Austin Day 105? I've Lost Track. 105 Sounds Good: It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

It's raining and it's supposed to freeze and they've made that announcement every five minutes. That is not an exaggeration.
People are even sending in pictures of tiny icicles on their cars and rooftops. I forget that I'm in Texas and these sort of things are a big deal.
Meanwhile, my mother watches as inches of snow accumilates outside her window, sighing, dreading having to wake up an hour earlier just to get properly dressed, defrost and scrape off the car, and drive five miles per hour through the back roads of Upstate NY.

It was so lovely last week. The city was full of life. I ran through Town Lake running-dancing to Sly & The Family Stone and beamed at every person who crossed my path. How can I not smile when it's January and 80 degrees, I'm listening to one of the best bass lines in rock music ("Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin"), and my legs have the ability to run. I scavange for a coffee shop, but am dismayed to find that every single one is filled up. Every single person and their mother decided to go to a coffee shop that day too. Austin is a coffee shop kind of town. If someone asked me to describe Austin, I'd say, "It's like a big coffee shop that you and your Mom go to."

SXSW is coming up. That means people from L.A. will be here. That means I'll be confused.

I've been participating in the Chronicle's "Chrontourage". Check it out here and my profile here.

Next Friday, FANBOYS debuts you in Austin. The Alamo is hosting an event with screenwriter Ernie Cline to introduce! Get your tickets now before they sell out. It's the 6:45PM showing at the Ritz. If you don't know about FANBOYS, it's the epic tale of a group of friends hitting the road to break into Lucas Ranch to see EPISODE ONE before their friend dies. This movie has been years in the making and is finally comes to theaters in February!

Down, down, downtown L.A.

I had this dream once that I was Andy Warhol. Not like the cool, Svengali NYC socialite/innovator/icon Andy, but the gay, badly toupeed, shot up Andy. It was really weird.

So I rented a loft in Downtown L.A. to try and feed this dream. I mean I went through the trouble of dying a toupee white and searching for young boys on the street to piss on my paintings, but it didn't work well for me.

I wanted the most industrial, gritty place I could fine. Low and behold my surprise when it didn't look like The W Hotel inside. The loft had fleas. It had rats. I got bites from the fleas on the rats. It had no hot water. It had a kitchen that was abandoned a quarter of the way through completion. It was sticky. I'd wake up with welts on my body from God only knows what. It had a few inches of filth that had accumulated over the years during it's previous life as a sweat shop. I was living in post-apocalyptic, BLADE RUNNER type shit. As sexy as it sounds, you don't want your home to be that. Do you know where Boyle Heights is? Yeah, I didn't think so.

The area also had a magic portal in the parking lot where one can leave something and before they turned around, it was gone. For example, one afternoon, I put a wine ice bucket full of water in the middle of the parking lot to quench the thirst of a mangy mutt. Before I reached the door, I looked back onto the horizon of the concrete paradise and the ice bucket was gone. Not the water, the whole thing. The damn dog didn't even get to drink from it!

I was intrigued and wanted to leave more items in the spot to see if they would disappear. However, my articles meant too much to me. I wasn't sure how I would get them back. Interestingly enough, a few weeks later a van also seemed to spontaneously combust in that same spot. Or rather spray-painted on then torched.

Moral of the story?
Don't strive to be a 20th Century pop artist in the magical land known as Downtown L.A., it will only get you killed.


(Yes, I recycled an old story, God dammit. My well is dry right now. Dried up, I say!)

Something Happened on My 26th Birthday...

I'm an only child of divorce. That's like, two strikes against me right there (my third, fourth, and fifth strike being I'm female, Jewish, and Gemini as well). Marriage and having kids has never been an ambition of mine. I mean, I'm not against the idea. I've always displayed mild interest in the concept. Maybe one day I'll live in a turn-of-the century cottage in a mid-size city in a good school district with my graphic designer husband and two children named Juniper and Hugo OR maybe, just maybe, I'll live in a glass house over-looking a jumbo-size city watching all the people down below, afraid to touch them, afraid of anything that would make me normal and my only friend is my butler who carries me to bed every evening after get annihilated on sherry and anise liqueur.

You never know what life brings you.

Lately something has been happening though. I'm not so indifferent to the idea. In fact, I've been staring at small children with the same wide-eyed wonderment that they give me. Cue Queen and David Bowie's "Under Pressure" and you have the exact scene from GROSSE POINTE BLANK. I'm not saying I want to pump out children anytime soon. No, no, no. This 26 year-old mind and body ain't up for that kind of maiming. Not quite ready to rip apart my labia just yet. The second realization is that I'm also not opposed to marriage. Recently, I finally admitted to myself that I'm strictly interested in a committed, long-term relationship. 

Wow, this is the first time I've said it out loud and not cringe. 

I WANT A COMMITTED, LONG-TERM RELATIONSHIP! 

You see, before now, I always viewed that thought as a handicap. Typically I try not pass blame onto others, but I'll gladly point and jab fingers at the men that have suggested that such a feeling was a downfall of mine. "You're in your 20's and you live in L.A.! Why the hell do you want to actually  date someone!?" Now that I'm not living in L.A. and choosing not to keep assholes around, I've grown some clarity and objectivity on the issue. 

Shit, 26 feels good....

Post script- Or maybe I still have no idea what I want.

How to Be Chuck Bass

This is what I do while on break. I write eHow articles on how to be fictional characters from TV shows based off young adult novels.

How to be Chuck Bass

Everyone is in love with Gossip Girl's resident bad boy Chuck Bass. Those bow ties! That sneer! Those condescending, degrading, misogynistic quips! Here is the How-to on being the mythological anti-hero that is Charles Bartholomew Bass.

1.) Begin and end sentences by saying, "I am (insert first and last name)". Don't ever let people forget who you are. Extra points if you start referring to yourself in the third person.

2.) For daywear, embrace the three P's- pink, plaid, and preppy. No color is too bold, no pattern is too tacky, and no outfit is too Hamptons weekendy for a Chuck Bass wannabe. *Tip- Make sure to always turn your collar up

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