Tuesday, September 9, 2008

When The World Ends...


Tomorrow is Wednesday.  Unless you live abroad, in which case, it is already Wednesday, so you already read this post and can move on to other things like watching The Labyrinth to see if David Bowie was strung out during that movie.  

But for now, it is Tuesday, which makes tomorrow Wednesday.  Two things happen tomorrow.
The first: I fly to Los Angeles for a week for business. I guess it is pleasure too, since part of my business (atleast the skateboard painting part) I take pleasure in.

I am flying to go to some work meetings, and meet with some prospects who want to display my skateboard artwork at their coffee shop in Venice as well.

The second thing that happens tomorrow is that the Hadron Collider is being turned on.  For those of you who have been living under your girlfriends bed for the past month or so, let me explain quickly what the Hedron Collider is:

"The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) is the world's largest particle accelerator complex, intended to collide opposing beams of 7 TeV protons. Its main purpose is to explore the validity and limitations of the Standard Model, the current theoretical picture for particle physics. The LHC was built by the European Organization for Nuclear Research (CERN), and lies under the Franco-Swiss border near Geneva, Switzerland.
The LHC is the world's largest and the highest-energy particle accelerator.[1] It is funded and built in collaboration with over eight thousand physicists from over eighty-five countries as well as hundreds of universities and laboratories.
When activated, it is theorized that the collider will produce the elusive Higgs boson, the observation of which could confirm the predictions and missing links in the Standard Model of physics and could explain how other elementary particles acquire properties such as mass.
Although a few individuals have questioned the safety of the planned experiments in the media and through the courts,[6] the consensus in the scientific community is that there is no basis for any conceivable threat from the LHC particle collisions." (VIA Wikipedia)

So basically some scientist want to perform the BIG BANG and a bunch of hippies think the world will end tomorrow.

I do not think the world will end tomorrow.  It better not.  Mostly because my company has not reimbursed me yet for my flight to LA.  If it does end, I shall sue them on Thursday for loss of compensation.  Bastards.

But, while the end of the world is a fun subject to speak about, it is not what this post is about.
Yesterday, the big planet that is called my HEAD has suffered thru its own meteor wipe out.  I decided to shave my head.  

I shave my head every once in a while.  Usually to indicate to myself that a part of my life needs a new start.  Not sure why the thought of starting fresh somewhere and shaving my head are connected.   Perhaps I watched The Matrix too much.  

But, part of my life does need a clean start.  While I am happy with almost everything in my life currently, like my marriage which is by far the best relationship I ever had with someone who is not just my best friend but a hot woman at that.   My art is doing exceptionally well for what I think its worth.  My family is healthy and everyone is good.  

But I do have a few things I need a really fresh start with and for those things alone, I shaved my head because if my head is clean....then it is a reminder that I need to start clean.

Sounds silly as hell. I know.  The theory alone sucks.  But, I am no CERN scientist so, lock it up.

The reasons I shaved my head are not for this post either.  What this post is really about is my head.  After shaving it yesterday, I noticed I am one step closer to being the old man I dread being.  

After shaving my head, I noticed I am the official owner of new property on my head that can no longer grow trees.   I officially started my receding hairlines.  It is not much.  It is not like I lost a lot, but I can definitely notice more of my forehead on the top right and left corner then say, when I shaved my head a couple of years ago.

I don't know what to feel about it besides regret of shaving my head.  If I didn't shave it, I wouldn't have noticed how obvious my big forehead is and would not feel like its the end of MY world.  

I know I am getting old.  I know that with age comes the white hair, the wrinkles, the baldness (sometimes) and eventually bitterness and diapers.  But I didn't expect to have to embrace it so early.  Not to mention, it scares the crap that I have no idea what my body is like on the inside.  For the most part, I think I am healthy.  Sure, I drink way too much juice instead of water.  I don't eat enough fruits and vegetables and I can sure use a work out.  Atleast I listened to that doctor theory that drinking lots of wine helps you live longer.  I have taken that advice without thinking twice.

So today I sit and think about tomorrow.  Not because the world may end.  It wont.  But because tomorrow, I will not be as young as I am today and perhaps I need to start paying closer attention to my health.  This realization is good.  It will force me to start taking better care of myself.  This may not be a health scare like a stroke or heart attack (although I will be honest, seeing a receding hairline nearly caused one), seeing how I am aging will help want to take better steps to make sure I get older healthier. 

Too bad I didn't still have hair.  Otherwise, this new start I need to make about my health would have forced me to shave my head to remind me to keep doing it.  I guess all I have to do to remind myself to try and not get too old too fast is just look in the mirror at my big Reese Witherspoon forehead.

Atleast it's not the end of the world. 

Monday, September 8, 2008

Mid-Life Fashion Crisis


It's September in NYC which means two things:
1) The drunktards who watch their football games will be out on the weekends howling in the night as their team wins.  OR: Will start fights in the streets when their teams lose. and..
2) Its Fashion Week.

Fashion Week happens a couple of times a year here in NYC.  It is a big deal for anyone who enjoys fashion and/or celebrity.  They main tent is built in Bryant Park (across the street from my work) and is then injected with teenage girls who look like Mary-Kate Olsen's little pet project, a group of people with 18 neck badges that read "FULL ACCESS" on them, and a handful of gay personal assistants.  All walking around in front of Bryant Park.  

I personally don't mind it.  It is fun to watch people and even more so when you get to watch people who dress up at 9:00 a.m.

My wife loves fashion week because she IS a fashion student.  To her, Marc Jacobs is what Slash from Guns and Roses is to me.  So I can understand her excitement.

When Fashion Week rolls around, it always makes me look at how I dress.  My "style" or better yet, "fashion sense" has evolved since I was in high school.

I went first through the Hip-Hop stage, where I wore my dads pants because they were as big as a bedsheet on me.  I wore Cross Colors shirts and Fresh Jive.  I wore the overalls with the grafitti on the pant leg and had one overall buckle open.  I wore the baseball cap with the price tag still attached.  I was trying to be like Marky Mark, but ended up looking more like a white Boys II Men, who if you look back now, looked dorky as hell back in the 90's.

Shortly after high school, I got into the whole "Life is a beach" thing.  Listened to a lot of Sublime and wore flip flops and hawaiian shirts (yes I know, my wife would have never looked at me if she met me then).   I bleached my hair and wore orange sun glasses.  I would kick my own ass if I saw myself now.

Then I went on to the whole "I am too cool to look like anyone so I go to the thrift shop and wear cool shit nobody else wants to wear" phase.  This was in my early 20's.  I would wear things like bubble vests with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle thrift shirts (before they became cool and started selling at Urban Outfitters).  I wore plaid pants and hush puppies.  I wore knit skull caps with patterns on them.  I even put leopard print on my hair for about 6 months.  Why? cause nobody else thought of doing it, so I tried it.  It was a terrible idea.  I basically looked like the 70's threw up on me.  And I thought I was cool as hell.  I was so different, but it wasn't cool.  It was creepy.  

Later I got into the skating phase.  While I was into skating for a while, I didn't dress the part.  So, I finally tried it out.  It lasted about 3 weeks when I realized I looked like a 16 year old boy.  Most of my skater buddies pulled off outfits.  Me on the other hand, I looked like I shopped at Wal-Mart for my "I SK8, there for I H8" shirt.  So I stopped.

Then I just went into the whole "Luke Perry- 90210" look around 2002 where I just wore white t-shirts and jeans....ALL THE TIME!  I had like 30 white shirts and that is all I wore.  Why?  Because you can't go out un-matching that way.  

When I met my wife my fashion style kind of gave up.  From 2003 to about when I met her, I kind of gave up and put on whatever was clean in my closet.  Didn't care if it matched, if it looked funny, or if it made sense.  If it was clean, it was going on.  My jeans were still on the baggy side.   My shirts had holes in them and said things like "Ninja' Please".   I wore army hats and bracellets and didn't really give a shit anymore.  I wasn't looking to get laid.  I wasn't looking to impress girls with the way I dress.  I just wanted to skate, surf, and watch Tarintino movies all day long.  

When my wife met me she threw me into her "Transformer" machine and now I dress pretty nicely.  She made me get rid of the baggy jeans and replace them with fitting jeans.  She made me get rid of my "Idaho, no! You-da-ho!" shirts and replaced them with clothes from H&M and Zara.  My ghetto sneakers were replaced by nice, solid black shoes.  My hat collection shrunk dramatically.  I started wearing suit vests over t-shirts.  Started wearing beige slacks when I went out with friends.  Started wearing button ups to dinners.  I became a normal, good looking guy (according to her, not myself).  

I dig it.  I like the way she helped me pick clothes that do make me look my age.  I used to dress like I was still 19, but now, I have embraced the "I will soon have white hairs so I must wear clothes that are not from the mall" anymore.

My most recent purchase is a bit scarry.  When Sexy Swedish Wife and I were shopping in Paris, she went ahead and made a bold move and bought me a leather jacket.  Until that moment, I always thought that the people who pull off leather jackets are people like Brad Pitt when he sits on a motorcycle, or the guy who plays the man-whore on Grey's Anatomy.  I, did not think that I can pull it off.  Leather jackets are either really dorky on someone, or really cool.  Cool guys pull it off and nobody questions them.  The dorks, well, they look like iditos.  You know the ones.  The guy who sits at the dive bar who has a beer belly and is 37 with no hair and talks about this "broad I nailed lastnight back in the alley of the 99 cent store".  

But my wife had confidence that I would pull it off.  The first few days I had it, we were still in Paris, so I wore it and felt ok because 1) every European man wears a leather jacket and 2) I was not nervous because I didn't know anyone.   But since landing in NYC a few weeks ago, it has been too hot to try it out and with the temperature slowly dropping, I know the day will soon come where I will have to try my new leather jacket on outside in New York City.

My wife defends her decision and says I look very handsome.  Which is sweet.  I do trust her because she is a fashion student and well, she worked so hard for 3 years to get rid of all that made me look dorky, that I don't think she would throw it all away by buying me a jacket that takes me 20 steps back.  But, I am nervous.  

I am almost 30, and this is the closest I am to having a mid-life crisis purchase.  Most, go out and buy a motorcycle.  Sure,  I was not the one who bought the jacket, but I am nervous that if I put it on, I will like it and therefor, use it to fill in my mid-life crisis void.  The jacket is the new "white shirt and jeans".  I don't want to over do it and be the guy who ALWAYS wears the jacket.   

So, I will swim lightly.  I will take baby steps into the world of "guys who can pull of leather jackets" and hope I don't fall into the "nope, not cool enough to pull it off" hole. 

Let's hope my wife knows what she is doing.  ;)

P.S.  What did ever happen to Andrew Dice Clay? (pictured above).
 

Thursday, September 4, 2008

The 65th Jewish Holiday of 2008!


Jews have a lot of holidays.  I think we have about 865 holidays each year.  Atleast that is what it feels like.  There is a holiday for when we were slaves in Egypt.  A holiday for when we left Egypt. A holiday for when we ate in the desert while running from Egypt.  A holiday for when we stopped at the gas station to use the bathroom and buy smokes on the way out of Egypt.  Even a holiday when we realized we were back in Egypt because we been walking in a fuckin' circle for the first 39 years.  

All holidays seem to be revolving around the same concept:  How the Jews suffered.  
A Holiday to celebrate how we were inslaved.  A holiday to celebrate how we were at war.   A holiday to celebrate how Mel Brooks didn't get that Oscar he so rightfully deserved.  

We sure suffered a lot it seems.  Atleast that is what they tell us when we are kids.  I still don't know what half the holidays we celebrate are for.  You have "Sukkot", where you build a homeless shelter in your backyard and decorate it with things to celebrate the Jews as they walked in the desert.   I did not realize the Jews back in the day had a Michael's Arts and Craft stores in the desert to buy shit to decorate with.  
Another holiday is "Purim" which is basically the ghetto version of Halloween.  It is celebrating when the Jews were saved from extermination in Persia.  One of the things you should do when celebrating is drink A LOT!  "They tried to kill us, so lets drink to that!"

As I said, I don't get half the holidays, but I do know I have to be at my parents house for the holidays.  When I lived in Los Angeles, I used to drive out to the folks for almost every holiday.  But now as Fine Ass Swedish Wifey and I live in New York (which has more Jews then Los Angeles and the entertainment industry combined), it has become a lot harder to make it to the holidays. 

And so, my mother is a Jew who is suffering, because her son can not make it to Rosh Hashanah this year.  I guess since all the other holidays are about Jews suffering, perhaps we can start a new holiday in the name of my mother. :)

But in all seriousness, I feel guilty.  I do.  But fact is, that with us living in New York, and flights being so expensive, it is very difficult to make it out to LA for a weekend to celebrate.  I know that Rosh Hashanah is one of the BIG/MAJOR holidays (in comparison to the other 820 much less significant holidays), but still.

So today I feel guilt.  Which I guess is something they have a holiday for as well (see Yom Kippur).   

Anyway, sorry mom.  Perhaps her and my father should come celebrate Rosh Hashanah in New York.   After all, this is much more realistic to the story.  NYC has a crap load of Jews who are walking...much like the desert.  So if anything, this is a great place to celebrate!

As guilty as I feel, atleast I am not a Scientologist. Because making a trip out to space for the holidays will be much more expensive. 

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

9021-"uh...how about No!"

Another new "You wish you were as rich as them but know that they live pathetic lives" tv show started yesterday with the new 90210.

Much like Gossip Girl, this is just another show to make your teenage sister wish she was 92 pounds and pretentious.  

I didn't watch the new show.  I already been sucked into Gossip Girl by my wife and while I can not escape the torture of people squinting their eyes when they speak, or dressing up to school in clothes that last time I remember I was in high school, were actually against policy and you were forced to go home and change or forced to wear your gym shirt over it for the rest of the day.  Not to mention you were written up if you wore things like tank tops, hats, unbutton shirts, t-shirts with things like "Jesus loves beer too" and mini-skirts (no, I didn't wear one).

So my Sexy Swedish Wife was watching the new 90210 during my lunch break today (which took up space on my DVR and time away from my lunch.  I literally felt my food coming back up as I watched the first 30 minutes of this show).

I will not review the show as a whole because I didn't watch it as a whole.  I won't.  So if you look for a review, go to another blog that probably has kitties and glitter in the background.  

What I will talk about is dishonesty.  You see, this show (much like Gossip Girl), sends the wrong message to young kids.   For one, the whole cast is thin.  Last time I checked, America is one of the biggest countries (in overweight problems), not to mention teenage kids are not only suffering from being overweight, but many, are also suffering from bulimia.    Mostly because of  TV shows and magazine ads.   

So I thought it was funny to look on the TV during my lunch and see that the whole cast are skinny as hell (in a country who suffers from the highest prevalence of overweight, which in a recent study found the prevalence of overweight in the United States was 12.6 percent in 13 year old boys, 10.8 percent in 13 year old girls, 13.9 percent in 15 year old boys, and 15.1 percent in 15 year old girls.)

Sad, but obesity among teenagers is a huge problem in the US.  As is Bulimia. Research shows that more than 90 percent of those who have eating disorders are women between the ages of 12 and 25 (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill, 2003).  About 5 million Americans suffer from some type of eating disorder, such as Anorexia, Bulimia or Bine Eating. About 95 percent of sufferers are female, and teenagers are especially vulnerable due to stress, relationship problems, biological predispositions and emotional disturbances.

But lets talk about the show.  

First off, these actors are supposed to play 16 year olds, but judging from these photos and the show, they all look almost 30.  Not even believable.  



Secondly, for the 30 minutes I did watch it, I noticed the token black guy they put in there.  Really?  You couldn't do with more then one African-American dude?  And worst part is, HE IS ADOPTED!  Seriously?  You couldn't place a rich, successful, African-American family in Beverly Hills?  Instead the one black guy in Beverly Hills has to be the same rank as a Madonna baby?  Really?


Lastly, they are all beautiful.  I know that shows probably don't become successful if they don't have an attractive cast (if you exclude Everybody Loves Ramon, half the cast of Friends, The Sopranos, Seinfeld, and the Simpsons. :)
So, those who watch this 90210 go "Wow, these kids look like an Abercorombie & Fitch ad". Problem is, kids at Beverly Hills High School don't look like that.  In fact, here are some photos from the Beverly Hills High School website.  Wow, they really nailed it:

The Cast of the show:  


The actual students at  BHHS:





Call me an asshole.  I am not ragging on the real students.  I am just saying that the show could have got more "normal" looking kids.  Oh sure, they have the abnormally large Indian guy or whatever he is, but come on, kids at BHHS do NOT look like this:
That's all I will say.  I give this show one season before it is replaced with a new show about High School kids in Miami.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Love Thy Neighbor (Unless He Is An Idiot)


Everyone hates their neighbor.  Everyone.  Or atleast one of their neighbors (or one they used to have).   

Doesn't matter if you live in the U.S., in Germany or in a hut in a village in Africa, EVERYONE has a neighbor they can't stand.

I have had a long string of crappy neighbors.  Back in 2001 I lived with 3 other buddies in a giant house in Woodland Hills in Los Angeles, CA.  Our neighbor was Paul Waaktaar-Savoy  who was the Guitarist of A-HA.  For those of you who are my wife's age (born in the 80's so not old enough to enjoy the 80's) and have no idea what A-HA is, just look up the words "Take On Me" on youtube.   

Problem is, Pauly (while the coolest guy on the block) loved to play his guitar at like 3 in the morning on a Wednesday.  Sometimes, my roomates and I didn't mind.  Heck, the guy showed up to our party once and I think he took some exstacy.  He didn't live in this house all the time.  I think it was a place for him for when he came to LA to probably record an album.  But when he was there, the music would be on ALL the time. 

A few years later, I moved to a building where the neighbor had a kid who loved knocking on my door and when I would open it up and ask the little 5 year old what the heck he wants, he would laugh and run off.  So finally one day, I opened the door with a Gurilla mask I had from Halloween and scared the shit out of him.  He never came back.  He probably never went to a zoo again either.

Few years after that, Sexy Swedish Wife and I lived in Santa Monica in California.  We had an Irish 55 year old man living across from our bedroom window.  This Irish guy had three things that drove us nuts.   1)  He loved drinking and then following it up with grabbing his guitar (at 2 or 3 in the morning) and singing Irish songs.  I could only make a few of the words out.  Not because of the accent, but because the guy was so drunk he sounded like a screaming baby cow being crushed under a semi-truck.  2) The second thing this guy loved doing is talking REALLY loud.   
I come from a family of loud talkers, so I can tolerate it.  But when you are drunk, the loud talking becomes a bit annoying.  So at 4:00 a.m. on a Thursday, you can hear this guy (who lived with his 20 year old son) talking politics, theories and guitar songs really loud.  I once went to tell them to shut the fuck up.  They told me to "Fuck Off" with the thick Irish way, and I did.  I called the cops and they were slapped with a ticket when the really drunk 20 year old son thought it would be a good idea to tell the officers to "Fuck-Off as well".  idiot.

The third and final thing that annoyed us about our Irish neighbor was that he was a 55 year old man who loved having fetish sex with large black women.  I am all for sex.  I am all for fun sex.  Whatever floats your boat....by all means, have fun.  Just be safe.  But this guy used to love to put the whole leather mask on while putting a gag ball in the womans mouth and smacking her with a whip.  It was gross.  It felt like they were recreating scenes from Pulp Fiction.  
Problem was that we could see and hear them.   We obviously didn't want to try and see, so we shut the windows and blinds.  But, both he and his (endless amount) of lovers, would scream like they were being tortured in Abu Gharib.  You could actually hear the smacking sound of the whip hitting her ass cheeks.  It was gross.

Now, I don't care that he was Irish.  I don't care if he enjoyed drinking.  I don't care if he enjoyed yelling at his son because he couldn't figure out how to play "The Unicorn" correctly on the acoustic guitar.  But, I have to draw the line at screaming during fetish-theme sexual acts after midnight on a weekday.   I can lose sleep over trucks picking up trash, I can lose sleep over a dog down the street barking.  I refuse to lose sleep over a woman screaming "Hit me harder!" to a man who can't reply because the zipper on his leather mask is closed.

Moving on.  One year later and now Wife and I are in NYC.  The apartment in NYC is by far the apartment that has the most neighbors.  I have a neighbor from each side as well as top and bottom.  Someone to our left, someone to our right, someone behind us, above us and below us.  Ofcourse, there is one side that has windows, but that faces the street which has traffic, honking cabs, screaming homless people, singing drunks, and firetruck sirens every 14 minutes. 

I have no problem with any of the neighbors except one.  The guy above.  I have a problem with him because he is an idiot.  

A little back story.  Swedish Sexy Wife and I came home one night a few months ago after a night out on the town drinking.  When we arrived at home at 2:30 in the morning, we found our couch in the living room soaking wet.  Why?  Because water was dripping from my ceiling.  I called the "Super" and told him.  He mentions to me that there are no pipes above me so it can't be a busted pipe. He did say to go check on the neighbor above.  I go bang on the neighbors door and after 10 minutes he answers.  I tell him water is leaking on my sofa.  The guy responds "Well, it ain't me" and then shuts the door.

12 hours later, my super finds out it WAS the fault of the guy above. Idiot installed his Air Conditioner himself and forgot that little part in the instructions that says that you should tilt the A/C outwards from your window, otherwise, your floor will fill up with water.  Which it did.  Filled with water, went thru the cracks in his wooden old floor, and down thru my cheap ceiling and onto my new IKEA couch.  
When I went back up the next night to tell the guy, all he could say is "Sorry dude" and shut the door.  He didn't bother to even offer for dry cleaning of the couch covers.

Few weeks pass and I wake up in bed at 4:00 in the morning.  For some reason, its raining in my bedroom.  I turn the light on and same story as the living room, my ceiling in my bedroom is leaking.  Same routine, I call the super, he tells me to go check on the guy upstairs.  This time I am furious.  I slam on the neighbors door. He opens it up and after telling him what the fuck is going on, he comes back and says "oh yeah dude.  My bathtub flooded.  Sorry." and shuts the door.  You MORON!  How the hell do you flood a bathtub at four in the morning?

I later found out from the Super that this guy has done this like 6 times in the past few years.  He apparently falls asleep or something while his water is running and then it floods his floors.  The super said the last guy in our apartment moved out because he was sick and tired of his stuff getting ruined.  I notified building management but they (being an NYC building management company) basically in a polite way gave me the "We don't really give a s***" speech.

Which leads us to this morning.  This same neighbor is a heavy walker.  I mean, this guy walks around like he is carrying gold bricks and Oprah Winfery in a backpack or something.  Me, I am a light sleeper.  I wake up from the crazy people yelling.  I wake up from the sirens.  I wake up from the cab honks at 7:45 in the morning.  I also wake up when my neighbor decides to stomp around at 5:00 a.m. and move furniture.  This is not the first time this happened.  This guy loves moving furniture around at the early hours.  He has done this a few times within the 8 months we have been living here.  Lastnight was very difficult.  He was dragging God knows what from the living room into the bedroom at 5:25 in the morning.  It sounded like as if he woke up at 5:00 and said to himself "you know what?  if I move my TV and sofa into my bedroom.  And move my bed and dresser into my living room, I will have a much bigger bedroom.  I should try this out! Like, now!"

It really sounded like he was moving his whole house from one side to the other.  Nevermind the fact that we just wrapped up Labor Day weekend where this guy had three days to move shit around.  No! He would rather wait until Tuesday's early morning to shift his furniture around.  

Long story short, I have been up since 5:25 a.m.  I am tired and cranky.  I have had 2 cups of coffee and its only 10:30.  I am about to go get another one after I post this.

I will probably go say something to the guy later this evening but it seems pointless since he will probably just open the door, say "sorry dude" and then shut it.  Then he will probably go flood his bathtub while passing out.  

Just wished he could pass out in the tub while he's flooding it.  

I am so tired.  I am done now.