family in this field...

10) And lastly, where would I be in terms of girls if I had another father? Oh, you know what...don't answer that...we are talking about a man who calls me so many times a day that he actually has interrupted some, um, intimate moments in the past few years...yeah, I wouldn't give him your cell number if I were you, especially if you're a 20 year-old interested in losing your virginity.

 

Of course, I'm kidding around. I love my father and would continue to hold him in high regard, despite what the pending paternity tests might reveal. Miss you, big guy!

Been Here, Done This

OK, if you haven't guessed by now, I'm very ready to go back to school. VERY READY. The lovely and talented Jeanette Mann likes to say that I have an expiration date on places (and people). While I wouldn't say my time has run sour, I wouldn't say it's the freshest it's been. I think sans friends, I've used up about as much excitement on California (at least for now) as I could muster for the summer. I need football games and late night Big Ten Burrito runs and IM sports and Southwest parties and other things. There's only so much playing basketball, going to the gym, and watching (and, indirectly making) movies that I can do. Time to go. Time to re-new the expiration date. My guess is that I'm good on school till Thanksgiving Break (or shortly before, as has been the pattern the previous 3 years of going to college). I'll even take over if someone wants to bet me under. 

Alas, things get somewhat refreshed when Adam Bennett comes strolling into town. I've been promised "heat" (and I don't mean from the sun) and beaches and guys freaking out on a basketball court. Sounds like a plan. 

Also, the lovely Kristen Henkels comes to town at the beginning of August for a few weeks, which could provide a nice distraction for a couple weekends. 

I'm gonna go to sleep now. Wake me when It's August 29th. Thanks.

PS Why didn't I think of THIS!?

New in the life of Alex.

Um, that is to say, there's nothing new. Went to Santa Monica Pier with THE Michael Chang and friends tonight for some salsa dancing. It was alright, it was just too crowded to get my salsa groove on...Got "fake" ice cream (yogurt) afterwards on a waffle and went home. 

Played basketball yesterday on the same court as NBA first round draft pick Kevin Love. The guy's huge, although he doesn't look terribly athletic. I wonder how he'll fit into the NBA- my guess is a shorter Mehmet Okur. My dad asked me if I played extra hard so as to get his attention (and approval). The answer is 'no.' The only time I've ever tried to show off to a celeb was Mark Cuban (Mavs owner) at Primer Club in Dallas. Anytime he'd walk by along the edge of the court, I'd high tail in into Kobe mode, between the legs, reverse layup in hopes of getting him to say "Call Donnie...we need this kid."   

Also, I've become interested in the show "Greek." I'm not sure why, it's pretty much a soap opera set at college. I think it's because I like to look into the life so many other students have, but I chose not. I think I've discovered I'm jealous because of the fun the have....sometimes I think had I come to Michigan as a freshman, I would have (or should have) looked harder at fraternity life and tried to chose one that wasn't crazy. Although, I think about it, and my stomach still turns, so I'm not too broken up by it. 

July 4th/ Halfway Done with LA

The 4th of July holiday marks the midpoint of my LA experience. It's been 6 long weeks (actually, a little more) since I left my parents house in Nebraska and I have 6 weeks before I return and mercifully leave shortly thereafter. Why mercifully? BORING!!!! I like the part where she does a video of my parents' remodeled bathroom. Wow.

Anyway, my Independence Day was good. My aunt came in from Dallas to mull around West LA with me. We had dinner at a house of friends of hers on the 4th which happened to be Friday night, which is Shabbat night in the Jewish world-they were a gay couple (two of the nicest people) which made me think... I don't think I've ever had a Californian gay Kosher 4th of July Shabbat dinner. It turned out well. I guess there's a first time for everything. One of the other guests at the dinner both knew my boss at work AND grew up in Dallas and had the same high school English teacher that I did. And, unbeknownst to my aunt, her first EVER date was also a guest. Wild and crazy stuff. 

After dinner, everyone trekked a few blocks straight up the Studio City mountainside to Mulholland Drive (on top of the Hollywood Hills) to watch fire works...

 Although, that I've done before. (7/04/05)

Other highlights of the trip included dinner at the world-famous Spago (Wolfgang Puck) which was really great (I know it's cliche, but shut up), cupcakes from Crumbs which kicks the fucking hell out of Sprinkles (strange but true), a pair of new Converse tennis shoes compliments of Aunt Saundra, saw Dyan Cannon in Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills, and the crown jewel of the trip, dinner at Itzaka-ya by Katsu-ya on Third (in my old WeHo hood). If you like Japanese food/ sushi, please go. It's the non-sexual erection of Japenese dining, I kid you not. 

In other news, I've become terribly homesick. I facebook stalk my friends (and only my friends, thank you) and watch old Michigan football highlights on YouTube when I feel this way. I can't wait for football season. I have a feeling we're not going to suck as bad as EVERYONE thinks we will. We should still have some tricks up our sleeves. I'm def coming to the Rose Bowl next year if they make it! 

LA is fine, but I miss 314 Cambridge House, playing Paintrain football, and Amy's gross feet (or at least making fun of her feet which I pretend are gross at her expense). I know I'll be sick of it two days in (with all the college kids, who can blame me!?), but I really miss it right now. 

 Finally, after years of bother, my parents have officially withdrawn from finding me a future mate. My father has graciously stepped aside from embarrassing me every time we leave his home together. Free at last! The real winners here? The fine women of Omaha, who no longer have to awkwardly slide out of an embarrasing conversation with my dad, feigning interest in his son while my dad goes into "Look at me" mode. I stand corrected, this is the highlight of my holiday weekend.

PS I've watched the "Old Gregg" video that everybody seems to be up in arms about and I hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Am I missing something here???

I Still Feel 14 Years-Old...

Really. I still feel like I'm a teenager. A young teenager at that. I mean, sure you can point to some of my experiences that seem adult which include: writing for professional publications, moving (temporarily) to new cities on my own, traveling Europe occasionally by myself, a somewhat adult long distance relationship. But still. I get pimples, I have a limited idea of how the stock market works, I'm hazy on how to fix a flat tire/ I can't parallel/ I'm a mediocre driver, STILL socially awkward (but I have improved..), and don't get me started on the numerous ways I'm still 14 as it relates to females (I'm talking about everything from kissing to merely making small talk). I'm basically the long lost Big Bang Theory character- minus the rocket science brilliance. I know this is a weird thing to admit to the world, but I can't wait for the day that I at least feel a little older inside. Like, 16 or something. 

What brings this up? Nothing really. It's just strange to see people you know getting married, having real jobs, and reproducing. Take out having a real job (which I will have next year this time) it often seems I'm pretty far behind my contemporaries. My dad calls me "slow." I prefer to think of myself as developmentally challenged....OK, fine, I'm slow. Which is weird to me, because growing up, I was lauded for being a mature kid. Now I'm behind. I wonder where the time was where I was right at the intersection of the two...

I had a day off from work today and started to write a short I'm planning for the Fall. It ended up straying REALLY far from my original concept....And sadly, it takes much of its inspiration from my own life- which I usually don't like for young writers to do. It's based on my father's "Vegas proposal." It's my first real attempt at comedy, so if you ever read it, please be kind. I think it's good though and a strong story.  Deals loosely on some of the themes above.  

And lastly, I just want to apologize to Sarah W. Gray, who has been the focus of some cyber jokes recently. Just to clarify, Sarah is not a porn addict, per say. She just really likes reality television and there just happens to be a popular show that deals with Heff and his buxom blonde, um, lady friends...Sarah's pretty cute and a Southern blonde, maybe she's trying out for a place in The Mansion...although I don't care how great the Grotto is, that rumored Tuesday "ritual" would be enough for me to stay the HELL AWAY. To each Bunny's own. Anyway, the fact that Sarah watches The Girls Next Door in class does not make her a porn freak...

That Stuff magazine I saw in her purse is another story... 

(I miss you Sarah!)

The Dog Days of Summer

Sorry about not posting everyone. OK, sorry for not posting...Dad. Truth be told, despite the exciting time in my life, there isn't a whole lot for me to be posting about. I go to work, make phone calls, come home, heat up a Lean Cuisine (do you think I miss being a food journalist!?), and go to the gym...and start over. Sure there is some variation. I got to make a foray into Bel Air for the first time since my...um... senior in high school days. Pretty much the way I remembered it- although I'm pretty sure you could feel the car shake climbing the mountain, fearing the wrath of a certain individual who lives on Roscomare but will go nameless. I had to do an errand at my boss' house, which is, in the words of Borat, "Uh, very niiice." I can't wait to own a gorgeous home. Jeanette, when you read this, you're doing the interior design work of my architectural masterpiece of an abode when I grow up....I just like your style and you know you guys have the Midas touch of resale value. 

In other news, I saw the Get Smart movie, which wasn't that good. But I did find out that my home run swing, Anne Hathaway, recently broke up with her crooked Italian bf. Still alive, baby! I can see little Alex Hathaway-Mann now. What a happy child. 

Also saw 27 Dresses. I actually liked it a lot more than I thought I would, especially when some people openly panned it...COUGHAmyCOUGH. It's striking to me how much Catherine Heigl looks like Diane Lane. I can't tell if that means she's insanely hot (as Diane Lane was) or looks insane old (which Diane Lane is) for what she is. Oh, well, I'd take her all the same. 

 MMMMyeah. That's about it. Still no luck at the beach. Haven't worked up the courage to go talking to almost naked girls at this stage of my life. I hope this changes at some point. 

Also, haven't seen any celebrities. Although, Sarah W. Gray would appreciate knowing that I nearly got to speak with Demi Moore momentarily on the phone the other day. When I catch a starlet, I'll tell you...particularly if they reside at the Playboy Mansion, which Ms. Gray has an odd fascination with....? 

No Celebs and The Weirdos with the Metal Thingys on the Beach

So, it appears that I am the anti-celeb magnet. I have been in LA for almost a month and have seen a grand total of ZERO celebrities. I even chill in and around celeb hangouts often like the Grove, Beverly Hills, and Joan's on Third. No one. A new intern at work, who's been here less than a week, has already seen Harrison Ford. The biggest star I get to see is USC film stud Michael Chang (and if Michael Chang reads this blog, I'd appreciate your autograph. Thanks.) I feel like my life is just pacing me. I bet I see Tom Hanks or someone big here soon. That'd be sweet.

I'm hell-bent on getting Hollywood Bowl tickets. I went when I was in high school and loved it, although no one will go with me! Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers are playing there next week, but the show is beyond sold out (and beyond expensive). Apparently there's a thing where the LA Philharmonic is doing Beatles stuff the week after. Who's in!?

Speaking of LA hotspots, I go to Santa Monica every second I don't have to go to work. And when I'm there, there are always those creepers with a scoop in one hand and a mental detector thingy in the other that looks like it could have been a prop to make War of the Worlds (the old one, not the to Cruise muck). What's with these people? Are they searching for buried treasure? If they're looking for quarters, why don't they just look under someone's couch....? I'm totally mystified and confused as to the plight of these people. Are they homeless? Is this a hobby? I smell documentary...

I'm in Love with a Bitch

So, I have my first crush of the young summer. Yes, she's female. Unfortunately, said object of my affection is not human. There's a soft coated wheaten terrier at the Beverly Center (LA's answer to the Galleria) in a pet store. It sits by its lonesome all day long locked in a glass cage. My wheaten is so spoiled that if it gets locked in my parent's Notting Hill flat for too long, I'm pretty sure it'd pick up the phone and dial animal abuse itself. Here's a pic of what I go visit almost everyday. I've decided that when I sell my first big script, the first thing I'll do is get a dog. 

So, when I do get a dog, I'm going to name it after an artist. I was thinking naming it Matty, after Henri Matisse. If it's a girl, maybe Monet, I just think that sounds more feminine. (PS, if someone today were referred to as Monet and you didn't know who it was, wouldn't you think it was some sort of stripper name? Yeah, me too.) A friend of my mother's already has a dog named Chagall. I'd prefer that name since my family owns a Chagall, but would feel bad knowing I stole a great name.  

In other news, all is going quite smoothly. I made over 100 phone calls on Tuesday and got taken for lunch by my boss on Wednesday at this cool Jewish deli that's apparently a big Hollywood hangout called Factor's. Oh, I'm so LA.

And speaking of LA food, I have a new obcession. It's called Pinkberry. It's a frozen yogurt place, but it's quasi healthy (under 100 calories) and taste kind of tart, more like yogurt yogurt. I get it with blueberries, yogurt chips, and chocolate chips. It's amazing. And it's basically only in Cali right now. When it moves out to Ann Arbor, I'll be their finest customer.   

6/9/08

Had a rough day at work. The phone system is my life's nemesis. Plus I think I'm developing a slight case of adult ADD. At least I had a thrilling experience as one unknowing producer/ writer apparently thought I was someone important at my company and pitched me their script over the phone. Of course, delighting in the power, I simply said "pass" after hearing 9 seconds of it, but it felt cool. OK, so I listened to every cliche word and moved on...it's all good. 

The new Jakob Dylan CD came out today. If you know me, you know I'm a huge fan and it does not disappoint. Do yourself a favor, go on iTunes and buy it NOW! Also, concerning Jakob Dylan, one of my co-workers said that liking him is "very commercial." I mean, he's not really indie, but I don't think he's exactly Britney Spears or anything... 

Is it OK to be a temporary fan of a sports team? In normal circumstances, I'd say "no." But since I am here for the summer and the Lakers are in the finals, I feel it is appropriate to pull for them...while still staying true to the Mavs. 

I talked to the writer of Sleepless in Seattle for two seconds today. Pretty cool, huh?

Los Angeles

A little photo journey of my Friday...

 Here I am in Santa Monica, taking in the rays. It was a great day out as I went on a nice jog along the coast line to Clown Beach...oops, I mean Venice. I walked back, got some work from my car and read a pretty solid romantic comedy with a goofy name (ask me later...). Plus, since I encased myself in SPF 50 sunscreen, I didn't get any awkward sun burns like last time! Here's a little picture I snapped of myself looking beach cool...

Here's a little scenery picture of Santa Monica Beach looking north. No, that's not me laying down, ya'll know I don't take my shirt off in public unless paid or necessary (you'll thank me someday). In the background is the Santa Monica pier, with the newer, more environmentally sound Santa Monica Ferris Wheel. They also do trapeese lessons on the pier, which are fun to watch. It's truly beautiful down here.

OK, confession. I saw Sex and the City the movie last night (alone, mind you) and liked it. I know that if certain high school english teachers were reading this blog, they might have some questions concerning my sexual preference (no worries, still straight), but I felt the writing was actually pretty good...plus (and I believe this saves me) Kristen Davis is a foooox. Yowza. Anyway, I saw it at a huge outdoor shopping center called The Grove, which my roommate says is the place in LA loves to say they hate, but really enjoy. It's a 10 minute walk from where I live, which is nice. I jog there after work sometimes. I like it because in the back they have a farmer's market section with really good food. Plus, there's a Banana Republic, a Barnes and Noble and a Starbucks, what's not to like? Well, maybe the 13 dollars I had to spend on the movie alone...yeah, sucks.

Below, for all who are interested (I'm always curious to see where people live and sleep, I'm not sure why) is a picture of my quaint bedroom on the border of Beverly Hills. Yes, I sleep on an air matress on the ground, but it's not really that bad. Plus (oh my god, I'm turning into Carrie Bradshaw!) I have a decent sized closet to the right which you can't see, which is good because I brought a lot of clothes.
All in all, still a successful experience. I just miss my nightly port...

Summer in the City (of Angels)

Do you hear that sound? Yes, it's me respiring. It's the first time I've been able to breathe since pulling out of my parent's Hackberry driveway in Omaha. 

Glad to say that everything thus far has been going dandy. Work was kind of a pain the first few days because the phone system is kind of a cluster fuck (although I've since gotten the hang of it) and it's a lot of rushing around and doing, um, stuff. The people are super nice and I get to sit in on company meetings where they talk about developmental and potential stories. Neat stuff. They were throwing around the idea of using Anne Hathaway in one of our movies. You can imagine my heart flutter...

Other than that, the neighborhood I'm currently living in is super cool...fancy retail heaven as I'm wedged between the Beverly Center and the Grove. Not bad.

Also, my roomate is extra nice and the place is pretty comfortable.

Went to the beach twice last weekend- once to Manhattan Beach and then to Santa Monica. I read a few screenplays there and took them home as they reeked of salt water and sea weed. Got sunburned on the back of my knees, for some reason I forgot to put sun lotion there. Of all the sunburn mistakes you can possibly make, let me tell you that this totally sucks. Please never neglect the back of your legs! 

Also, having not been exposed to the beach for most of my life, let me tell you that there's nothing more exciting to the testosterone than beautiful Californian women in bikkini's in perfect sunshine. Yeah, try to guess where I plan on going this weekend... (and every weekend, for that matter).

Right now I'm just winding down, reading a little bit. The Cubs are in town taking on the Dodgers so I might go to that this weekend. And I got invited out by one of my fellow interns with some of his friends. 

Things are turning out. Who woulda thought!?

Terribly Sorry...

but I haven't had time to urinate in the past week, much less post. Will post this weekend. Sorry for the delay (in LA).

Heading West

I have to get up at 6 AM tomorrow and begin the incredible journey to Los Angeles. I relocated my housing, so now I actually live RIGHT on the border of Beverly Hills, which is pretty cool. Tomorrow night I'm stopping in Denver to see some family, then to St. George, UT to spend the night the next day, then things really heat up Monday when I make my entrance into LA.

Work starts Tuesday. Please pray for me. 

Anyway, for whomever reads this blog, I have a solid 23 hours jailed in a car listening to books on tape and retro 80's music over the next three days, so if you want to soak up some of that time by giving me a call, I'd be very happy.

Let the games begin.

The Day a Rock Star Went Housing Hunting For Me

I know what you might be thinking. The title to this post is probably a play on words or something.  Like, maybe someone with the same name as a rock star is helping me out, like when we told everyone that Gentz was dating Julia Roberts because, well, he went out with a girl with the same name as the Pretty Woman star. 

But I wouldn't tease you like that. OK, I would, but I'm not now. So, I have my places to stay in LA pretty much firmed up, but my mom still insists she can find me somewhere to house sit over the summer rather than pay a fortune for housing. She enlisted a friend of hers who has a heart of gold. So, this friend of my mother's goes to LA to visit her children who live there and tells my mother that she'll network me into somewhere to stay. 

Anyway, this woman and her children are friends with Tonic lead singer Jeff Russo (don't ask me how), and I guess got him tangled in this complex web of trying to find somewhere for me to crash this summer. Apparently he's on the lookout. So, yes readers, a famous rock star is helping me potentially find somewhere to live. 

You can't write this stuff, you really can't.

In other news, I got my car tuned up today, hit golf balls at a driving range (wrenched my extra sensitive back in the process), worked out for 3 hours ('Ms., which way to the weight room?'), and drank milk straight from the carton for the first time in years (and it felt damn good).

Tomorrow morning, I get up and play golf with Bob Mann for the first time since the 10th grade, when I enforced a lifetime ban on playing golf with him (a la, Pete Rose being banned from the Baseball Hall of Fame). He's re-applied for reinstatement many times and since he seems genuine in his attempts to not be a complete douche on the course, I allowed him a chance to get back in my good graces on the green. 

Please pray I don't hit a car with a ball or accidently throw a club in a lake, both of which, regrettably, have happened. 

Right now, I'm drinking my nightly port and watching the best show on TV, Throwdown with Bobby Flay (which was also the topic one of my A papers!) Oh Food Network, how I've missed thee.

[Edit] I have been told that the use of the term "elderly" in this post might ruffle some feathers. I regret the error. Sorry, everyone. haha

 

Found Another Great Website.

For a great laugh, do visit www.passiveaggressivenotes.com. It is kind of like Postsecret, except instead of posting deep dark confessions, it showcases written notes people have given each other, expressing passive aggressive, um, aggression. While I have to say that I like 'Things White People Like' and 'Hot Girls With Douche Bags,' this is the best of the bunch. 

I like the one where the girl friend finds a picture of her man's ex on his cell phone while he is in the shower, then proceeds to call her fat, him a 'douche' and tells him to get the fuck out. Enjoy!

Car Lessons and the Day I Felt Like LeBron

Today was pretty uneventful. Because I'm scared to death of parking in LA (much less the actual driving) I enrolled in driving school today...The Bob Mann School of Parallel Parking. So, I shimmied in my Burgundy Buick Century, saw the big man set up our other car and a garbage can in our driveway to simulate a parallel parking spot, and tried a million times to get in. Still not parallel parking proficient...just, um, kinda competent. 

I got up this morning and went to the health club to shoot some baskets and lift weights (which I never got to, surprise!!) I was asked to play 21 against FOUR other, clearly more athletic gentlemen. It was early for me, I felt terrible, but you know what? I put my head down and plaaaaayed. Felt like LeBron. Crossovers, threes, floaters, pump fakes, it was a thing of beauty. I'm sure the Cavs would have preferred to have me on their team...I am, after all, probably a better shooter...and a worse everything else. Not my fault God didn't make me 6'9", 230.

Ate at Cheesecake Factory, visited the step grandparents, bummed around Target, and talked to Adam for a few. 

New Celebrity crush: Blake Lively....grrroooowwwwl

Currently drinking a glass of port.  It may not have been an eventful day, but it sure did end well...(sips)

Commercials These Days!

So, I'm down in my parents basement (yes, I know I sound like a loser, but I swear to God, women of the world, this is only temporary. Like, as in 6 more days temporary) and I'm watching TV on my 100 inch HD projection television (JEALOUS!? Ok, you're right, I'm in my parents basement) and just saw arguably the most offensive TV commercial I have seen in quite a while:

It is a Dairy Queen commercial in which a little 7 or 8 year-old girl and her mom enter a DQ and order two hot fudge sundaes as the girl abruptly tells the mom to just make it one upon catching a ripe 8 year old male checking her out. The mom and the girl sit down at their table as the mom tells the girl she was surprised she wanted to share the sundae to which the girl responds that she didn't as a waitress delivers two sundaes and gestures to the pre-pubescent young man indicating that he purchased the ice cream for her, ala a guy buying a chick a drink at a bar. The mom shoots her little girl a quizzical look to which the little girl replies wearing an evil, evil smile (and this is the central offense of the commercial):

"It's like shooting fish in a barrel."

I'm boycotting Dairy Queens. 

OK, seriously, I thought the commercial was funny. So there. But I can't believe the ad geniuses of the world would make the dating terrain harder for man(and I do mean MAN)kind. Great, even ice cream commercials enforce a sense of entitlement for females. It's gonna be a whole new generation of ego-driven, crazy ladies who think that men are only here to be toyed with. As if Sex and The City (which I hold in the highest regard) and ABC programming (Desperate Housewives, Grey's) weren't enough. I can't believe America encourages things getting harder for guys!

Which brings me to another point, and if you have female anatomy (which most of the readers of this blog do), beware, this might be unpopular. 

Certain female friends (and my mother and aunt and any female related to me) like to argue with me on the point that it is harder to be a girl vying for a boy than it is visa versa. NOT TRUE! It is so much harder being a boy. This is the classic reasoning behind why it's harder being a girl:

"We have to sit around and wait to be asked!"

Point taken. Tom Petty did once say that the waiting is the hardest part. And while I love Mr. Petty, do remember that he is a heartbreaker. Thus, he is not to be trusted. Listen women of the world, it's so much harder being a boy for this reason alone:

You never have to hear "no!"

Asking is soooo hard! All you guys (gals, actually) have to do is sit around and wait. And while I'm sure it sucks, you don't have to do ANYTHING. All you have to do is WAIT! Go read a book. Learn an instrument. Put on makeup then take some off because much of your gender practices NO restraint and looks like they should be patrolling Hollywood Boulevard. I don't care what you do, but it doesn't take thought. 

For guys? Well, it takes sense of humor, confidence, preparedness, and a thick skin. It takes a keen sense of knowing when the time is right. Being a girl is easy. The worst thing that can happen is, well, nothing happens. And even then, should you have taken my advice, you turn out to be a smarter (the books, instruments), better looking (a better feel for makeup, an underrated quality), and more well rounded woman. Heck, with all the time we've generated for you by making you wait, we should be thanked, whether you've been asked out or not.

What's the worst that can happen in the boy's situation? Only the world's most awkward moment (usually total silence) and the worst word in the English language- "No." I kid you not ladies, it sucks. Try it some time.

Like shooting fish in a barrel? Yeah, we'll see.   

The Morning I Was a Little Dutch Boy

Jeanette and I took a bike ride through surprisingly hilly suburban Omaha today. Of course, she gave me the bike that had a leak in the back tire...typical female. It also doesn't help that I've forgotten how to ride a bike. Yes, I know what you're thinking. How do you forgot how to ride a bike? It's the action everyone refers to when referencing things that you can't forget how to do, like kissing or buying coffee (see last post). But I have truly forgotten how to ride a bike. I realized it last year when I had to ride a bike in Italy, and much to my horror, I could not. Scary. I was able to sort of do it today, but was so unconfident in my abilities that I opted to walk my bike across the street and across a bridge. Yeah, I'm a little girl, so sue me. 

I went out into the community (by car this time, not bike) in search for lunch and found a Noodles&Co which made me think of my first "surprise" birthday dinner in which Amy (and kind of Liza) fumbled the proverbial snap and gave away the surprise. Oh well, 'twas fun all the same.

Reading, Drinking, and Snooting.

Reading: Suze Orman's The Money Book for the Young, Fabulous & Broke as recommended by Liza (notice how I credited her...people, beware. Liza's amazing, but she steals ideas/jokes/other stuff without giving credit where credit is due. It's like amicable plagarism that's not so, um, amicable). I've only read the first few chapters, but its a solid read. I mean, I guess my approval shouldn't mean much since I know so little about finance that I could just watch an episode of the Apprentice and feel fiscally enlightened. But its good, describing FICO scores, career moves, and investing. Now someone needs to hand her a book on makeovers, Suze's looking kind of boyish in her older, wealthy, and, dare I say, haggard years.

Drinking: Port. J-Mann bought a bottle of the sweet stuff and poured myself a glass that would make David Hasselhoff's chest hair stand on end. For those of you who know me, you know that alcho isn't exactly my thing; but port is the stuff of champions. Snooty champions that is. If the CEO of General Mills suddenly had a stroke and decided to make a Wheaties port, then I'd hope to be on the box...errr, bottle.

Snooting: You know what I've come to hate? People who are Starbucks illiterate. I mean, seriously, if you've spent just ten minutes in this country, then you should know how to order something at Starbucks. In fact, "What size is a grande?" should be on the oral part of the Immigration and Naturalization Citizenship exam, up there with "Who was the first American President?" and "What is the Capitol of Texas?" Look, it's simple, they're gonna ask you for cold/hot, size (tall, grande, venti not small, medium, large, you friggin' old relic), and flavor. It's coffee, not rocket science. 

An old woman (in line RIGHT in front of me, of course) took literally 10 minutes to order because she was oblivious to the ordering game. When I am ruler of the universe, if you cannot spit out your coffee order in less than 1 minute, you have to go to Amer's or something. I wouldn't even care if you had some sort of flesh eating illness only curable with a good but slightly overly roasted cup of fair trade joe. I don't care if the cure for genital herpes was found to be drinking a grande americano. If you haven't ordered by the time I've decided what I want then you'd have to leave. NOW!

Lastly, I found out today that my Italian friend Alberto has posted a link to my blog on his blog, which I have reciprocated by posting a link to his blog to the right. Since my blog has now gone world wide, I'd like to say 'buongiorno' to my international readers. And if you can (ie, se puoi leggere italiano), do give Alby's blog a read. I'm sure it's great...(yeah, I can't read it myself)

 

My Stepmother is Great at Burning Things...

But in a good way. She officially makes the best macaroni and cheese I've ever taste, consisting of whole-wheat penne pasta, cheese, bread crumbs and lots of butter. The penne is firm and stands up nicely against the plush texture of the cheese and she burns the heck out of the bread crumbs. I know I sound like a fat kid, but it's deeeeelish. I had 60% of the big dish she made of it last night by myself, and finished off the left overs not more than 10 delightful minutes ago. She also makes the world's only orgasmic potato latkas, which are always best well done (meaning they're both good and, um, good and crispy). Yum. I think I just found a new pre-req for marrying Alex (listen up, Amy). You have to be good at burning food. I'm talkin' hot dogs, mac and cheese (don't worry, I'm sure Jeanette will provide you with the recipe), the little marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving. You gotta be hot enough to burn, that's my motto. 

In other news, I lost my car keys for a solid 20 minutes at the gym today before finding them on a couch I forgot I sat on, got yelled at by mom my because she doesn't want me driving by myself to LA, and found out my dad's childhood friend that we never thought would EVER get married is, well, getting married.  I knew I saw a pig fly today...

Right now I'm watching the Spurs-Hornets playoff game (Spurs are losing, thank the lord) and am reminded of how unbelievably jealous of NBA players I am. You live your life always knowing what your career will be because you're tall, you'll always be rich (provided you don't waste it all on marajuana), you get ladies hand over fist (just ask them for an STD test, ask Magic Johnson how that can turn out...), the "office" will always be kinda fun (if you're winning, which I always would because I'd demand a trade to the Mavericks), and you get preferential treatment EVERYWHERE you go (except in opposing team arenas), even while in college (see OJ Mayo). I think I'm just going to declare myself the for the NBA Draft just in case. Who knows, maybe I'll grow a foot in the next few months. 

...or maybe I'll just go be a film intern.  

Wild and Crazy Summer

Back in Nebraska. It feels good to finally relax. In the past two and a half weeks I've been in Ann Arbor, West Bloomfield, London, Paris, Omaha, and LA (and back to Omaha). I think the minute and hour hands on my internal clock have snapped off. I get up around 6 in the morning and go back to sleep everyday.

I had two interviews in LA. I got one job and got turned down for the other. Oh well, one for two isn't horrible. I think I'm going to go do it. Other than interview, we looked furiously for housing, hung out on the beach, and went to a baseball game at Dodgers Stadium (pictured above) in which the famed LA Dodgers lost to the Houston Astros. The stadium was really cool. The view of palm trees and green Hollywood sign-like hills (actually, theres a fake Hollywood sign on them that says Think Blue) over center field is soooo neat and makes for an ultra-relaxing game viewing experience (non-sexual erection, anyone?)

For now, I'm just trying to calm down and make a decision as to whether or not to go. I've slept in, played video games, worked out, visited with my stepmoms family, and read Amy's screenplay while also trying to develop some of my own ideas.  

I think I've found my favorite youtube video. Its a mock of the My New Haircut video in which instead of ripping on Guidos, they substitute in a Jewish person. 

"I'm going to get so much tuchus my schmeckel's gonna fall off!" 

Wonderful.

My parents have an amazing knack for making 8:30 at night feel like 2 o'clock in the morning.

Coming Home!

I'm coming home tomorrow morning, but not after the travel day from Hell. First of all, my flight leaves just before 8AM at Heathrow Airport! Meaning I have to get up at like 4:45 to catch a train that takes me there. Then I have an 8 hour plane right followed by a 4 hour layover in Chicago then another flight. Yuck!

This trip really hasn't been so bad. I've needed some boring time to clear my head, think about the near future, and eat rich European food.

 At least a week from tonight I'll be chillin' at Dodger Stadium eating a Dodger dog. mmm...Paradise.  (the game/the stadium/ the real vacation, not the hot dog). 

Letter from a Reader

Rarely do I get mail regarding my blog. I got my first one today and am excited to share it with you. This one is from a man in the Midwest responding to my last post.

Bob from Omaha, NE writes:

'Alex: thanks for associating me with saying stupid things...how can you criticize such classics as "you have quite a bit of pussy up there" and "you have one of the most inactive pussies I've ever seen!" I suppose you don't like the Rolling Stones either...another American classic. (OK, they're not American, but you get the idea.) What brought this column on....did you say something stupid in London that got you in trouble with mumsy?

Love Dad, your loyal (and only...other than Liza) reader.'

Two things:

1) If you have something to share, please leave a post. 'Cause otherwise I'll post it for you.

2) No, I did not say something stupid to get in trouble with mumsy. I just went out to dinner the other night and felt the filter break...as I said in my last post, should I feel that a stupid comment coming out of my lips is imminent, I will just be quite.

*sigh* Oh, parents.

My Stupid Mouth

A big problem seems to have been surfacing lately. Actually, its been with me my whole life, only now I recognize it. There seem to be times in which I know I'm about to say something stupid, but cannot do anything about it. In the old days I'd just let whatever fly and take the embarrassment (which was embarrassing), but now I can feel my mental filter break and just do not speak. I think it runs in the family. 

Take my father, for instance. Hi, Dad. Anyway, my father likes to play a joke with people by calling felines "pussies." Of course, we all remember the famous tale when my dad and stepmother were at a party in Atlanta and my dad asked the good-natured hostess of the party where she put her cats for the evening. She said she put them away upstairs, to which he replied something to the tune of, "My, you've got a lot of pussy up there." Yeah, I know, pretty witty and he got a good laugh (and a sneer from Jeanette). Needless to say he rehashes the joke in various venues wherever cats are involved but doesn't seem to understand that a joke that works for a giggly 40 year-old lady doesn't when presented to, say, a 93 year-old great grandmother. His filter was broken and he apparently paid the price.

I'd say my filter totally breaks once a month and can sense it when things I say come out awkwardly and the person I'm talking to looks nervous and gives me pitty laughter. It's like watching a basketball game in which a player keeps taking fall-away threes despite being guarded by two people. This is to say, I can become the Devan George of social interaction. At this point I've learned to affix myself next to a chatty person and shut up. This is my way of sitting my ass (or, in this case, mouth) on the proverbial bench. 

As my father (how ironic, right?) likes to tell me: "It is better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." So true. So so true.

Thoughts from 4/30

I had my bi-annual tea time with my mom today. I typically don't like tea. I really only like it when its a super sweet version (like the carmel flavor tea I had) with milk and tons of sugar in it. I also decided to forgo the dopey finger sandwiches filled with cucumber and salmon with the crust cut off, electing instead to indulge in scones (pronounced sk-ons over here in Jolly Ole'). And really, I don't like scones...they're merely a vessel to enjoy clotted cream (sweet buttery substance) and jam, kind of like how a meat lover only eats salad for the dressing. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I really don't like tea time, I just like the sugar that comes along with it. I should just save everyone the trouble and down sugar packets. Oh, but tea time is so snooty- I do love it.

Speaking of dopey English things (of which there are many), you would not believe how depressing English television can get. I mean, I don't watch very much TV while I'm here and when I do, all I really watch is old Everybody Loves Raymond episodes (which are terribly underrated), but the commercials here are shockingly sad though. I can't tell you how many TV spots I've seen with upsetting instrumental music featuring deaf-dumb and blind kids in slow motion in B&W looking into the camera crying as an announcer asks for you to "Please help the children." They're so over the top that I half expect the advertisement to abruptly stop and say, "Just kidding. Who LOOOOVES TWINS!? Go Budweiser!" Who knew I'd miss those Wilfred Brimley "Diabeetus" commercials so much...sheesh

For all of your soccer fans there in the States, I'll just let you know that Chelsea defeated Liverpool in extra time (aka overtime) to advance to the European Championship to face Man United. It was a good game and I was thrilled because finally a team wearing blue looked good!(...f'ing Mavericks).

PS I am officially throwing my hat into the ring for Mavs head coach. I have no prior experience other than to say my IM team that I "coached" went 0-4. But it'll be different with the Mavs because they have no girls...other than Jason Kidd of course.  

PPS I fully realized that this is the second straight posted I've finished by insulting a grown man by calling him a girl. I want my readers to know that I respect women as equals...outside the basketball court and faux sporting arenas via gaming consoles. 

The Characters You See in Europe and Do Girls Really Play Video Games?

Not much to report from the day. Got up late and decided to take a run through Kensington Gardens. I think I've gained 20 pounds since coming to Europe. I need to go on that the Noutra System thing and appear in a commercial with Jillian Barberie (wink). Speaking of those commercials, doesn't it look like the people they get to push the diet are STILL fat? I'm sorry, but if being "in the game" is to look like Mike Golic or Jon Kruk, then I'll just stay on the bench. Hell, I'd rather look like friggin' Don Shula (who also endorses the diet) then those two hippos.  

One of the great things about spending time in Europe is the characters you get to see. I mean, if I just walk down the street to Portobello Road, I can see everything from dread-locked Rastafarians to bums dressed liked Michael Jackson in the weird royalty uniform thingy, to toothless scots with a taste for rare terrier breeds.

 I was in Hermes in Paris (aka rich woman Disney Land) and in walks THE gayest guy I've EVER seen. I don't mean that as a derogatory thing, merely descriptive. He was a 6 ft asian man who was so skinny that he looked hydrosaphalic (enormous head) even though he probably wasn't. He was dressed totally in black with a black jean jacket and hair styled to look like elvis. Jewels on every finger as he delighted in having the male Hermes salesmen neatly affix black&white scarves to his skronny neck as they told him he looked "tres chic." In short, he made Liberace look like John Daly. Description cannot do this man justice. My stepfather, a photographer, was stroking his camera like it was Mr. Bigglesworth, bemoaning the fact that he could not photograph the man because we were in the store.   

I keep purchasing hard core rap off i-tunes. I can't tell if it's because of the mood I'm in or if I'm trying to hip up to the world like a housewife trying to impress her kids. I downloaded "California Lovin'" by 2Pac in honor of my trip to California next week.

...alright, I just like the song. At least its not Brittney Spears, right?

I'm 21 and will soon be on my own in the world, but still really miss stuff like playing catch and dominating at video games. I always tell myself I'm going to outgrown a lot of this stuff, but I look at my father, who "practices" his gaming skills in anticipation of playing me and doubt it. I keep reading all about the NBA playoffs and want to personally see to it that the Mavs DO beat the Hornets and see to it myself that the Spurs face loss after loss. The only way to do this is through video games. And honestly, I can't wait. Someone's gotta set the Mavs right.  Lord knows Avery should be the one holding the controller and me the clipboard.

Speaking of video games, I keep having girls challenge me to video games. Amy plays guitar hero (better than I do!) Liza says she can beat me at Fifa (I don't doubt this). Other girls said they were good at N64. Other girls I've known had Playstations and the like. Did girls really play video games growing up? And if so, where the hell was I? A video-gaming playing girl would have been to me at 13 what buxom, plastic blondes are to Hugh Hefner. Hell, I'da lost my virginity in middle school if there were girls out there in the Dallas prep school scene honing their skillz on playstation.  Really, I need the answer to this. When did girls start playing video games? I feel like its only a matter of time a girl beats me at Madden. 

Check that, one already has. My dad's beaten me a few times. Oh Snap!

Back in London

Finished school, packed up my room (thanks, Liza!), said goodbye to friends, survived my grandmother, and came here. All in all, a swift end to the school year. 

I found out I'm still terrible at parallel parking, so, dad, I'm going to need you to teach me when I come back, thanks.

So, the flight over here wasn't so bad. I mean, I didn't get to sit next to a beautiful woman, but it wasn't a fat guy either. I got no work done on my screenplay, instead opting to sleep most of the flight (which, believe it or not, is a good thing).  

Yesterday, I got to London where my mom picked me up from Paddington Station. My parents then took me to lunch down the street from their flat to get a burger then I passed out from exhaustion. I woke up, ate dinner, then headed to the pub with my stepdad to watch the Liverpool-Chelsea Champions League game (England's answer to Celtics-Pistons). 

Woke up this morning, took a jog through Kensington Gardens and am here writing this. Please pray I get some work done today.

Academic Year 2007-2008: A Year in Review

Who knew that a school year that started off with me getting dumped within the first week would prove to be probably the best school year yet...although, if you really know me, I guess that's not saying a whole lot. 

But alas, it has been an eventful year. For starters, I found a home with Southwest after a solid semester looking for a group of cool people to hang out with. My parents call me the "Jew for Jesus," but whatever. 

Let's just list some major highlights (in no particular order):

1) Getting the nod in one game as the Paintrain's starting QB and leading the team to a 13-0 victory. Hail to the Victor!

2) Finally picking up the pretty expensive guitar I got last year and learning how to play things (I can now get my way through "All my loving" by the beatles...booyeah)

3) Befriending Renee, a friend of my evil ex, and having her see that Kate has turned wacky and that I'm not a creeper (not totally). 

4) Watching Aghogho puke at BTB...I think we've been through this (see last post).

5) Drawing a vulva on a napkin with strawberry sauce. Classy.

6) Having one of the most popular people I know call me one of his closest friends.

7) Meeting Liza

8) Seeing Boyd run around on roller skates in a dress at 1 in the morning with me telling Amy, "I'll never let you live this down."

9) The night Gentz and I made fun of Geoff, the undertaker.

10) My last day, which included...

The most distracting thing in the world while taking a final exam is having a Carmen Electra look-a-like sit in front of you, facing you, with a low cut top while you're trying to concentrate on the test. It's hard to think of anything to say on an Italian exam in these kinds of situations other than, "Vuoi uscire con me?" (Will you go out with me?) or "Posso tocare quelli?" (can I touch these?). If I get a bad grade, well, that's why. 

After I finished the exam, I headed back to West Quad and made plans to visit the arboretum with Gentz, Liza, and Amy et all. It was a beautiful day of playing catch, laughing at girls, and chitchatting in the sun. It was so relaxing and the perfect way to end the year. I learned Amy was a volunteer for her bell choir in high school, that Gentz was a dictator in high school, and that Liza...actually, I forget what Liza said that I didn't know about her. If Liza reads this post, she needs to fill me in again. Anyway, it was really great. If Aghogho barfing was the best night of my college career, then this was probably my best day...

If only I had worn sunscreen. I burn so badly.

As Promised...

Sorry loyal readers (my parents) for the lack of posting...it's been a busy week of stuff. Anyway, for those of you who don't know, Wednesday night was one of those unforgettable nights...the first time I think I've ever felt like a college kid and (gasp) liked it...

It all started when we won our broomball game.. the first win of the season, and it came in the playoffs no less (OK, the B playoffs, but it was still mighty solid). Here's a picture of the menacing broomball defense I play (I'm the big one in the blue shirt in the back):

Anywho, it is Southwest tradition to go to BTB (Big Ten Burrito for you non- Ann Arbor people) and grab a midnight snack. Gentz and I usually get quesadillas. Anyway, a few others joined us in this tradition, including one Aghogho Edevbie, who had to eat the restuarant's largest single item (this being the "Giant" chimmichanga, an enormous fried burrito, pictured below) per some kind of lost bet or promise (I'm not sure which) Anyway, he had to eat the WHOLE THING, right there.
Yeah, he had to eat that fried child. Anyway, he cruised through the first half of it in 25 minutes. The next uncomfortable fourth was gone within fifteen minutes. Then came the grueling last fourth of the Giant, in between bites, us shuttling between the beverage fountain supplying our competitor with water. But that final damn fourth was a feat of will and concentration, and I have to give it to our gastronomic warrior: he gave it his all; however, it was apparent to all in attendence (including some curious onlookers from the BTB kitchen who whipped out their camera phones) that our man Aghogho wasn't doing too well.
He got down to the last few bites, where every swallow was preceeded with 10 minutes of some of the most painful digesting you'll ever see. Aghogho had one last bite before him and upon staring it down, his cheeks puffed like he was playing an imaginary saxophone. I got out of my seat, turned my back and heard "SPLAT!" It was all over...Aghogho would not be crowned Chimmi-champion on this night. Instead of a trophy (or more important, free Churros for his friends...) all that sat before Aghogho was a pool of fried vomit. Yech! Anyway, we had fun (until we found out we had to clean it up) and comforted Aghogho who sat in disbelief. Truly one of the best nights of college to date...if not the best. Never before has someone puking been so entertaining.

He says he wants to try to attempt the feat again. This time, we'll be ready...with those airplane vomit bags.

PS
I have a few pictures of Aghogho sitting in his own vomit, but due to reader demand, I opted not to post it. They are amazing photos though and if you want to see 'em, just ask.

Happy Easter!

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Big Tuesday

So, my birthday extravaganza was a delight...after the first hour in which my grandmother drilled me for inconsequential details of the processes of my life and my stepmother put on cry face because my father lost patience with my grandmother's berage of questions, concerns, and worries. I did drink 3 glasses of wine in public on my birthday and had a delicious dinner with crab cakes, seared sea scallops, and port. The coolest gift I got? My grandfather's World War II dog tags...I can't wear them, but they are really neat to have.

Anyway, today I got up and went to class, which was a bore...par for the course. My curly-haired confidant Amy Butler called me and asked me to dinner...which got me excited- Hey! It's been a while since a girl wanted to go to dinner with me! Anyway, after an afternoon screening, I took a shower, shaved, cologned, and fiddled with my hair (we're just friends, but a guy still likes to look good in public with a pretty lady.) We met at West Quad and walked over to Noodles & Co. I knew something was fishy when (actually, I knew something was fishy when she asked me out) she insisted we check for seating upstairs prior to ordering at the counter....This would have been fine for a party of 15, but it was just us two...or so I thought. We order at the counter and head to the upstairs seating area where 8 of my friends smiled and shouted "Surprise!"

It was the first surprise party my life's ever seen and I must say, it was a delight. A few scragglers joined us (Cameron and Liza came late) as we talked about the guy I saw wearing capris today, "almost" relationships (apparently there's such a thing), and my impending engagement to Amy...who said she'd marry me if I could produce a Tiffany's diamond engagement ring...don't get me wrong, she doens't WANT to marry me, but would still like for me to buy her a Tiffany's diamond ring. Typical girl.

After dinner, I helped a friend out by participating in a disscussion about campus diversity. I think I have a solid idea on rennovating the idea of affirmative action, ask me if you're curious, I think its a compelling solution.

Then, I went to play broomball against the other half of Southwest. We lost 3-0...IM sports hasn't been kind in the year 2008...

Whew, what a Tuesday...

21 Means, Well, Not What it Should

Again, its birthday season, so I'm really looking forward to that. When I was 18, things were going so good that I thought that by 21 I'd have it all figured out. Who knew that I wouldn't and that I'd really just miss being 18...life is crazy like that.

Gave a small presentation on Carnivale di Venezia (Italian version of Mardi Gras) today in class...I've become a nervous public speaker, especially in another language, so I'm super relieved it's done!

I got my new MacBook Pro (although, I'm writing this with the terminally ill iBook G4 I got when I was in high school). Its pretty neat, with a camera in it and all kinds of cool features. My favorite part is that it looks pretty....is that wrong?

In other news, I lost 5 bucks on a game of Madden (I'm rusty/not as slick as I used to be) and am going to the Pistons/Spurs game tmw night. I have to admit, I dislike both teams, but I'm pulling for the Pistons on this one since the worse the Spurs do, the better the Mavs do (and thusly, the better I feel).

My German visiting scholar TV theory teacher mistakenly says "oftenly" as opposed to just "often." I think we should add it to the dictionary.

So, last night a pretty girl that I was checking out in the union study room saw me checking her out (yes, I have a staring problem). Anyway, I resumed my work and then 20 minutes later she came over to me, smiled a nice smile and asked politely if I was in Poly Sci 209 or something. I stupidly just replied "No, sorry." and let her walk away. I didn't even think that she'd possibly come over with a question she already knew the answer to just to try and talk to me. And instead of playing along and saying "No, but my name is 'Alex,' what's your's?" I shooed her away like she was a hobo asking for a twenty. I oftenly (sounds cool, doesn't it!?) say stupid things, especially when it comes to relating to the opposite sex...why is this!?

I'm 21 years old now...I feel like I'm 14.

Another Good Quote from Class

Sorry for not posting for a while...lots of hw. Anyway, this'll be quick. It's another great quote from screenplay class. It was by a kid who was questioning the believability of one of the screenplays we were reading when he said...

"I mean, come on. A husband refusing a blow job from his wife....that just doesn't happen!"

Totally straight-faced...brilliant. 

Anyway, my 21st birthday is on Saturday...to think it'd turn 21 on the St. Patrick's Day replacement...kind of ironic if you ask me...

So, drink a green one for me. Then go out and get me a present.

Upon Further Inspection...

It appears I have even more hair on my body than I previously thought. In addition to the hair I have on my chest and shoulders (I need to get waxed, pronto), I noticed for the first time that there's hair on my toes. Its not gross or anything, but delicate strands of burnt orange sprouting from my pod digits. I don't get why DNA has to be so cruel. I just want hair on my head and for it to be red and not to leave. I'll be the first person in the world to have gotten hair transplants from my toes to my head. I feel like a circus freak...

A Great Idea from My Father

So, yesterday my dad and my stepmother picked up a girl that is helping them design their new house in Omaha. My stepmother recognized her as "perfect for Alex" and made my dad inquire about her availability, interest, and likes/dislikes. The girl approved of my pictures after my dad sold my sense of humor and my writing talents and supposedly agreed to a meeting when I swing back through America's Heartland in May. Most importantly, my stepmother liked her and gave her the Queen's seal of approval.

This got my dad and I thinking. I said that I wanted to just give up on finding a girl since I can never find anyone I like. Really, the only two girls I've ever been really f0nd of (three, if you attritbute the original Jennifer to Jeanette) have come from my stepmom. So, I told my father that I'd just hire Jeanette to go find me a mate. You know what's crazy? I'd totally trust her to do it.

So, my dad came up with a business in which men hire women to find potential women. It makes so much sense! Women know women sooooo much better than men do. They can see through all the girl BS, they can gauge how a woman really feels, and most importantly, they'd know a good woman when they see one. Granted, I know a good woman when I see one, but since women are so much more exposed to other woman than I am, this only makes sense.

And the best part? I don't have to pay for any of it....my stepmom comes to me gratis.

A Brilliant Idea to Make Class More Palatable

OK, so follow me on this one. Angell Hall, where I have EVERY class this semester is either a sauna or a sub-zero freezer. I'm NEVER comfortable in class. Fear not, fellow Wolverines, I've figured out how to remedy this...

From now on, I propose that every classroom be outfitted with a gigantic hot tub. How great would this be? Class would NEVER be boring again. I could stare (while trying to look like I'm not) at the beautiful girls in their swim wear or spot and make fun of anyone with a third nipple or an embarrrasing birth mark (of course, I'd have to wait till after Lent to make fun of said freak...I'm willing to wait.) It'd be totally relaxing and I'd be incredibly confortable. And no, the teacher would not be lecturing inside the hot tube...since most professors are old people, they'd have to remain outside the watery premises, lecturing from land...no one wants too see old junk...

Of course, this too presents its problems. It might prompt an in-class PDA/make out session with some of my not-so-discreet clasmates. I'm not sure how I'd punish this kind of out burst, but give me time, I'll figure out something...

I'd also now have to get waxed regularly so as to conceal my somewhat out of control shoulder hair (don't laugh, your body's no work of art...) as well as having to be in tip-top shape and work on my tan.

Oh well, I'll manage..

"Professor, could you please turn the jets on high....?"

So worth it.

March is my favorite month

"It's easier for ugly people to find someone because they have no expectations."
-I'm not allowed to tell you who said this. How about you just unscramble the letters of this persons name: zaLi

Anyway, a big blog shout out to Big Bob Mann who underwent an angioplasty today. Get better big guy. Now who am I going to metaphorically violate in a friendly game of H-O-R-S-E?

Omigod Kobe Bryant is good. I watched him frustrate the Mavericks yesterday to the tune of 52 points. I heard our coach, Avery Johnson, said something to the tune of "He was uncooperative with our defense." Um, coach, how 'bout a double team? Yeah.

So, I read a great screenplay-writing book that detailed this guyss biggest pet peeves when reading poorly structured screenplays. I don't agree with EVERYTHING he has to say, but 99% of it was great. I love it when you learn how to do something by learning how not to do it. Now all they need to do is publish a book called "How NOT to Make Love."

My dad would probably tell me: "Um, Alex, that'd be a book about you!" Very funny.

I'm going to wrap up this post the same way it started. By talking about ugly people. I was standing in line at the Connection to purchase some Gatorade and a beautiful girl cut off a fat ugly guy about to take his place behind me. I hate it when people get cutt off...except when I get to stand next to a fine looking lady instead of Norm from Cheers.

Quote of the Day...

...from the Mann House (screenplay style)

ALEX and DAD sit side by side watching television in the Mann family basement.

DAD
This is gonna be a good game...

My stepmother, JEANETTE, is on the first level and approaches the stairway to the basement, and yells at the two males while hovering over the basement entrance.

Jeanette
(V.O.)
Did someone use the new toilet!?

Dad and Alex look at each other.

Alex
I didn't use it...

Dad
Yeah, I used it, why?

Jeanette
(VO)
They're still working on the new bathroom! It's got pee in it!

Dad
Hey, I know! I was careful with my aim....

Dad shrugs and Alex and continues watching television.

Scene.

...maybe you had to be there...

Leather Jacket/ Writing a Screenplay/ the Problem with Food Network Challenge

So, as I peered into my walk-in closet in my basement room in my parent's new home in Omaha, I was greeted by the clothing rejects that didn't make the cut for me to bring to college. I also saw an old friend in the form of the world's best leather jacket. I wore it when I was 11 years old when my dad didn't want it anymore and the copper leather arms out-lengthed my own. It made me feel like Tom Cruise from Top Gun. Well, 10 years later, th jacket was still in my closet, unworn for probably 8 years. I tried it on and it looks like one of those shorty jackets girls think are fashionable. And you know what? I still feel like Tom Cruise (the good Tom Cruise).

I wore it around today and I felt pretty BA. Although, I can't wear it around forever since its A)old and B) too small for me. So, I want a new one of the exact same thing, but I think they stopped making them like 15 years ago. So, I've been scowering the internet for one...it just sucks because the jacket pre-dates the internet, so I don't really know what its called or where to look for archived Banana Republic clothing. Wish me luck...

So, my step-uncle as got me reading his novel, which is pretty cool. He says he re-acquired the rights to make it into a move and wants me to write the screenplay for him. So, over the past couple of days, I've been reading it. Its pretty impressive that he wrote this thing...I know from writing my own fiction stuff (mainly screenplays) that it DEFINATELY ISN'T EASY. Trust me. When I'm writing, I'd usually rather be doing something else- and I mean anything else. Like watching Home Cooking with Sandra Lee or something. Anyway, the point is, writing a novel is a horrible pain, and I'm proud he was able to do it.

Unfortunately, I don't feel like it works as a screenplay because of it's sparse conflict. Meaning, should I try to adapt it, the story would be radically different. I'll be honest, I'm not really sure what to say when he asks 'what do you think?" I'm not for lying, but I want to be truthful about the story's shortcommings. If you have advice, please tell me...

Lastly, as I was reading the novel last night, I was watching Food Network Challenge- more specifically the one in which the chocolatiers have to make 4 ft replicas of world landmarks (Taj Mahal, Eiffel Tower...) completely out of chocolate. Its not my favorite show, but its pretty cool how talented these people are. The one thing I wonder, though, is this: If there are so many starving people in the world, why are we making a 100 ft. Mickey Mouse Sculpture out of popcorn? Or why a gigantic cake made to look like Ursula from The Little Mermaid that wont get eaten? I feel like this show is wrong because it wastes A TON of food that doesn't necessarily have to feed the whole of Africa, but could be used for homeless Americans, at the very least. I'm not a real politico, I just wish our culture could spot this. I mean, is art really worth this kind of amount of massive waste? Especially when we have millions of needy? I love Food Network, but I can't bring myself to watch this show anymore.

Though I have to admit, the Eiffel Tower out of Dark chocolate was pretty bitchin'

Old-maha- tales from a Midwestern Spring Break

Well, I hope you jerks are happy with your bikkinis and one-pieces. Sure hope Spring Break/Girls Gone Wild/ Crazy MTv Craziness Spring Break is a happy one for ya....

Because I'm here in Nebraska (yes, its still a state...) for mine. And because my parents read this blog now, I'm having a FANTASTIC time (friends, call me, we'll discuss this when I'm not being monitored like Hannibal Lecter in Silence of The Lambs)

It's been pretty relaxing so far. I've slept till 11 TWICE! I'm reading a screenplay and book and I've played video games, all while being the butt of most of my father's jokes (apparently he's not too fond of my major).. .

Although, I have to say, the weather's been tropical for an Omaha winter...50 degrees the othe day!

Is that a TAN, Alex!?

Why...um, no its not...shaddup.

I pistoled whipped my dad at HORSE...five straight games. Yep, I can finally beat him. Needed him to have some cardio problems to do it, but, hey, I'm finally the best basketball shooter in my family.

Other than that, I've O.D.-ed on iced animal cracker cookies (ADDICTION!), judged everyone walking down the red carpet for the Oscars, and have been offered to marry my cousin...well step cousin, actually. (I know I'm bad with girls right now, but I'm not this bad off).

To all of my friens in Florida and elsewhere: Have a heart and please take some pictures of beaches and/or beautiful women in bathing suits for me. Thank you.

Quote of the Day

Italian clas:

Girl trying to read a simple Italian sentence:
"Io stre....st...st..I don't...st..st.."

Italian Teacher:
"Oh god, I vant to keel myself..."

I know how he feels...not that I'm brilliant in Italian, but it hurts when someone messes up EASY stuff. It was a classic moment. I love Italians.

Parents: Go Away.

It appears as though my parents have found my blog.

How did they do this? They created a facebook profile, searched my name, and found the link.

Then they denied it, until I told them that I had a tracker on the blog.

...wow, some people have NOTHING to do.

The Feigning Excitement Hall of Fame

So, my stepmother, Jeanette, (who is a saint) just took my grandmother (her mother-in-law) on a three day trip to San Fransisco. God knows I love my grandmother, but I'd rather spend a long weekend in solitary confinement. And I'm pretty sure Jeanette would agree.

Apparently it wasn't the torture I envision as they basically ate the whole time. Its ironic because my grandmother's only love in this world is food...and she's a former anorexic. How sad. That'd be like me denying myself sports or checking out girls. Life's already too hard. I couldn't live without life's natural luxuries.

Anyway, I encourage you to look at the picture above. Look how gracious and happy my stepmother looks (she's the young one, if you hadn't guessed). There's no way she's that happy about being there. Uncanny. Also, its debatable to whether or not my grandmother likes my stepmother (which is crazy because my stepmother is the best person in the entire world). How are women so good at hiding the fact that they'd rather be somewhere, ANYWHERE, other than where they are? I mean, sure if they're really pissed off you can tell in all kinds of body language like pursed lips and crossed arms, etc., but still. Goodness knows I could NEVER feign a smile like this. You'd basically have to inject me with happy nerve gas to get me to smile. And even then it wouldn't look half as genuine as it does on my stepmom. If there were a hall of fame for people who could fake liking people, it'd be my stepmother. We're talking first ballot, like Cal Ripken Jr. or something.

Spring Break '08 Only Four Days Away

Well, you think you're gonna have fun in Florida or Alcapulco or on that cruise you booked with all of your BFFs, but I'm having a way wilder time for my Spring Break.

I'm going to Omaha, bitches.

Yep, a week with the moron twins (the affectionate name I gave to my dad and stepmom), old people, and utter nothingness is just what the doctor ordered. To be fair, I need somewhere to relax and actually do nothing, so this might actually be OK. Plus, my dad's making up for it by taking me to Dodger Stadium in May, which is pretty sweet. If you desire anything from the endless fields of corn or the delightlfully simple plains of Nebraska, just let me know. I'll steal it from an unsuspecting old person for ya...

So, it appears I'm getting worse at Italian. Its getting to the point to where I can barely read a passage out loud in Italian class. I read it like its written in Hebrew, which I can read, just not well. Not good, Alex.

So, for an after-workout snack, I happened upon the Insomnia cookie truck parked outside West Quad. Pretty good...for being baked in a truck. Why is it that things cooked/baked in/on something on wheels are so good, but so bad for you? Mmmmm...street food.....

Punishable By Death

So, this morning I was rudely reminded of one of life's little annoyances to go along with ugly people PDA, people chewing with their mouth open, and the overuse of "like" in modern English conversation...that being false fire alarms. But there is good news: I think I've found out how to remedy this inconvience and stop having morons misuse the fire alarm. Two ways, actually. The first being lethal injection. Yeah, I don't think I have to elaborate on that one. The second being this, since I believe the offenders are most likely all males. I say we secretly video tape the fire alarm levers so that we can identify these god-less perpatrators. Then, we kidnap them, blindfold them, and drive to the nearest federal pen (who'd be in on operation: bitch is a compliment), and force them to "drop the soap" in the shower right next to the prison's largest (and sex desperate) inmate.

So, you think waking me up is funny, huh? You like pulling the fire alarm like its NEVER been done before. I'm glad, because for the rest of your miserable life, every time you hear a fire alarm, see the fire alarm lever, or probably even hear the word "fire," you'll see and smell the billowing clouds of the post-coidal smoke Tiny took after romancing you in the prison showers.

Me? Bitter? Nah....

Ok, obviously I'm not crazy and I don't want to go to this extreme, but I do want the madness to stop...I hate loud noises, being prematurly woken up, and having to go out into the cold because you thought you were being funny. How about the whole of West Quad get to line up, execution style, and pelts the perp with snowballs while naked. I think that sounds fair...

The Gym

One of my favorite places on earth is the gym. Its a place I can go and get away and feel good when I leave because I did something good for my health. Running on a treadmill or elliptical allows me to listen to my iPod, weightlifting gives me the feeling of being ripped, and playing basketball is plain fun exercise, provided I'm playing well. Some of my best afternoons were spent in gyms, clearing my heard or beating friends at one-on-one. Of course, some harder times have occurred in them too...the blowup between me and you-know-who comes to mind. But alas the gym has always been a fundemental part of my routine.

And its taken on many variations in my life. During my teens starting out, it was Perimeter in Atlanta where the assholes there didn't like me playing basketball. Signature in Dallas was OK, until they sold it to LA Fitness and thus ruined it. Then came probably the most memorable which was the Cardiovascual Rehab Center in which I was the youngest memeber-- by about 50 years. It was all old people because it was actually owned by a hospital and ws primarily there to help old people rehab...you can imagine the horrendous sight in the locker room. Yuck! Oh, and when I'd shoot baskets, the old people watching on their little excercise machines around the court would stop and give me standing ovations upon made baskets. Made me feel like Kobe Bryant. Good times.

Then came SMU (you wouldn't believe the co-eds...), and of course the Premier club (you wouldn't believe the co-eds...and the assholes who'd be there hitting on them).

And of course, now I work out splitting my time between Michigan's CCRB and IM Building...of which I prefer playing basketball at the IM Building but like working out at CCRB better.


So, a few things have struck me in the CCRB this last week. First, a dude in the men's locker room was drying off using the handblower things. I'm not kidding, stark naked in the middle of the sink area with 3 blowers point at his nude body. Yeah, disgusting.

The other thing that always strikes me about the gym is how great a girl-meetng opportunity it is, yet nothing ever comes from it. Take the treadmill for instance. You're running in place next to people you don't know for like 30 minutes. You're next to the same person for half an hour, why can I never take advantage of this!? I was on a treadmill next to a GORGEOUS girl today, but I didn't make a move, I didn't know what in the world to say. It's a travesty. I never know if hitting on a girl on a treadmill is wanted: I feel like they're too much of a captive audience. Plus, apparently Men's Health, my personal bible, says girls at the gym are self-conscious because they're so dressed down and sweaty. What's my move here? I always feel like a loser for not being able to make something out of these seemingly ample opportunities that present themselves daily.

This to go along with such sticky situations such as picking up girls in class, on public transportation, in the dining hall...etc. Being a guy sucks.