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Hipstercrite: December 2010

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Hipstercrite's Trend Predictions for 2011

Did I just refer to myself in the third person? I sure did.
However, Hipstercrite is an alter ego of mine, of sorts, so I'm speaking in the third person of a person that I am not. What would the name of that be? Oh, narcissism? Ok! I'll take it!

I've been reading a lot of "trend reports" for 2011. According to ABCNews cupcakes are totally f'ed for next year. In 2011 we should be expecting pies to take over the world. I read somewhere that books are dead too. USA Today says that a lot of people will be doing Civil War-related activities in 2011 and I say, hasn't Civil War reenactments ALWAYS been in style?? I've been dressing as a Union soldier and partaking in Gettysburg battles since I was a little girl. Refinery29 predicts that the color orange, pajama-style day clothing, and futuristic military garb is in for next spring....just let your imagination run wild with that.

I have a few predictions of my own that I'd like to add to the list.

What trend predictions do you have for 2011?

1.) Travel- Austin, TX Becomes the South's Manhattan

So you've probably been hearing a lot about Austin, Texas lately. Maybe it was while reading Forbes' list of top cities for young people to move to where Austin was ranked as #1. Or maybe it was while reading Klipinger's list of top cities to live in the next decade where Austin was ranked as #1. Maybe it was while hearing about South by Southwest- one of the largest music, movie, and interactive festivals in the world. Maybe you're sick of me talking about Austin? Either way, it's here to stay and bigger than ever. Why just yesterday the Los Angeles Times wrote about how people were no longer flocking to California, but Texas, where the unemployment rate is low (6.9% in Austin), the cost of living is low (Austin is 26% cheaper than living in LA), and the quality of life is excellent (Austin is 1,000,000% better than anywhere else in the world). You'll be hearing more about Austin in 2011, so if you decide to move here, just make sure you don't crap up the city, ok?

2.) Fashion- F Mustaches, 2011 Will Be the Year of Chest Hair

If 2010 was the year that men grew ironic John Oates-style mustaches and ladies wore fake ones, then I'm saying that 2011 is all about the chest hair. Having been a fan of chest hair since I was way too young to be cognoscente of such things, I'm sick of hearing about men shaving their chest hair in order to look like little girls and the women who encourage them to do so. Men, own your chest hair! It's what makes you, you know, a dude. Ladies, instead of wearing those God-forsaken fake mustaches, why don't you buy some hair that looks like what was left of Robin WIlliams' last waxing appointment and glue that shit to yo' chest! I can tell you personally, it's liberating and for some really creepy reason the dudes really dig it.

3.) Lifestyle- Oh My God! I Know How to Write Still!

One of my favorite bloggers is Lesley M. M. Blume over at Huffington Post. This year she released the book, Let's Bring it Back: An Encyclopedia of Forgotten-Yet-Delightful, Chic, Useful, Curious, and Otherwise Commendable Things from Times Gone By, an exercise in reclaiming the wonderful quirks of yesteryear. One of her suggestions was writing letters, and by God, she is onto something. Having worked in computer-centric businesses since I first began working at the age of 3, I find myself becoming more and more disconnected from conventional forms of communication. I know others are feeling the same way. There is something romantic and genuine about picking up a writing utensil and playing with it and I think we'll be seeing a lot more of hand-written letters in 2011.

4.) Entertainment- Rick Moranis Will Make a Comeback

So what he hasn't acted in movie since 1997? I predict that 2011 will be the year of the Moranis! Will he or won't he be in the new Ghostbusters movie? Will he release another country album? Will he and Dave Thomas make another McKenzie Brothers movie? These are all questions that consume this young lady's mind. Moranis will probably tell you that the answers to all these questions are a big ol' whopping "No", but I think it's up to us, as his dutiful fans, to encourage him out of retirement. We love you, Rick. More than you will ever ever know.

5.) Social Media- Grandparents Join Facebook

If 2010 was the year that our parents joined Facebook, then 2011 is the year that our grandparents do. I already have a 92 year-old grandmother on Facebook. Granted she has never had a profile picture and a habit of commenting on her own wall when intended for others, but she is on there and there will be others like her! Soon enough you'll be safe from no one! Your parents AND grandparents will scrutinize every picture where your hair isn't combed or where you're holding a cigarette that isn't lit or where you're wearing over-sized glasses on your face that make your nose look like that of Woody Allen or I GET IT, MOM! I KNOW I LOOK LIKE AN ASSHOLE IN MOST OF MY FACEBOOK PHOTOS, THANKS!

6.) Food- The Beauty of Beets

Forget cupcakes and pies and pork belly and fish tacos and all that jazz. Beets are where it's at. They taste like dirt and make you feel one with the Earth. Now you can't put a price tag on that, can you? CAN YOU? Like the avocado, beets are delicious and can be made into or added to any dish. Beet margaritas? Why not? Beet ice cream? Sure. Beet beer? F yeah! These beautiful and flavorful vegetables are a treat for anyone! Just be warned. If you eat too many, you'll think you're crapping blood and dying. Just ask my mother about the day I called her crying hysterically.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Best Blog Posts of 2010

Hot damn. I can't believe this year is over.

It was an eventful year, to say the least.

I was let go of one job, immediately found work at another job, and then left that job for a job in publishing. The artist/dreamer side of me should have taken THAT FREAKIN' UNEMPLOYMENT, but being raised the way I was and the current state of the economy, I decided it was best to, you know, be a working adult. I'm excited to see where my new job will take me.

I road tripped through West Texas and New Mexico with my mother. We wanted to strangle each other and at one point I had to take a *pee in the middle of the desert, off the side of the road, in front of everyone driving on the God forsaken New Mexico highway known as I-25. It was a memorable trip full of romantic meth villages and endless horizons.

I was voted Blogger of the Year in Austin and Hipstercrite won the category of "Best Blog to Find Comments or Discussions" over at the Austin Blogger Awards. Though she may try, Hipstercrite will never be as good as me. EVEN THOUGH SHE TRIES, SHE WILL NEVER CONTROL ME.

Romantic life was lackluster, so I gave up on it and decided to sit at home A LOT and watch Purple Rain A LOT.

I got more acquainted with Austin, made some wonderful friends, saw some kick ass music, movies, and art, and overall just had a pretty good time...when I wasn't freaking out about what the hell I'm doing with my life.

One of the most important aspects of my 2010 was the amazing blogs, bloggers, writers, SMORES (Social Media Whores), characters, and good ol' human beings I met through having no life and being on the internet way too much. Some of these characters I'm convinced our my artistic soul mates, all of us trudging on the same plain through this journey. Below are some blog posts that really stood out to me this year. Blog posts that got me laughing, crying, drooling, or dreaming. Please check out all these talented writers below and make it your New Year's Resolution to follow their blogs.

What were your favorite blog posts of 2010?

*pee is a polite term for something else.

Best Blog Posts of 2010

Blog: Humans Are Funny featured on The Next Family
Posts: A Day For All Fathers. Even Dead Ones and Dead Dads Part 2: Acceptance, Leftovers, and Magic Wands
Author: Laurenne Sala
Why It's So Good
: No blog post struck me more this year than Laurenne's blog posts about her gay father and his suicide when she was 13 years old. Her story and writing is the kind that makes you want to get up and cheer for the future of writers. Laurenne has the wonderful capability of balancing funny and somber line after line. If reading her posts above don't make your day, well then, your day doesn't deserve to be made then, does it?!

Example: "I love that you were gay. I love the fact that you had the courage to say it and live it. I’m so proud that you didn’t stifle yourself, even if it meant divorce.

Unlike many at the time, I thought nothing less of you. You were my dad. That’s it. My big and tall gay dad. I know you knew I supported you. I know you knew I stood proudly in the audience watching you sing in the Chicago Gay Men’s Chorus. I really was proud. I wish I had made that more clear.

But I was thirteen. I didn’t really know how to talk about my feelings so much. Now I’m much better. I bet now we would have long conversations about how it felt to finally be your real self or your first experiences frolicking with men. I would love to know.

But thirteen was bad timing for me. I was insecure, ugly, and trying my hardest with padded bras to be popular. ‘Faggot’ was the most common insult in junior high. So I told you to tone it down when you came to the suburbs to watch me lead cheers.

This has been one of my only regrets. You built up so much courage to let your real self out after so many years, and here I was asking you to put it back in once in a while for the sake of my popularity.

I sometimes close my eyes and wish that had never happened. But time never lets me change it. If it did, I’d have completely erased the whole Hammer pants trend (You, by the way, were the first to tell me that those were out of style and that I should stop doing my bangs. You were right! Sorry I didn’t listen. You were gay; I should have known.)"

Blog: Blackberries to Apples featured on The Sassy Curmudgeon
Post: Me : STD Testing :: Weezy : Music
Author: Meghan
Why It's So Good:
I've been a follower of both Blackberries to Apples and The Sassy Curmudgeon for awhile now. Both ladies, Una and Meghan, have a knack for capturing Gen-Y life in NYC with humor and poignancy. That is why I was stoked to see that Meghan guest posted on Una's blog back in October. By far one of my favorite posts by Meghan this year, her ability to create an engaging post that tackles both the fear of STD testing and her love of Weezy is awe-inspiring.

Example: "I’ve been tested for STDs three times in my life. Two of those times were in 2008, as precautionary measures at the beginning of new relationships. The third time was this week, after my gaynocologist* did a routine exam and found a “sore inside the vagina.” Now, on a list of things I do not want in my vagina, a “sore” is really near the top – so when my doc delivered the news from behind the purple sheet separating me from the stirrups, I freaked out."

*I’m 93% sure my OB/GYN is gay, based entirely on eyewear, shoe and career choices.

After I was moderately clothed again, he told me the cause could be a number of STDs and that he wanted to test me for everything to make sure. It might also be the result of “trauma.”

He crossed his legs and raised his eyebrow at me. “Could you have injured yourself in some way?” I paused for a long time, cocking my head to the side and running down a list of all the things I had recently inserted into my vagina. There was a somewhat relevant incident recently – some pain when there definitely shouldn’t have been any – but I decided to withhold that information for two reasons: 1. It was embarrassing and 2. I doubted seriously that said incident could have caused any permanent damage."

Blog: The Hitch List
Post: Prayers During Purgatory
Author: Polly
Why It's So Good: The Hitch List is some of the damn finest writing you'll see out there. Too bad she doesn't write nearly enough! Polly's way with words is captivating and no other post shows this better than the homage to her dying Grandmother, Rosie. Beautiful imagery flows from Polly's sentences like water from a faucet and deep down, I think I secretly love her or hate her, I'm not sure.

Example: "I prayed for the first time in months today. I pushed back hair and pressed my forehead to steepled fingers, stretching myself diagonally across the landscape of a bed, elbows out like wings. I prayed to my grandmother, whose stroke was no surprise, whose stroke separated everything we'll remember of her from a memorable frame. Her body is still here, someplace in New Jersey, sunk into starched hospital sheets and stiff pastel blankets, but Rosie herself is elsewhere. They use the word "unresponsive." There's minute peace in knowing it was coming."

Blog: When Will It Start
Post: The Day I Told My Daughter
Author: Sophie Neutron
Why It's So Good: "I'm a transsexual woman in the, fairly, early stages of transition. I'm finally free and I'm ready to live." is Sophie's short and sweet blog bio. One of my favorite posts of this year was Sophie's recollection of telling her daughter about her transition. What immediately struck me with Sophie's writing is her honesty and optimism. I always find myself engaged in her stories. If only she wrote more! Help me convince her, will you?!

: "My daughter has surprised me countless times before with her beautiful heart. But this time, I absolutely melted. She wasn't concerned with the possibility of losing me as her dad or anything like that. My daughter was excited that I was going to be born again. That she was going to be able to take care of me. My daughter was offering to be my big sister as I grew up as a little girl. The look that filled her face after I explained I couldn't be little again and I couldn't grow up into a little girl broke my heart. She was so upset that I couldn't be a little girl. But I explained that I can live as a grown up woman and I could be happy that way. She went silent again, gave me a hug and said - At least you don't really look like a boy! Can we watch Hannah Montana?"

Blog: Lesbifriends
Post: Vaginas: Nature's Fortune Cookie
Author: Ashley
Why It's So Good: Lesbifriends has been one of my favorite blogs since I first discovered it earlier this year. Ashley is one damn good writer and another one who should write more! As I've said about her before, her ability to create relatable stories always floors me. I always feel like she's reading my mind. Ever if our lives are taking us on different journeys, her writing always reminds me that we're all in this boat together.

Example: "it was my first sleepover birthday party hosted by none other than the popular girls of elementary school. i couldn't contain my joy. new house, new smell, new experiences; it was going to be a great night, all i had to do was not be weird.clearly, i was destined for failure.

as the girls huddled around a table full of glitter, markers, pens and paper, my nose pulled me elsewhere. in my own little world on the floor of the laundry room, i crawled around sniffing everything. instead of leading to a life of coke binges and huffing paint, i hoped that my keen sniffer would simply lead me to the smell source. after all, i was investigating a suspicious scent (which, to be honest wasn't as suspicious as it was just shitty). the other girls undoubtedly got a whiff but they lacked my nancy-drew-like curiosity for the unexplained and chose to color bears and flowers instead.

unbeknownst to me, slinking around an unfamiliar house and rummaging through boxes of christmas decorations is frowned upon- it might even cause one to never be invited back to said house. moments before i lifted a towel off what i would later find out was a dog cage (with one very ill, shit-covered dog inside) a dainty hand of shocking strength pulled me up off the floor and ushered me back to the party.

"wouldn't you rather be drawing poinsettias like the rest of the girls?" the birthday girl's mother asked in a tone that said, "seriously you little snoop- sit, color and stay outta my shit."

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

When the Flame Faltered

Most of the time she doesn't think about how she'd like to be in love.

Except for those nights when she watches a movie where the lead characters walk hand-in-hand through Central Park. Or where the man realizes he made a huge mistake and jumps a plane ride back to his love. Or where a couple banter like Tracy and Hepburn. Or where a woman decides that he is the one. Or when someone who may or may not be Cary Grant holds the object of his desire in his arms and won't let go.

Sometimes the thought enters her mind when she reads a book like Patti Smith's Just Kids. A tragic love story that causes young women to yearn for the affection of a tortured young man. A man that they can believe in more than themselves. This sort of romantic tale makes her long for Sunday mornings in bed or Saturday nights sitting on the floor and creating.

On the occasional happenstance, she'll acknowledge the thought when she's sitting at the train station and sees two people completely lost in one another. Their lips emanating a magnetic field so strong, it's nearly impossible for them to shy away from one another. She watches them and says, "I had that once...I think."
So in order not to dwell on the statement above, she tries to eliminate these floating allegories from her peripheral field of view. She subconsciously thinks about her parents' divorce, she consciously thinks about the heartbreaks before, and she doesn't question or stir that area that needs to lay dormant in this time of artistic exploration.

However, a person who often questions love is the owner of a tiny part, deep down, trapped behind the cardiac muscle, that is inhabited by a fear that they will be a solitary figure on their journey. And though this part of them secretly revels in this form of stoicism, another piece, a piece that surfaces often without warning, creates a heaviness so penetrating, it often wakes them in the middle of the night or stops them cold in their daily trek.

Just for a minute.
Or ten.

She doesn't know what she wants, so she can't really explain the fleeting moments that inspire her to write a paragraph about what she doesn't have. All that she understands is that there is something missing.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Monday My Ass

Hope everyone had a lovely holiday.
I don't feel like writing a blog post today. I'm just going to keep on dreaming about the above view of Los Angeles I had for the past three days.
So, there ya go....

See you tomorrow.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

There's No Place Like Los Angeles for the Holidays


"People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles," I will say to my father when he picks me up at LAX tomorrow morning.

"They sure are." he'll say.

"No, Dad. It's a line from Bret Easton Ellis' Less Than Zero." I'll think for a second. "It means that the people of Los Angeles are afraid to interact with others. It's much easier to hold back and stay to yourself then joining the other kids on the playground."

My Dad will nod with indifferent acknowledgment. He's just happy to see me.

"Or it means that Angelenos really suck at driving. I'm not sure."

I want to be Clay coming back to the city. However, instead of decadent holiday parties, apathetic sexual encounters, and coke-induced bloody noses, I'll be spending time with my father. Though not a man of nihilistic behavior, he is still very much a character in a novel.

I used to carry Less Than Zero on the plane trip back home to New York during the holidays. I'd read it on my flight east and pretend that I related to the questionable protagonist when I really did not- other than the overarching theme of being twenty-something and ambivalent. Then on my flight back west, I'd read it again and remind myself of what land I was about to descend upon.

I've written about my romanticizing of Los Angeles many times in the past. About my daydreams for the city I never actually experienced. The visions are becoming more vivid as I get ready to travel back full circle to the beginning of my coming-of-age story. It's been over two years since I last spent time in Los Angeles. This significance holds unbelievable weight to me and when attempting to convey this heaviness to others, it comes across as endless rambling about a time that only holds value to me. Though my life began improving each minute I fled further away from Los Angeles, it is fair to say she is in my thoughts daily. And like any child that escapes the confines of a dysfunctional parental relationship, I'm still seeking the approval I sought for many years before. The second I step off that plane, I will encourage any semblance of embrace the city may offer me.

I have never spent Christmas in Los Angeles. Christmas is home and Los Angeles was not my home. At times I thought maybe it was. At times I think Austin is. At times I question the idea of home altogether. With one parent in my hometown in Upstate New York, another parent in Los Angeles, the city I became an adult in, and myself in Austin, Texas, it's fair to say I'm not exactly sure where home is. Since this time of year typically meant attempting to decompress and visions of walking through snow in flip flops because I had nothing better to carry home with me, I spent little time paying attention to the ways Los Angeles celebrated Christmas. I selfishly took the "I'm sitting on the beach on December 20th and it's 80 degrees" and ran away with it to New York. When the word "Christmas" is mentioned, one does not think of Los Angeles. They think of purple nights in slow motion and visible breath lingering in the air. Or at least I do. However, now I'll be very well aware of how Los Angeles will be behaving this time of year because we will be in this thing together. I'll probably notice the string lights on the palm trees and the blow up Santas on perfectly manicured arid front lawns for the very first time.

Besides being keenly aware of my surroundings and watching my fantasies of Los Angeles melt back into realities, I'm not sure what else I'll be doing for the holidays. Dad and I spoke of volunteering at a downtown homeless shelter on Christmas. Partially to help and partially to experience a life that either one of us, hopefully, will never understand. We also spoke of eating at a restaurant where it all began. Six years ago when he and I drove my Ford Taurus across the country on Route 40, experiencing all the fear and excitement of seeing new landscapes and new beginnings. I'm planning on visiting characters from my previous life chapter. There was even a faint idea that we'd stop unannounced at the the apartment of a former actor acquaintance who was accused of murder. All of these events are to take place in a 56 hour time span. All of them may or may not happen. Maybe I'll just sit on the beach where I used to dream and think about the journey leading up to this moment.

I left my copy of Less Than Zero back in Los Angeles when I moved to Austin. I'm not sure why considering it is a book I find myself referencing more and more. Maybe it's because I tried leaving that part of me that had wanted to relate to such a morally ambiguous character. However, when my father takes me to the house from the airport tomorrow, the first thing I will do is dig out the book. I'll carry it with me through the next two and a half days as I try to locate the girl I abandoned in the city of lost dreams.

And then I will leave her again.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Blue Christmas

This year I will not be going home.
This Christmas is the first time in my life I will not see my family.
The combination of new job and shameful flight prices to Upstate New York is causing me to travel to Los Angeles instead to see my father. I'm very excited to see him, but considering the unconventionality of our relationship, it will be interesting to spend a holiday with him typically devoted to my mother and grandmother.

Before the arrangements were made to travel west, the idea of maybe being alone for the holidays struck me very hard. It made me contemplate what the holidays mean and made me aware of many newly formed realities in my life. Am I getting to the age where I should be creating my own holiday traditions? Am I at the age where I should actually be interested in finding a partner and having children to form these traditions?

Another reason why I was unable to see my family for the holidays is that my mother and grandmother could not travel down to Texas because of my Grandma's recent, but chronic back pain. All of these observations have made me realize that life never stops changing no matter how hard one may try to hold onto the little girl who couldn't wait to see what Santa left her.

Looking back, each year when I would travel home for the holidays, I experienced an array of emotions. My first year away in California found me feeling completely alienated from everyone back home in a self-imposed manner. I had just started working in the film business and was stressed and falsely believed I was somehow better than the town I came from. I felt that no one back home understood my daily struggles in LA, so what was the point of talking about it with friends and family? I found myself missing Los Angeles and wondering if the word "home" could be multiple locations.

After that Christmas in 2004, each subsequent holiday would be very good or very bad.  Some years I found myself cursing the only liquor store in my hometown because it closes at 9PM. Some years I found myself care-free and enjoying each moment. Some years I yelled at my mother because I couldn't yell at anyone else. Some years I just sat in my childhood bed crying and wondering what the hell I was doing with my life.

Other emotions and events started to trickle in over the years as well. Watching my hometown regress with intensity. Not recognizing the young people walking through our abandoned downtown with the look of complete apathy on their faces. Sitting in the only coffee shop on Main Street, staring at all the empty storefronts through the falling snow and wondering what town I was in. Realizing that my entire family consists of three people. Feeling Aunt Stella cling to my waist from her wheelchair because she knew it would be the last time she ever saw me. Watching a boy that I thought I loved act with total indifference towards me at our graduating class holiday reunion. Having the 19 year-old son of a diplomat pick me up from the front window of my Grandmother's boarded up business that she had for 35 years and rocking me to sleep. Sitting at my Grandmother's perfectly decorated dining room table, trying to drum up feelings of a time long past and wondering why they wouldn't come. Feeling more and more disconnected from my childhood. Realizing that I am balancing the fine line between childhood and adulthood, even though I'm twenty-something years-old and can't understand where all the time all went.

After moving to Austin, Texas in 2008, a sense of maturity and hope replaced the feelings of confusion and isolation I felt while living in Los Angeles. These sentiments trickled over into my visits home and with my family. Though dealing with life changes is a never ending battle, I've found a way to manage it better than before. This Christmas, being away from my family, will show me how true that statement is...or not.

What does Christmas mean to you now that you're an adult?

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Best U.S. Cities For Young People

Last week, Forbes released their annual "Best Cities For Young Adults" list and guess who was number one?


Yes, it was Austin, Texas. The lovely city where beer grows on trees and we all live in a perpetual state of twenty-something whether we're thirty-something or forty-something. Austin is like adult Disneyland- if Mickey stumbled through the park drunk, unshaven, and stroking his Stratocaster.

Besides the demographic of man-children running amok, this city truly does have a lot to offer young people. Employment at fun and innovative small business-like corporations such as Whole Foods, Sweet Leaf Tea and Gowalla, more film, art and music events than one can count on their appendages, a vibrant culture, and really really good-looking people.

Four Texas cities made it on Forbes' list (Austin No. 1, Houston No. 2, Dallas No. 6, and San Antonio No. 9) New York, Chicago, Denver, Seattle, Atlanta, Minneapolis-St.Paul rounded out the rest. These are all good choices, but I noticed a few glaring holes! Below are my picks of top places for young people to live in America.

What other cities do you think are good for young people?


1.) Lancaster, Pennsylvania
Population- 494, 486 (metro)
Motto- "Home of the Peeps-As in the Candy, Not Cool People" 

Whether you're interested in the art of canning or helping others to can Lancaster is the place for you! Nestled in the armpit of Pennsylvania, Lancaster is only a short distance to such historical landmarks as the entire city of Philadelphia and the King of Prussia Mall.  This quaint little town is known for it's covered bridges, quilts, bed and breakfasts, and I'm not sure what the hell else, really. What makes this place great for young people? Your choice in the creme de la creme of socially-defective romantic partners. Once you go stare out the window for long stretches of time, tracing the words "Help Me" over and over again in hot breath condensation.


2.) Naples, Florida
Population- 314,649 (metro)
Motto- "Where The Median Age is Older Than Florida"

Located right on the Gulf, Naples is a tropical paradise like no other! With the median age of residents at 61, any young person is guaranteed to find themselves a Sugar Momma or Daddy in no time. Soon enough you'll be living next to the likes of Donald Trump, sharing plastic surgery horror stories with Buzz Aldrin, and playing pick-up b-ball with Larry Bird. Watch out for that incontinence, Larry! What makes this city great for young people? Whether your vice is golfing, fishing, or all-you-can-eat buffeting, Naples is a hot spot of activity for any young person going through an identity-crisis.


3.) Flint, Michigan
Population- 443,883 (metro)
Motto- "At Least St. Louis Was Number One This Year"

If deindustralization, urban decay, and the demise of the American Dream is your thing, then look no further than Flint, Michigan. Home of Michael Moore and massive amounts of annihilation, Flint has repeatedly been in the top five most dangerous places to live in America. Only an hour drive from it's sister-in-death, Detroit, this area of Michigan is great for any person who likes living life on the edge...of the black void known as Satan's Lair. What makes this city great for young people? No really, I'm asking...


4.) Phoenix, Arizona
Population- 4 trillion (metro)
Motto- "Cook a Turkey On Your Toyota Corolla TODAY!"

With a city square mile calculation bigger than Chicago, Boston, and Atlanta COMBINED, Phoenix is the place to go if you want to get lost. Or work at your choice of big box corporations. Or join McCain's plight to end civilization as we know it. Phoenix, or "Methlandville", as translated by the Hohokam people who first lived there, is known for being hotter than balls and having more Waffle Houses than one could possibly hope for. What makes this city great for young people? With no semblance of community, an inactive downtown, and more Freeway exits than citizens, what young person wouldn't want to live here? 


5.) Bismarck, North Dakota
Population- 106,286 (metro)
Motto-"We Exist"

With a state-wide population smaller than Boston, a 2.7% unemployment rate, one downtown building that is taller than two stories, and the racial make-up of white people, young white people, and old white people, this city is a shoe-in for any young person looking for adventure. Why is this city great for young people? Well, if you've always wanted to live out your fantasy of becoming a ranch hand in a Coen Brothers movie in your head, here is your chance. Also, this place is littered with Jesus Camps, so make sure you practice your Glossolalia and dance shimmies.

Monday, December 20, 2010

In Times of Creative Block, Act Like Your Idols

When I get stressed out, much like a dudebro drunk on whiskey, inspiration and creativity is not something that comes easily.

In fact, my brain just completely shuts down. During these times, I often find myself standing wide-eyed and dumbfounded when people are talking to me. You may even find me hovering in the grocery store staring at the same three shelves of salad dressings for about fifteen minutes, completely immobile. This may have more to do with the fact that there are now 400 types of salad dressings to chose from when grocery shopping and not a temporary neurological malfunction.

When I begin imitating a mentally challenged person by accident, I try to think of my idols. Having idols is important. Having heroes are important. Having people that you dress up as and fantasize about before going to sleep is important.

I've accumulated a lot of idols in my years. Some have left me- Beetlejuice, Elton John circa 1974, Dana Scully. Some have stayed-Woody Allen, Pee-Wee Herman, Frank Zappa. Some have joined me only recently on my journey through life- Freddie Mercury, Prince, and Amy Sedaris.

And yes, I know there are very few women on the list. You don't think I don't know that? You don't think I don't have it on my list of potential questions to ask my therapist if and when I ever get one? All I can say is that I've come to the conclusion that I'm an adorable tiny gay man in a 27 year-old female's body. I like fashionable men's clothing, Cher and Liza Minnelli, and I just like men in general.

If it weren't for my idols, I don't think I would be where I am today- which is sitting on my couch watching Purple Rain and dressed like Prince.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've had a habit of trying to embody my heroes. Back home is an entire shelf devoted to VHS tapes of me as Rod Serling, Stevie Nicks, Annie Lennox, and various members of The Kids in the Hall. Donning gigantic Jewish eyebrows made me feel as though I'd gain a fraction of Serling's grace for storytelling. Twirling around in the backyard with a half moon tambourine I forced my mother to buy me made me feel as though I was a little closer to staring into Lindsey Buckingham's deep blue eyes. Little has changed since those days. As many of you know, for Halloween this year, I glued chest hair and a mustache to my skin in order to become Freddie Mercury. This simply wasn't a costume, but a day for me to envision myself as a Persian rock star with an overbite as impressive as his voice.

All of my heroes above have brought me inspiration and entertainment through the years, but there is one man in particular who has been my shining example of who I want to be. He has been a renown musician, artist, filmmaker, writer, and photographer for the past four decades. He is always changing, always trying something new, and keeps on going whether his new endeavors work or not (I'm just going to say it, David, Rei Momo sucked ass). Since I was sixteen years-old and first saw Stop Making Sense, David Byrne has and always will be my artistic hero. Whether he's making songs about buildings and food, films about Texas,  bike racks in New York City, turkey Jell-o molds, or buildings that play music, Byrne just keeps 'em coming. I try to remember that when I've reached a creative road block- just keep it going. Keep those wheels churning and don't necessarily think that what you're creating could be viewed as poop. Or a Afro-Cuban/Hispanic/Brazilian album sung by an extremely dorky white dude.

This post has been extremely difficult to write. I'm not happy with it. I don't like where it is going and I don't have an ending for it. Even thinking about David Byrne right now is not helping me to bring this post to a point or a conclusion. I guess if I were to channel Byrne I would just end the post right now without a

Who are your creative idols?

Friday, December 17, 2010

Holiday Gift Ideas for the Disgustingly Rich

Say that money wasn't an issue this holiday season. Say you could buy your loved one anything they wanted- like Vincent Gallo's sperm or va-jay-jay perfume. What would you buy them?? If you're loaded with moola and have no shame in spending flagrant amounts of money for no reason, here is your must-have holiday gift list below!

1.) Delorean Time Machine Conversion $23,999- I don't even think this price includes the car. It costs $24,000 simply to have two nerds adhere some plastic tubes and a non-working flux capacitor to your Delorean. For that much money, they better include Marty McFly, George McFly, and Doc Brown blow-up dolls so I can finally live-out my...never mind.

2.) True Blood Vampire Survival Kit $699- For almost $700 you will receive: (1) Condom, (1) Lollipop, (1) Vial of fake blood and syringe, and (1) Thing of "Vamp-Aids". With the impending take-over of vampires in the near future, this purchase seems like a sound investment to me. This underwear worn by Alexander Skarsgard comes in a close second for survival needs though.

3.) Pee Wee Herman Playing Basketball Abstract Painting $1,200- This dude really loves Pee-Wee Herman. Enough to make eight abstract paintings on him. The above painting is my favorite. Now we can finally see what Pee-Wee Herman looks like if he were tall and had monster thigh muscles.

4.) Michael Jackson Life Size Recycled Metal Robot Statue $21,000,000- I have very little to say about this other than that the person selling this must have inhaled too much of the chemicals used in making it. One could probably buy Neverland Ranch for the same price.

5.) Stop-Motion Gozar Dog from Ghostbusters $8,000- During a party, hide one of these in your closet and at an appropriate time, say, "Ok, who brought the dog?" When the dog doesn't jump out of the closet like it should, go in there and push it out and see how everyone reacts. At that point, everyone will applaud your ridiculous purchase and then go back to eating their cheese and crackers.

6.) Michael Jackson Self-Portrait $25,000.00- Guess he even realized how f'ed up his own nose was...

7.) Prince Egg Art $45- a steal!- This artist is actually pretty good. He has the look and the stature of Prince down pat.

8.) Bill Murray Fat Suit $499.99- Instead of physically putting on extra pounds this holiday season, why don't you put on fake fat that actually touched Bill Murray's fat? You can finally feel close to your favorite curmudgeon.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Holiday Gift Ideas for the Semi-Indigent

We're all broke. Unless you're that asshole who is not. If so, then maybe you should stop reading my blog and start contributing financially, huh?

I certainly know that I'm broke. And not even in the, "I really have some dough set aside but am telling everyone that I can't afford to do Christmas gifts this year" broke. Every single penny is accounted for. Except for the ones spent on ridiculous amounts of grocery store sushi.

If you're anything like me, then you probably are wondering how you can show your love to friends and family outside of giving them a pat on the back and saying, "Thank you for looking after me when I can't even look after myself." Below is my list of super inexpensive gift ideas for the holidays.

1.) Pickling- I showed you yesterday how to pickle the living crap out of peppers. Who doesn't love pickles? Who? WHO?!? Tell me right now and I will beat you with this rotten cucumber that didn't make the next batch of pickling. You can pickle anything, really. Peppers, cucumbers, beets, carrots, cats, small children. So, why not give the gift of anaerobic fermentation this holiday season?   
Items needed: Jars, desired produce, water, vinegar, sugar, salt, spices of your tasting.

2.) DIY Snow Globes- If you're afraid you're going to give your friends Botulism, you can use those pickling jars to make snow globes instead. Martha Stewart has a great instructional guide on how to glue plastic figurines against their will into a glass jar. Instead of tiny deer or trees, you should think about gluing Mr. Sherwood in a simulated pit of fiery hell to represent the plight of the middle class during this recession.
Items Needed: Jar, random tiny people found around the house, glue, glitter, glycerin.

3.) Creative Photo Ideas- What better way to say "I adore you maybe a little too much" than cutting up a photo of a loved one's face? Photojojo has some excellent ideas for DIY photo gifts for the holidays, including how to create panographies and flipbooks. My Christmas gift to my mother this year will be a tear-stained photo of me as a child, care-free and innocent.
Items Needed: Photos, scissors, glue, imagination.

4.) Booze- Nothing says "Christmas" like lying on your childhood bed, cradling your high school senior yearbook, and screaming, "Why?" over and over. Chances are booze got you to that point, so why not help a friend get there too by offering them homemade alcohol?  Readymade Magazine has a wonderful hard cider recipe you can check out here. Though I lost interest in following the recipe after the first line, I'm sure it's something that a reader with an attention span longer than that of a squirrel could get into.
Items Needed: Apple cider, yeast, sugar, various bottles, rubber tubes, pots, and other crap.

5.) Felt Finger Puppets- Create felt puppet finger versions of you and your friends. Then act out conversations you'd like to have with your friends but are too afraid to have in real life in front of them.See how they react. Then give them the tiny felt versions of themselves. Or you could just make them a Ryan Reynolds felt finger puppet to use on those special nights.
Items Needed: Felt, scissors, sewing supplies.

Are you making Christmas gifts this year? What gifts have you made in the past?

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Giving the Gift of Botulism for Christmas

Ever since I was a little girl, I've had a habit of getting whims and quickly losing interest in them. Working much like a fast-moving disease, I'd tell my mother, "Mom, I've got the whims today!" and she would smile at me while quietly counting how many minutes it would take for me to discard whatever project I lugged out and splayed across the living room floor.

I've finished very few things in my life- screenplays, college, a beer, The Big Lebowski- but when I do, boy, is it a time for celebration!

Last weekend I started and finished making pickled peppers- and managed to not kill anyone in the process. Yet. At least I don't think?

In terms of level of difficulty making pickled peppers is not hard- you buy the ingredients, you boil them, you pour them over peppers, you seal the jar- but the process can be long and boring for a young gal who is easily distracted by rays of light and cat noises off in the distance, so this accomplishment was a mighty, mighty achievement.

The project first started by taking my friend, Adley, to an overly crowded grocery store immediately after church let out. As I watched my friend sink deeper and deeper into a ball of anxiety, I fought my way through the hoards of super families pillaging a mound of jalapenos larger than a car. Not particularly liking peppers myself and not knowing what I was looking for, I grabbed the peppers that looked the "cutest" and threw them into my plastic bag.

I soon discovered that Adley had zero interest in watching me boil a pot of vinegar so he left me to my pickling devices. Below I've created a pictorial step-by-step guide on how to pickle because creating a water/vinegar/sugar/salt/spices concoction and pouring them over a jar full of peppers is pretty difficult, really.

The recipe I used below can be found here.

1.) I cleaned the pickles and poked holes in them. I'm not exactly sure why I poked holes in them but I think I read that somewhere. It seemed like an appropriate way to introduce a pepper to the end of their life.

2.) I put the ravaged peppers in a jar.

3.) I boiled water, vinegar, salt, sugar, garlic, peppercorn, and various other herbs in a pot.

4.) It smelled like ass.

5.) I lined the jars up, poured the boiling stank over the peppers and thought, "How pretty!" Then I noticed some tiny air bubbles at the bottom of the jars and thought, "Dear Lord, I'm going to give everyone Botulism!"

6.) So I quickly turned the jars upside down and stuck them in water. I felt that this would somehow cure the bottles of their disease.

7.) Throughout the week I thought about the villainous pathogen potentially festering in my refrigerator. It haunted my dreams. Along with Emilio Estevez.

why do our noses turn red in the winter?

8.) Considering I was planning on giving these pickled peppers of death as gifts, I figured I had to potentially martyr myself before killing off my entire friend base. I hesitantly tasted the first bite and to my tasted good. Not only did my stomach not instantly liquify, the peppers actually tasted pickled.

I learned a lot from this experience. I learned that I would pickle the living shit out of anything if I could. Butter, fruit roll-ups, Laughing Cow cheese. But more importantly, I learned that when DIYing Christmas gifts for your friends, it's vital that you DO NOT create biological warfare in your kitchen.

Have you ever tried pickling? How did it turn out? Have you ever given your friends a paralytic illness?

Thursday, December 09, 2010

Top 5 Sexy Boy Nerds

I always loved the nerds. Geeks. Squares. Hell, my grade school boyfriend was named Emerson R. Avery III. You know what he wanted to be when he grew up? An archaeologist. You know what he is now doing for a career? Archaeology.

When my eight year-old self wasn't daydreaming about Emerson digging in the desert Indiana Jones-style, I was lusting after Doc Brown, Egon Spengler, and Ian Malcolm. If you wore a lab coat or had thick glasses I wanted you. Badly.

Much hasn't changed since those days of awkwardly positioning Jeff Goldblum's action figure to straddle my pillow at night, except for discovering that I'm not alone in my sentiment for the intellectual/book-worm/only-have-had-sex-with-Dana-Scully-blow-up-doll type. In fact, since folks like and Justin Timberlake started rocking the nerd look, items like horn-rimmed glasses, cardigans, and bow-ties are considered the rage in men's fashion.

So in honor of the guys who have 20/40 vision and relate better to insects than human beings, here is my list of dudes I'd like to bone while wearing a Princess Leia if I have to.

1.) Jimmy Stewart- The King of all dweebies. With his long, lanky stature, nervous stutter, and leading man looks, Jimmy Stewart was the patriarch of sexy nerdiness. He could make you feel both uncomfortable in conversation and safe in his dominating 6'3" presence. He may not have acted confident in conversation but he was a former cheerleader, so I'm sure he knew how to yell.

Nerdiness fact
- Stewart liked painting model airplanes instead of talking with his children.

2.) Woody Allen- Quite possibly the text book definition of nerd who done good, Woody Allen not only boasts a career as a director/actor/writer that spans six decades, he also nailed some of the finest coochie this side of the world. Diane Keaton, Mia Farrow...well, that's about it. With the stature of a miniature horse and a mug like a perpetually surprised Jewish bull terrier, Allen truly should win an award for making relatively normal and good-looking people aspire to be as neurotic and unfortunate-looking as he.

fact- Allen liked playing jazz clarinet over talking with his children.

3.) Jeff Goldlbum- Goldblum pretty much plays an awkward weirdo in every film he's in because he's an awkward weirdo in real life. However, I'm not sure if it's roaming hands, Mediterranean skin, or Jewish nose, but this guy just oozes charisma. Goldblum is like a fine wine. He has been acting since 1974, but just keeps getting better looking and more horny with age. Goldblum will let you feel his boner when he hugs you.

Nerdiness fact
- Goldblum really loves playing jazz piano in lieu of having children.

4.) Rick Moranis- Ok, there really isn't anything sexy about Rick Moranis, but something about his diversity in films roles and baby cheeks just makes him adorable. Who doesn't love a guy that can go from playing a Canadian redneck alcoholic to demonized New Yorker accountant to romantic lead in a musical to non-threatening villain all in the span of ten years? At only 5'4", Moranis is the sort of guy you want to keep in your pocket and have him sing songs about suddenly standing beside you.

Nerdiness fact
- Moranis released a country album called The Agoraphobic Cowboy in 2006.

5.) David Byrne- Asperger's, singing about intimate objects, wearing clothes that don't fit, and weighing as much as a a prepubescent girl are all factors that make David Byrne one the greatest specimens of sexy nerdy. Byrne's favorite past-times include photographing furniture, getting drunk and falling off his bike, and making turkey Jell-o molds.

Nerdiness fact- Where do I begin? After the birth of his daughter, Byrne kept the placenta in a jar in the fridge. I'm not sure if that is nerdy or just gross.

Who is your favorite sexy nerd?

What is Beauty?

The other night I ran into a friend at a popular bar on the east side of Austin. Like many east sides of major cities, the neighborhood is where a number of artsy and irreverent kids hang out. And by artsy and irreverent I mean don't have jobs. The friend was describing to me how difficult it often is to frequent such scenes where every single girl is particularly hip and beautiful looking. They're the sort of women that could make one feel conscious of their subconscious need to up the ante. Their eyes couldn't be any doe-ier, their noses any smaller, or their body fat any less a negative number. They look like Kate Moss circa 1993 and they know it. You in turn pout your lips a little further out, turn your toes in a little more in attempt to beat out their Lookbook go-to stance, and walk across the bar as though floating in slow-motion through your own personal music video when seeing these sort of girls.

In other words, it's one giant contest of who is the most noticeable.

Though this wasn't the exact verbiage used by my friend, I understood what she was hinting at but I plainly told her that I didn't agree.

Having lived in Los Angeles I encountered a lot of beautiful people. After moving to Texas I saw even more. I know this because the type of people that frequent the Los Angeles Whole Foods and the Austin Whole Foods are about on par. If there is anything that I've learned in my obviously very wise 27 years on this planet, it's that aesthetic beauty has absolutely nothing on self-confidence and character in terms of attractiveness. In other words, if you don't have the stuff to back it up, then who really cares? Sure looking like the physical manifestation mash-up of glorious mountaintops, ocean sunsets, and God's luxurious long locks will get you noticed and a few foots in the door, but ultimately having self-assurance will take you through the door, down the hallway, and hopefully to another door that has something really f'ing cool in it.

Let's check out Prince as an example, shall we? That mother-fucker is tiny. He's as wee as a shrinky-dink in the hot summer sun. But that dude got cooter. Heaping loads of it. I'm sure that little man couldn't stay afloat in all the female anatomy chucked his way by the minute. So how is it that a really minuscule man-child with a ratstache and a torso as compact as a chicken nugget get so many ladies? Because Prince oozed confidence. Prince is and always has been one giant Jell-o mold of certainty in himself. You know what Prince said once? Prince said (in a very low voice, much lower than you'd expect for a man who has perfected the "cat eye" eyeliner), "Cool means being able to hang with yourself. All you have to ask yourself is, "Is there anybody that I'm afraid of? Is there anybody who if I walked into a room and saw, I'd get nervous?" If not, then you're cool." What I've interpreted Prince as saying is that he can hang in the corner by himself, let some of his pubes air out, smirk at nothing in particular, moan while rubbing his butt against the wall like a dog with a plugged sphincter muscle and then walk away without feeling the slightest bit self-conscious.

And this is why Prince continues to win over male and female fans generation after generation.

Besides purple dwarf, my heroes have always been the ladies who bended the boundaries of conventional beauty. Katherine Hepburn, Marlene Dietrich, Frida Kahlo, Georgia O'Keefe, Diane Keaton, Liza Minnelli- all women who made attractiveness a multi-layered perception. Throw symmetrical faces and chiseled frames to the wind. Dressing however you want to and owning it, dressing outside of your gender, being skilled, being an expert in a craft, knowing what the hell you're talking about- that is allure.

Now getting back to the conversation I had with my friend at the bar: knowing how to pose for the camera by cocking your head ever-so-slightly and looking bored is not alluring. Combing you hair over your eyes, not smiling, and discussing the only two topics that you currently are interested in- boys and yourself- is not alluring. Not concerning yourself with anything outside your ambivalent bubble is... not...attractive.

It's not what you wear or how you look that sets you apart, it's knowing who you are and believing it that does.

Interesting Read- What Really Makes Women Attractive? Huffington Post

What do you think is the most attractive trait in a man or woman? Does confidence turn you on or off?

Tuesday, December 07, 2010

This is How We Walk on the Moon

In a whirlwind development, I was offered a much desired job yesterday, which means I have to be on my best behavior on the ol' blog today. No talking about the time my friend confused me for a homeless person on Venice Beach. No talking about fantasizing over a shirtless picture of Elton John as a thirteen year-old girl. No posting pictures of my butt cheek. No talking about how I like to glue chest hair to my body. Because all those things make me look weird.

Last night my computer became infected with a virus so I was not able to write a post. Please forgive my recycling, but the post below is pertinent to current events in my life.

A project recently fell into my lap that has me calling on an old acquaintance. This acquaintance is a bit of a hermit (you'll see why below), so I'm in the process of writing him a letter to initiate contact.

The post below was based off a brief nostalgic trigger that occurred in August 2009 of an event that happened in November of 2007.


The Mystery Man

I looked down on the shelf and saw Robert Blake looking back up at me.

He was dressed in a police uniform and had a very intense look on his face. The sort of stare that actors in the 60's gave to add depth to their performance. Like Zoolander.

I picked up the VHS box for a Electric Glide in Blue and felt my heart pinch just a little. Then a combination of guilt and disgust quickly washed it away.

"You know, I've never seen this movie," I said to Marc, tapping the empty box on my arm.

Marc works at I Luv Video in Austin. One of the largest independent movie rental houses in the country and where Quentin Tarantino will most likely be buried . Marc and I went to film school together and lost touch until we met up in L.A. He was in a band, I was in the film business. We cuddled to "Funeral" by Arcade Fire. He left the band to do some sort ecological job that I can never recall. I left the film business to stop myself from driving my car off the PCH. We lost touch and wandered around the country until we discovered that we both landed in Austin.

"Well, why don't you rent it then?"

"I don't know, man, I think it will kind of make me feel bad."


I shrugged my shoulders and walked over to the next aisle. I wasn't sure exactly why it would make me feel bad. I just knew that it would.

The Paul Morrissey video shelf. How pretentious can you get?

"You know, I called him last Christmas. It had been a year. He never called me back."

Oh God. Kenneth Unger's "Scorpion Rising". Intro to Film Aesthetics and Analysis. Patricia Zimmerman's class. 2003. Bullshit.

"It was his number still. Same voice message. "

How is this shit considered quintessential film making!?!

"It still says in a fake Texan drawl, "Robert's not here right now. Leave a message."


They don't tell you in film school how it's really going to be. They might show you a movie with a bunch of leather clad dudes fucking to BobbyVinton and call it ground-breaking, but they don't tell you about the lost souls you'll encounter every day in Hollywood. The sort of situations you will find yourself in at 23. Those moments when you step back and go, "Shit, I finally get what David Byrne was saying when he said, "Well, how did I get here?"

How I met Robert is a long story, but one I will try to keep short. Two years ago I got a phone call at my desk. A man introduced himself as Robert Blake and asked if he could stop by the studio to drop a gift off to my boss. My boss' father and Robert were friends back in the 1950's and he had found a script that the two had worked on together. Robert's acquittal was still fresh and we were all a little nervous to have him stop by. We waited anxiously as the tiniest old man in a ten gallon hat and purple cowboy shirt appeared. I was struck by his meander and hisincessant use of calling me "secretary". I pointed out that we had a mutual acquaintance (my friend Ian lived in the same apartment complex in The Valley as Robert) and we chatted for roughly a minute before he said he had to go. And that was it. I didn't hear from Robert again.

Until six months later...
Another call at my desk.

He was short and sweet. "I want back in the business and I need help."
I told him that I worked exclusively for my boss at the time but I'd be happy to meet with him and talk. We made plans for breakfast and I hung up the phone wondering what the fuck I was doing.

And I went to breakfast with Robert.

And we talked for five hours.

And I met with him again the following week.

And we drove around Los Angeles as he told me stories about dancing on the Paramount Pictures sidewalk t at three years old looking for work, getting beaten and locked in the closet by his father, performing on "The Little Rascals", doing heroin, calling Humphrey Bogart his mentor, hanging out with Truman Captoe and Dexter Gordon, going to jail, how Marlon Brando's son was the one who really killed his wife, giving away the contents of his life to complete strangers, only shopping at garage sales, and believing that the most romantic thing he ever heard was Richard Farnsforth killing himself so he wouldn't burden his wife with his cancer. As he was telling me this, he pointed to all the Los Angeles landmarks that only mean something to him, the same landmarks he had seen for the past 72 years of his life. In a town that had swallowed him up and spit him out ten times over. He spoke of going to Peoria, IL. The illusion of normalcy that only a small Mid-west American town can bring.
But Robert is to die in the muck of Los Angeles. It's his home and all that he knows.

He let me into his home. A one bedroom apartment in the Valley that was empty other than old photographs and pieces of paper with the words, "Don't give up" scrawled in child-like writing up on the wall. He told me that he would win an Oscar before he dies, dammit, and that he's still got the gift.
Bobby Blake has still got it.


Last year, I wrote a thinly disguised essay about my friendship with Blake titled, "The Night of the Acquitted B-list Actor". The biggest amendment I made to the story was the ending. I wanted to make it more romantic than it actually was.

In the fictional ending, I spoke of mixed feelings in my emotional involvement with a presumed murderer and separately my need to get out Los Angeles in order to rediscover myself. I wrote of Robert's encouragement and his "seeing something in me". He told me I had too much to offer the world. So as I watched the skyline of Los Angeles get smaller and smaller in my rear view mirror, I thought of Robert, of picking up the phone and calling him, but instead, I decided to leave it all behind me.

In real life, the dirty old bastard wanted to get in my pants! He's fucking 50 years older than me! What the hell did he think? Did he think losing $40 million civil law suit for most likely killing your wife was is a huge turn-on? Robert and to my fantasies of what it wasn't. You do deserve that Oscar.