Woodstock Is The Same Age as Jason Bateman

Bathtub time is reserved for either listening to Hall & Oates and crying or coming up with ideas for new blog posts. One action does not necessarily inspire the other, but this morning the two converged. As I contemplated how much Daryl Hall really fucking loved Sara, I thought of the Woodstock Music Festival which celebrated it's 40th anniversary this weekend and had nothing to do with Hall & Oates whatsoever. In fact, Daryl Hall and John Oates had only met two years prior to the legendary concert. I guess the awesomemulletmoustache duo came to mind because my mother loves them and she loved every single band that played at Woodstock. So in my mind, Hall & Oates played at Woodstock because my mother would have wanted them to.

My mother was nineteen years old when Woodstock took place in an upstate NY farm not far from where she grew up. She's the only person over fifty that I talked today so I asked her her experiences with the festival.

"Oh yeah, I didn't go." she said before I even finished asking her the question.

"Why not?"

"Well because three different boys asked me to go and I was really afraid that if I went with one, I'd run into the other two."

She thinks for a moment.

"I remember sitting at my Uncle Harry's house in Endicott, listening to the radio reports of what was going on and thinking, "Oh shit, I want to go go go!"

"So why didn't you?"

"I don't know. I was afraid they weren't going to have enough toilets."

The End.

*Post-script- my mother politely asked me not use anyone's names in this post because obviously one of the three men who asked her to Woodstock 40 years ago might get offended.

It Was a David Bowie Kind of Day

"Dude, the DP for Labryinth totally had a thing for Bowie's junk", I said.


Jennine didn't even think twice before putting the giant, knee-high sock in the crotch of her overalls. I might have fallen in love Jennine at that moment.




Emily didn't seem too happy about pretending to be the heroin-crazed, Nazi-loving, hallowed-out cheek David Bowie.
Thomas Newton doesn't have anything on you.






"I've never seen a crotch do what yours is doing right now", Emily said.
She was giving my crotch way too much credit.

Vice Can Kiss My Ass and Then Take a Picture of It to Put in Their Next Issue (NSFW)

The latest issue of Vice is in honor of the NYC quasi-artist/professional asshole Dash Snow. I was only vaguely familiar with Snow's work before he died on July 13th, 2009 of a heroin overdose. However, the Vice article clued me in to what little he actually contributed to the art scene.

If tagging your name on buildings, taking random Polaroids, living in downtown Manhattan, snorting coke off your friend's cock, and naming your child "Secret" qualifies as being an artist, where do I sign up?

Oh Vice, how I love to hate you!

Hooker, That Sh*t Made me Cry Last Night! (some spoilers)

I will never make a good critic because I'm not a very objective person. In fact, I don't know how I feel about most entertainers (or even my life) except for Crispin Glover (extreme attraction), David Byrne (strong attraction but would have been more intense in 1984), Pee-Wee Herman (moderate attraction), and the Marx Brothers (they'd be, like, around 125 years old now so saying that I'm attracted to them concerns me). I generally know what I like and dislike, but my depth of critique has very minimal, child-like range of emotion. At the bottom end of the spectrum is "That Shit Sucked Ass and I'm Going to Throw Something Down on the Ground, Hard", somewhere in the middle is "If Shia LaBeouf is in it then it must be ok" and on the high end is, "My Lower Abdomen is Tingling So I Must Be Liking This?". 

One of those things that makes my crotch dance but I can't for the life of me tell you why is HBO's "True Blood". Every week I plant my ass down in front of the TV to watch this show. If I'm forced to be objective about this show I'd say that:

1.) The acting is over-the-top and theatrical (imagine Bill holding is hand up into the night air and bellowing "Sookie!" seven times an episode)

2.) It's about a subject matter I've never been interested in (or at least I keep telling myself)

However, I just can't get enough of that sappy vampire melodrama and last night's episode really brought me to the edge and turned me into a 14 year-old screaming child. For a good 45 minutes after the episode ended, a random, "Hot damn! That was so freakin' good!" would escape my lips while cleaning my room and doing the laundry. I even texted my friend and used up my one allotted usage of internet acronyms a week by screaming, "OMG! True Blood was AAAAAMMMMMMAAAAZZZZIIIIINNNNNGGGGG last night! I want to have Eric's babies!"

Highlights of last night's episode:

-Eric smiling

-Realizing that not only was Bill's human life taken from him, but his balls as well

-Sookie really shouldn't make Merlotte's table clothes into clothing

-Eric crying

-Blowing yourself up with silver only leaves behind a couple of fingers

-Sometimes being 2000 years old get uninspiring

-Eric speaking whatever language he was speaking last night

-Eric

-Eric

-Eric

Come Run Away to the Beautiful Salton Sea!

You know those days when you hate everything?
When you want to slap a random stranger's face off or you feel like telling a small child that we're all dying.

The days when you want to run away from it all?

Maybe pretend your a strung-out alt-folk musician and move to a cabin in the Tennessean backwoods or live with the grizzly bears in wherever the hell that crazy guy lived with them? 

Or maybe, just maybe, in a toxic wasteland hidden in the deserts of Southern California where the beaches are made of fish bones and the air smells of decaying wildlife? Where houses and public spaces have been abandoned and the only sign of life is the occasional farm truck that kicks up dust in the empty streets? 

Yeah, sometimes I want to run away to there. 

However, I quickly learned after visiting this place, The Salton Sea, that 110 degree California desert + dead fish= millions of flies and a smell unlike anything you've ever smelled in your life. Plus living amongst self-governed meth manufacturers without running water is kind of a huge turn-off.

I don't know. I gotta think about it this a little bit more.

--------------------

For those of you who don't know what The Salton Sea is, in short, it is the largest lake in California located about 45 miles south-east of Palm Springs. The lake was created by run-off from the Colorado River at the turn-of-the-century. The area became a hot spot for vacationers, but as years went on, either high salinity levels or botulism caused most of the fish and bird population to die. With flooding, bad smells, and general concerns for healthy and safety becoming an issue, the human population began to uproot and left behind a graveyard of homes, motels, and restaurants.

The roller coaster story of The Salton Sea is too much to get into here. I've read a lot about it, but different resources say different things. The truth of the matter is, it is a beautiful lake, surround by gorgeous green mountains, but considered one of the worst ecological disasters in America. You can read more about it at California's Salton Sea Authority page. William Vollmann's article from Outside Magazine is also helpful. Another excellent resource is the wonderful documentary, "Plagues and Pleasures On The Salton Sea". The trailer alone will make you want to see this place.

Below are pics I took on my trip there last summer.  We stopped at the Salton Sea Recreational Area located on the north-east side of the lake. The lake varies in size at 15 X 35 miles wide, so there are numerous other dissipating towns located around the lake. I wasn't able to stay long, for my mother was flipping her shit when we got there. She was a good sport until she got out of the car and was attacked by a swarm of flies. Then she nearly buckled over from the waff of dead fish. She stormed back into the car and told me I was crazy for ever wanting to visit a place like this and that our scenario would quickly turn into the premise of THE HILLS HAVE EYES.

Me on the other hand? I was spellbound. 

It was 104 degrees. The air and smell was nearly unbearable.

An abandoned motel

                An abandoned club

The beach

                        An abandoned trailer community

                                     Same abandoned motel

                                           Look at all the kids playing!

The Blum and I

Last night, I came across an enjoyable little mockumentary called PITTSBURGH starring Jeff Goldblum. The film follows Jeff, his (cough) 23 year-old fiance, and his friends Ileana Douglas and Ed Begley Jr. as they star in Jeff's hometown stage revival of "The Music Man". Jeff Goldblum pretending to be Jeff Goldlbum is always a winner . I could watch the dude talk to his hands. This movie is worth checking out if you're a fan of the Brundlefly.

Ah, Jeff Goldblum...

I had the pleasure of working with Jeff once.

The movie was a real stinker, but that didn't stop Jeff from treating it as if it were Oscar gold. I was very anxious to meet him. You see, I had had a whale-size crush on him when I was ten years-old. It was the year of JURASSIC PARK and even though I didn't know what sexy was (I still don't), I knew that there was something special about this man. His tall stature, his Mediterranean complexion, the way he talked, the way he delivered his lines, the way he moved his hands made my little ten year-old body shiver. After JURASSIC PARK, I rented every movie he was in (VIBES gets a ten in my book). My crush on Jeff eventually ran it's course and I moved on to others (Crispin Glover, I love you!), but when I was told that Jeff Goldblum was starring in my company's movie, my little ten year-old heart resurrected.

Jeff showed up a day before he was scheduled to shoot. He was there solely to meet the cast and crew. He started with the assistants. I walked on set with Starbucks outstretched towards my boss who was standing next to Jeff. When Jeff saw me, he stood up, held out his arms, and engulfed me. I thought he must have mistaken me for someone he knew, but that's how Jeff greets people. Like you're a long lost friend. Or, almost like he has a magnet in his pants and so do you. He sat with me and two other assistants and studied the crew list. "Ok, Lauren, the girl running around over there with the walkie-talkie, who is that?" We told him the names of everybody on set. When we were finished, he walked up to every single person and said, "(Insert name here), you're doing a great job today!" Though most turned around with the perplexed look of, "How the hell does The Blum know my name?", everyone was surprised and touched nonetheless.

Everyday Jeff was a team player. He spoke with EVERYONE. He did not discriminate (like a certain someone else on the set who is on a certain NBC show who is known for having a bad temper who upon meeting me turned away in mid-sentence after he found out I was "just an assistant"). Jeff sat with the crew for lunch, he talked with the extras, he even stayed late when he didn't have to. Take for instance the day he and the NBC star were filming fight scenes all day. The day became evening and it was time for the actors to go home. NBC star couldn't wait to get his cranky ass out of there. However, my day was just beginning. I was an extra in a dance club scene and me and a dozen other extras were in the parking lot practicing our moves. Jeff was walking to his Prius when he stopped. He put down his backpack and jumped in the mix. He hung out for a good 20 minutes dancing with the extras. He danced with me and near speechless I said, "Jeff, you make a girl feel like a hundred bucks!" He is the only man to ever say, "Lauren, the ball on your nose is delicious". He held me so close that in the pictures taken, you can see my fingers digging into his upper arm (see above). What you can't see in the picture is his boner pushing up against my thigh. Now take a look at my smile.

Jeff was originally up for the lead part in the movie, but when the investors got wet with the possibility of NBC star playing the lead, they dropped Jeff. That didn't phase Jeff who was happy to take a secondary role in the movie just because he was a fan and wanted to support it (the film was written and directed by a first-timer). Even months after the film wrapped, Jeff called the director on his birthday.

A year later, I saw Jeff again at one of my company's parties. I was standing at the top of the stairs. Suddenly the front door swung open and there he was. The tall, dark, and handsome man nearly feeling up everyone in his path. He spoke with the door person, he spoke with the hostess, he spoke with people on their way out the door, he even spoke to the potted plant. I walked up to him and even though I'm 110% sure he had no freakin' clue who I was, that didn't stop him from acting like he had known me forever. He momentarily held me in his big arms and went on his way.

It's no secret that Jeff is a ladies man. He is the ladies man of all ladies men. Joke is he has an acting class just so he can hook up with a bevvy of beautiful twenty-somethings. You know the funny thing though? You'll never meet a person who will say a bad thing about Jeff Goldblum. That's because he's a gentleman and a honest-to-God good human being.

Even if Jeff Goldblum is only hooking up with you only for one night, he will act as though you are the only thing that matters in this world. Is he just a good actor? Maybe. However, I believe Jeff really does love each and everyone he comes in contact with- whether it's two seconds or ten years. You can see it in those wild, Jeff Goldblum eyes.

We could all learn something from Jeff Goldblum- to have a boner for just about everything in this World.

The Return of Pee-Wee Herman

FINALLY!

I've been waiting 18 years for this mother f'ing day.

It was announced yesterday that Paul Reubens will be reviving "The Pee-Wee Herman Show" with a limited run in November at Los Angeles' Henry Fonda Theater. According to reports, many of the original cast and puppets will be back. Not to be confused with "Pee-Wee's Playhouse", "The Pee-Wee Herman Show" was Paul Reubens' original stage show performed at The Groundlings Theater, then Roxy Theater in early 80's Los Angeles. The success of the show and gaining popularity of the Pee-Wee character led to the making of Pee-Wee's Big Adventure in 1985.

A couple of years ago, I was at a film premiere in Hollywood that happened to star Paul. My friend who was a producer on the project knew my child-like fervor for Pee-Wee and introduced me to him. Now, I've worked with and met a lot of famous people but no one, NO ONE, made me as weak in the knees as Paul Reubens. He was quiet and shy and probably could have given two shits to have met me. I told him that I heard about his two Pee-Wee scripts that he was looking to get made and I mentioned the producer that I worked for at the time. I told him that I would call his assistant the next day and set up a meeting. And I did. And I spent my nights fantasizing about producing the next Pee-Wee movie. And I could have been struck by lightening and died a happy girl. Without getting into too much, Paul has two scripts, one that is totally doable and another that is less doable. My boss loved the doable script but as soon as his foreign distributor told him that Pee-Wee has zero foreign pre-selling ability, my boss dropped the project like a hot potato. I spent weeks trying to revive my boss' enthusiasm for the project, but he had bigger fish to catch at that point and my dream of helping make the next Pee-Wee movie died. A lot of people have seemed interested in the project, but it appears that no one has jumped on the scripts yet. I'm not sure if it's because of his age or how many years have passed since his hay day, but I am SO HAPPY to see that Pee-Wee will finally see the light of day now. Maybe this is the first step needed to bring Pee-Wee back to us!

*The picture above is owned by Nicole Panter, the actress who played Susan in the original Pee-Wee Herman Show. She was not only a writer for the show, but was also the manager for the L.A. punk band The Germs, a screenwriting professor, and a terrific artist/photographer, amongst other things. She's the shit.

                     (I think my Jewish nose if bigger than his Jewish nose)

Cary Grant Is the Reason You Can't Get Laid

Is your love life in shambles? Do you find yourself repeating the same mistakes over and over? Do you feel like you will never meet the right guy or girl, or when you do meet them, they don't seem to want you? Well, put down that copy of "Men Are From Mars Women Are From Venus" that you never read anyways and listen to me very carefully; I have found the answer: Your love life is in the shitter all because of Cary Grant. 

Every man wants to be Cary Grant and every woman wants Cary Grant, but the truth is, Cary Grant doesn't exist. He never existed. Cary Grant was even quoted as saying, "Yeah, that sweet ass mo-fo up on the big screen? He's not real." In real-life, Archibald Leach could be a real f'ing turd. His first wife claimed that he hit her and his fourth wife, Dyan Cannon, alleged that he would spank her during rows (that part doesn't sound that bad).

Cary Grant was the perfect illusion of what a real man should be- dignified and diplomatic, impeccable manners, chiseled features, entertaining and humorous, yet with a hint of melancholy. Generations of women hold the standard that there is a Cary Grant out there for them, they've been told since birth that they deserve no less, but when he fails to show up on their doorstep with a corsage in one hand and a brandy and cigarette in the other, they pick the closest Burgess Meredith or Peter Lorre they can find. The women become resentful of their men and the men begin to feel inadequate and underappreciated. Then the fighting starts happening and the sex stops ("why don't you want to wear that three piece suit and hair oil that I bought you!?"). Then the cheating starts, the courtship completely unravels, wars break out in tiny countries, and the ozone layer becomes a little more depleted all because of Cary Grant.

To Cary Grant! The man that makes me question whether or not I can participate in necrophilia!

Here is the trailer to one of my absolute faves, Bringing Up Baby.

Talk about ahead of it's time. This shit is funnier that most of the stuff out there now COMBINED.

Andy Warhol's 81st Birthday

You know why Austin is the coolest place that ever existed?!

Because not only do we host Twin Peaks costume parties, Michael Jackson sing-alongs, dances centered around foot fetishism, and the National Karaoke League, we celebrate Andy Warhol's birthday a la Factory style!

The Plastic Exploding Inevitable 2009 was hosted by Massive Beacon at the Mohawk last night with a crowd close to 400 people. Edie's Revenge played a Velvet Underground set and PJ and the Bear showed up in their Marc Bolan-fucks-a-teddy-bear regalia. The crowd was full of shoddy Andy's (one young man/asshole wore cargo shorts, a silk vest with no shirt, and a "Grandma" wig), beautiful Edie's, a couple of Nicos, one Candy Darling, and, me, one very sweaty, very sober Truman Capote with a camera in my hand taking photos for the Austin Chronicle Chrontourage (suit + bow-tie + suspenders + hot Texas summer night = delusions and anger).

Though the stacks of Brillo boxes did not make their planned appearance, there was silk screening and a stop-motion animation play center on hand. There was even a stuffed gorilla holding a giant copy of The Velvet Underground & Nico. The gorilla mysteriously fell over at some point in the evening which caused a loud noise and instant silence from the crowd. We stood their motionless for a good 30 seconds, clueless as to what to do, then somebody picked him up, returned him to his squatting position, and the party resumed. Talk about excitement! Fuck naked tranny sex orgies and horse tranquilizers, we had stuffed gorillas falling over.

Awards & Secrets

My blog has won an award. I'm not sure how, but it did.

Someone cool (cool= lives in Chelsea and talks about masturbation) actually liked my blog enough to mention it in her blog and give me an the "Honest Scrap Award."

Her name is Hannah Miet* and her hair makes me think of LES circa 1977. Or Gene Wilder. 

Either way, I'm jealous.

Check out her blog, My Soul is a Butterfly. You won't be disappointed. She's a fantastic writer and has quickly become one of my favorite bloggers. Her wit and honesty is refreshing.

THE HONEST SCRAP AWARD

I'm not sure where this award originated from but it appears that I'm now obligated to tell ten secrets about myself and award ten blogs that I fancy. Unfortunately,  I only have 5 secrets and 3 blogs. Quality over quantity I always say, but the truth is, I have the attention span of a retarded squirrel when it comes to following instructions.

For those who want to follow the instructions:

1. “The Honest Scrap” award is not one to hold all to your self but it must be shared!

2. The recipient has to tell 10 true things about themselves in their blog that no one else knows.

3. The recipient has to pass along this prestigious award to 10 more bloggers.

4. Those 10 bloggers all have to be notified they have been given this award.

5. Those 10 bloggers should link back to the blog that awarded them.

SECRETS

None of the following secrets are privileged information. In fact, I've probably told these stories so many times they're not even true anymore.

1.) I got hit on by Jeremy Irons- I think he mistook me for someone he knew because the amount of enthusiasm he put into our introduction made my face twitch.

2.) I got mistaken for a homeless drunk on Venice Beach- I was 22 and it was a farewell rendezvous on the Venice boardwalk between me and my gentleman friend that I didn't want to let go. I decided it was a good idea for me to get there early and drunk. I drank my entire flask of vodka and fell asleep in the sea of homeless that call Venice boardwalk their home at night. My gentleman friend could not find me (Oddly, this behavior had nothing to do with us breaking up. Or maybe it did).

3.) I saw a dead body once- in the middle of Interstate 110 in downtown L.A. The person had jumped from the 3rd street overpass into the freeway. I can't really find anything witty to comment here because it's not funny. I was on my way to be a seat filler at the SAG Awards where I stepped on Clint Eastwood's foot. I thought I was going to end up like the person in the freeway at that moment.

4.) I used to dress up as Rod Serling, Elton John, and Groucho Marx- I'm not sure how I'm not gay. I had zero relatability to my gender growing up. I would be just as happy dressing like Chuck Bass or Truman Capote for the rest of my life. 

5.) I've never had a lesbian experience- and believe me, I wish I've had. 

BLOGS

I'm still new to the blogging community and there have only been a handful of blogs that have really caught my attention. 3 to be exact and one of them is the person who bestowed this award upon so I'm not sure if it's legal to bestow the award back upon her.

1.) 20-Nothings- Not only are her articles entertaining and humorous, but thought-provoking as well. Author Jessie Rosen does an excellent job of discussing relevant issues that concern Generation Y. 

2.) The Hitch List-Polly is a twenty-something living in New York City and quite possibly one of the best writers I've seen out there. Her talent with words, humor, and story-telling will keep you coming back for more. Check out her latest article where she tells a heckler on the subway to "shut the f*** up or I'll skull f*** you".

3.) *My Soul is a Butterfly- see description above