Four to go…
I was just feeling a bit nostalgic and was remembering one fun night that my friends and I spent at the Egyptian Theater seeing an old film. We got there pretty early and scored a good set of seats up front on the left flank. I think we inadvertently snuck by a few guards to get there but that kind of thing seems to happen to us a lot. File under random acts of weirdness. So anyway we sit down and are waiting and watching the theater fill up and waiting for the show to start. As show-time approaches the guest star of the evening arrives. The guest star is the actual star of the film we’re waiting to see and a cult and mainstream film hero and very controversial back in the real world. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know who it is and the name of the film soon enough. The star and his family, including his young grandson, take up seats in the row just behind us with the star sitting directly in the seat behind me. My hands are shaking at this point. HE is sitting behind ME! Only in Hollywood does this happen. I expected to go see an old classic on the big screen for the first time and now a star that I’ve watched since childhood is 3 feet away from me watching one of his most famous movies. God I love this town! So the movie begins and there are smattered rounds of applause in the classic scenes but the best moment came when there was a mention in the film about a “gelding”. Little grandson leans over to big grandpa superstar and asks, “Grandpa, what’s a gelding?”. In the context of the situation it was the best line of the film. I almost blew popcorn out my nose but stifled the laugh as not to embarrass said superstar in the middle of his own movie. So we come to the end of the film and applause ensues and gets louder and louder and the emcee points out where the star is sitting. The audience then bursts into a standing ovation and is all looking at the star so I decided to keep sitting so the rest of the audience could see. I still had a huge shit eatin’ grin on my face and was clapping till my hands hurt so there was no disrespect at all. For my trouble Mister Charleton Heston looked down at me, smiled and winked. He then went on to answer audience questions about the classic film “Planet of the Apes”. One of the best star laden evenings I’ve ever had in Hollywood.
It didn’t take long at all for Cynthia Ashford to chime in with the answer to last week’s mystery photo subject. “This looks like the Hotel California sign on the property next to the fountain at Los Feliz Blvd. and Riverside,” she wrote. The signs are indeed situated on Riverside Drive south of the Mulholland fountain. But in the interest of fairness and accuracy and to dispel any connection to the classic Eagles album, the signs (there are two of them) read “Hotel Californian.”
Clue: What with it being Memorial Day weekend I was thinking of posting an image snapped somberly at the Los Angeles National Cemetery in Westwood (where I’ll be headed later today to pay my respects), but instead I decided to offer an image of a memorial that’s a bit off the beaten path ó Elysian Park to be less vague. Installed at an L.A. City Fire Department training facility not far at all from Dodger Stadium, it was unveiled last September to serve as a west coast commemoration. To what? You tell me.
UPDATE (June 6): This contest is closed.
New Rules (as of 5.31): The more the merrier, right? Instead of the first one to correctly identify the location and subject of the above image winning, I’m going to beta test the random selection of a winner who will be selected the following Sunday from all the correct entries and who will win the admiration of the blogging.la readership (or me, whichever’s greater at the time) and a collector’s edition Tush sticker printed with real ink and made with real adhesive. In the event of no one getting it right, the creator of the most entertaining guess will be hailed victorious.
As another season of apartment hunitng begins, here’s another question from the Noo Yawker:
With my extremely limited grasp of Spanish, I could be egregiously wrong, but doesn’t Los Feliz translate as “The Happy?” Who in the hell names their neighborhood “The Happy?”
I guess that’s the polar opposite of Hell’s Kitchen.
So I’m at this panel discussion for bloggers in Hollywood and bloggers and politics that Sean dragged me to. Let me just say I love nothing more than hearing “Industry” people complaining. Wait, there is something I love more…right wing conservatives complaining about the liberal bias in movies and televison. It isn’t enough that they control politics right now we have to complain that there haven’t been any movies made about the conservative side of Roe v. Wade. Puh-lease.
Anyway, everyone here has a tres important opinion…isn’t that cool? Well, I’m ending my sacasm now and will get back to the holding back my vomit.
Having yet to be affronted by any TV or radio aspects of this recent advertising campaign, I’ve only been able to winter in my discontent of the billboards like the one to the right that have been popping up around town showing a rainbow coalition of sillyslick Barbarella wannabes, each giving obviously well-practiced, arms-length handjobs to huge, erect bottles of an artificially colored, flavored and bubbled beverage ó all the while collectively asking us if we “Want To Fuck?”
What’s that? You say it’s “Wanta Fanta?” As in “Do you want a Fanta?” Well, let’s get bogged down in semantics for a moment and look at “Wanta,” which is similar to “wanna” with both often colloquially used in questions like “Wanta go to the store?” or “Do you wanna ride… ride the white pony?” In formal use either would convert to “want to” as they are modifying the action of the question. It wouldn’t make sense to ask “Want a go to the store?” Neither would it make cent$ for the Coca-Cola Company to greenlight a huge promo blitz featuring four scantily clad women with their legs spread who then only flaccidly ask us if we might like to maybe kinda try their drinks.
Sorry, but there’s no limp queries involved here. The question’s rhetorical and moot having already been answered by that quad-pack of frosted young ho-cakes being pimped by their parent company up there on those billboards. They know it. You know it. “Wanta Fanta?” Of course you do. All four at once.
I’m starting a collection of old brick cell phones and stuff like that. If you’ve got one laying around in a closet or under the leg of a table let me know. I WANT IT.
It has come to my attention that the Dino in the White Island Crater will not exist forever. And it’s sad, because Dino probably knew that the acrid environment would shorten his lifespan. Yet this brave Hanna Barbera plastic figure swam across the sea and crawled up a deserted island into a volcanic crater for our amusement.
But cry not, beloved readers, because we can do something to keep his memory alive.
I’m looking for a few brave volunteers who would like to find a webcam in their neighborhood to put up a memorial Dino or other Flintstone’s pen topper. (thanks Koga!) If we get enough people involved, we can probably get a bulk deal on these fellows. Of course in memory of dear White Island Dino, they would wear magenta/purple armbands. (You can just draw them on with a sharpie.)
Our very own Joz gets quoted next to the likes of Tony Pierce and Jeff Jarvis in this New York Times story on blogging:
Jocelyn Wang, a 27-year-old marketing manager in Los Angeles, started her blog, a chronicle of whatever happens to pop into her head (www.jozjozjoz.com), 18 months ago as an outlet for boredom.
Now she spends at least four hours a day posting to her blog and reading other blogs. Ms. Wang’s online journal is now her life. And the people she has met through the blog are a large part of her core of friends.
“There is no real separation in my life,” she said. Like Mr. Wiggins, Ms. Wang blogs while on vacation. She stays on floors at the Hotel Nikko in San Francisco with access to a free Internet connection. (“So I can blog,” she explains.)
My neighbor was robbed night before last while dining outside at Vermont Restaurant. Apparently, she was temporarily distracted from watching her bag by a ponytailed female, while two thuggish male types made off with her bag.
Now, if you know Vermont, or even that part of Los Feliz, you know that this is seriously fucked up. But what’s more disturbing is that the police told her this group has been on the prowl for some time now. Unfortunately, according to the proprietor of Vermont, nobody seems to have passed that information on to business owners in the neighborhood.
So I am. If you’re eating outside on Vermont or Hillhurst, keep your wits about you and your belongings in plain sight. I’ll be inside, because I am a chicken.
*Apologies to anyone who has not played cribbage and therefore will not understand this post’s title. You are very fortunate.
I have to be honest: I loved the first Shrek, but I wasn’t expecting a whole lot from this sequel. I was mostly going because I love to do things as a family, and I can’t pass up a chance go take the kids out of suburbia and into the real world.
So I was just hoping that the movie didn’t annoy me . . . and I ended up loving it. I give it 4.5 stars on my 5 star scale. (It loses half a star because it uses too many musical montages . . . but the story is hilarious once it takes off, and there were so many brilliant “throw away” jokes, I lost count.) There’s nothing better than sitting between two kids who are convulsing with laughter.
While we were there, I saw posters for the Bukowski movie . . . wow. I can’t wait to see that, man! Life of Brian is also playing there . . . so I may end up cashing in
some most of those member points pretty damn soon.
This hot piece of boy ass is Napoleon Dynamite.
Are you done drooling and/or trying to set this image as your new desktop wallpaper? Lucky for you, there’s more to this than just a pretty picture; it’s also a movie. “Hooray!” you cheer. Yes, hooray indeed. For anyone who’s ever loved “Welcome to the Dollhouse” with all their little heart, this is a movie that I dare say is even funnier. Double plus good bonus: the ending song in the movie is “The Promise” by When in Rome. (ok, maybe that one’s just good to me. Whatever.)
Fox Searchlight isn’t doing a lot of publicity for this movie, but it would be a crime to miss it. Funnier than you can shake a stick at! Go watch the trailer and then come back and answer me this, Batman:
What’s a liger?
The AP is reporting that the NFL would like to have a team back in Los Angeles within four years. “The league, which has not had a team in the Los Angeles area since the Rams departed for St. Louis 10 years ago, has been working with groups representing sites at Carson, the Coliseum and the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. ‘Everyone has been working at this,’ [Commissioner Paul] Tagliabue said. ‘At some point decisions need to be made.'”
NFL, NFL… now why does that name sound so familiar?
Meanwhile, the rest of our dysfunctional local teams forge ahead, brawling with Timberwolves, slogging through slumps, or just keeping quiet and hoping no one notices its league disappearing off the face of the Earth. Our Angelic friends to the south are mired in a decidedly un-Disney-like InjuryWorld. The ennui is truly breathtaking.
However, the WNBA Sparks season is starting and the MLS Galaxy are in first place.
We can only hope the Lakers decide to show up for 6 more wins before their year runs out. If not, T.J. Simers will be really bitchy all summer long. Bitchier than normal.