I think 6-7 weeks between posts is perfectly reasonable…

An encounter with an 80’s icon also-ran


I decided to tell it in the style of Sophia Petrillo with a little Star Trek TNG thrown in for variety (don’t ask me why because I do not know)


Picture it, Santa Monica CA approximately 1025pm this evening –


(At this point you should be picturing Dorothy rolling her eyes in exasperation, Blanche giving just enough attention to keep an ear out should the story contain any sexual elements and Rose focusing with the undivided and rapt attention 5-year olds are able to maintain when their favorite cartoon is on)


A beautiful and confident black woman is strolling leisurely home from a local Santa Monica bar called the Hide OUT, she was staying with one of her many awesome cousins for a few weeks at their very comfortable summer condo rental while she waited for the room at her latest place to be vacated by the current roommate. She had wanted to watch the last half the Oakland Raiders trouncing by her beloved 49ers amongst other humans, so she did a quick Google to find a place that was within walking distance, but upon arrival discovered it was totally empty and only got a handful of additional customers over the next few hours, despite its prime location on PCH. An SF native, she initially suspected that the all caps in the word “out” might be of some significance but in true LA fashion it was purely an ill-advised, inexplicable, stylistic choice by the original owner, like spelling the name Jennifer with 3 ‘Ys’ or parents who name their children after drug store beauty products products like Nivea (an R&B singer and a pretty awesome moisturizer) or Neutrogena (a line of bath products and the name of a girl with whom I had gone to school). Satan’s Leviathan this town is filled with dumbasses making a whole lotta pointless decisions but I digress.  


After a little over 2 hours in the near empty bar – her favorite kind being the near empty type since she likes to read in bars – and at precisely 10pm, the bar became quickly and obnoxiously filled with European, Middle Eastern and Japanese trust funded douche-bags and the anorexic douche-bagettes who pretend to love them. B&CBW’s jackass threshold was rapidly reaching critical levels and as she was alone (well, except for some trace tachyon particles), she felt it prudent to leave the bar or risk catastrophe, namely a gruesome verbal evisceration of a socially retarded, ridiculously entitled, willfully ignorant, halfwit and/or his equally half-witted and (likely) ravenously hungry, arm-piece. B&CBW made a quick stop at the nearby liquor store for some wine to drink that evening and while she began her deep clean of the living room and bathrooms the next day. Lost in her thoughts and enjoying the comfortable night air she inadvertently turned a block early and found herself on an idyllic but unfamiliar block. The lack of street lights made it difficult to get her bearings but after stopping in front of night quite huge Tudor style home that had just turned on its outside lights she spotted her cousin’s high-rise apartment. However, she was uncertain as to which direction was her best option to reach it if she continued down the street as it could abruptly end in a cul-de-sac or some equally asinine obstacle. On the other hand, if she went back the way she had it come it would add an additional 8 more minutes to her journey and her notoriously flat feet were starting to ache. As she considered her options, there emerged from the not quite huge Tudor style home, saying his goodbyes to what appeared to be dinner guests, easily forgettable but still appealing 80’s actor Judge Reinhold. B&CBW approached what she felt to be one of the least intimidating individuals she’d ever come across as he was waving final goodbyes to his guests.


“Excuse me,” she said in as pleasant a tone as she was capable (a naturally pleasing tone of voice not being one of her strong suits), he appeared to have not heard her so she repeated herself maintaining the pleasant tone with some effort. “Excuse me,” he turned and looked down at her, he’s much taller than you would think.


“Oh hello!” he said in an inappropriately jaunty manner given she was a stranger, approaching him at his home, late at night. The folksiness of his manner threatened to initiate B&CBW’s gag reflex and she was positive she could have negotiated her way into his house fairly easily (a thrilling tour of a real life celebrity home!) however she feared the interior was likely to be nauseatingly homey. She sensed it contained copious lamps with green, canvas, shades and quilted throws on all the couches and armchairs. Quickly she turned towards her cousin’s high-rise so tantalizingly close but seemingly unreachable, pointing at the building she asked what her best option for reaching that building. “Oh, well! Yes! You can just keep heading down this street. It turns or rather curves onto the block you’re trying to reach.” His response, though only lasting mere seconds, conveyed such genuine, avid, earnestness and incredibly sincere joy at his ability to assist B&CBW that she felt a small but insistent urge to commit physical violence upon his person. Fortunately, the urge was brief and she instead thanked him and continued on her way.


That beautiful and confident black woman… was me. (Here Dorothy would say “Oh, Ma!” in an either an exasperated or disbelieving tone) and that moderately forgotten 80’s actor was probably only three more hit movies away from full-blown icon status. Unfortunately, he hitched his wagon to the body switching comedy train with the flick “Vice Versa” co-starring Fred Savage. A picture that had the predictable misfortune (given the rampant unoriginality of Hollywood) to come out the same year as both “Like Father, Like Son” starring I believe Kirk Cameron and Dudley Moore (Here Blanche will perk up at the name of Mr. Dudley Moore, as she will likely call him in her slutty, southern lilt) and “18 Again” with George Burns and some kid whose name I am uninterested in Googling (Rose will probably know what forgotten teen actor was the co-star of this turd as he’s probably from St. Olaf and his real name is probably Keeghan Gerhard). 1988 gave us the poop-filled hat trick of predicable, bullshit body switching flicks and it stopped the wholly unexplainable forward momentum of an actor whose name is a modern profession not like those jackasses walking around with the name ‘Cooper’, we don’t need your casks and barrels ya obsolete losers!

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I might start using this shit here for something other than Zuma Blitz (title now seems silly but I change nothin for no one!

NOTE: the following was first posted to FaceBook as an expirement June 30 2011

This Weeks Episode: Pilot – COUNT THE ADVERBS

About ten years ago it was suggested, by a number of different people in my life, that I write some sort of blog, to which I had the following inner monologue,

“I might be a nerd but I do have my dignity for chrissake. What the hell I look like thrusting my, admittedly fascinating and rich, inner psyche upon the webisphere like some misunderstood teen, pathetically crying out for attention from a cruel and uncaring world? I’m the kind of nerd that get’s laid regularly and usually well, I’m gonna go do that, this bloggering business is for the birds; birds who should be working on getting more dick in their lives instead of blogging. Damn dummys.”

Now, in my defense, blogging was first proposed to me at a time when a lot of blogs were A) tech related – which is the one aspect of nerd culture that is not really in my wheel house – I understand and find hilarious like 5 or 6 of every 10 posts on xkcd.com B) the pitiful ramblings of lonely, over-emotional individuals who, it seemed, couldn’t afford an analyst of some kind C) diatribes, so poorly written in terms of grammar, spelling and style as to be offensive, no matter how innocuous their content; penned by attention seeking, jackasses, so delusional that, to this day, those early adopters of the online journal honestly believe their creatively void musings, on all manner of inane subjects, somehow added to the world in a positive fashion and finally and most importantly of all given my current finances D) not the potentially high-end call girl level money making operations they can be today.

So other than the sweet scratch I may someday stand to make, why start now, when the information superhighway is positively saturated, like a woman caught out on the first day of her cycle without a feminine protection product in sight, with blogs of all shapes and sizes. The answer is, I don’t really know. I suspect a large reason is boredom. I have been without a day job (necessary to supplement the pittance I am able to eke out as a writer) for about 16-months; though I have found a lot of different projects and activities to keep my days occupied while I take these next steps in my life, there are many days when I do absolutely nothing. Even someone as happily lazy as I am can sit around in the nude, watching Iron Chef America and sipping Jack Daniels straight from the bottle for only so long before the ennui rises to a deafening crescendo. I even volunteered some. When you get to know me better, the idea that I might demonstrate any altruistic tendency towards an individual who is not a direct blood relation will sound just a touch ludicrous; that experience just may have been my “aha moment”. I wonder if I am the first Oprah disciple who’s using this aphorism to justify not giving of my time in service to others and instead somehow achieve something which can only bring me alone personal glory. I certainly hope so, nothing like being a trailblazer. There is also some need to put a bit of my personal creativity out there – wherever “there” might be, since most of my opportunities to write for cash and prizes are on projects that I did not have a hand in creating and though still satisfying to work on, it’s just not the same when you didn’t bloody the sheets birthing the thing yourself.

I could, of course, just post my unfinished screenplay about a wizened and brassy African-American grandmother and family matriarch who is brutally murdered by her relations when they grow weary of her inexplicable and constant mispronunciation of simple words such as, “Aaymend!” rather than “Amen” and “Halleu-yer” as opposed to “Hallelujah”, the unnecessarily loud volume of her voice especially when dispensing her dangerously simple-minded brand of prosaic wisdom (usually while committing mild to moderate violence upon the person she is dropping knowledge on) and most of all, the steadily increasing feeling that she is in fact, not their family matriarch at all but an imposter whom they further suspect to be a man in drag. However, if I did that some unaccountably successful, marginally talented and yet mystifyingly prolific media mogul might come along and turn it into a TV show produced with a staggering level of incompetence and faineance for TBS. Plus; it’s still a work in progress. Thinking up dialogue for transparent, one-dimensional, urban archetypes is harder than it looks.

Therefore, I will instead post the randomness that flits around my whiskey-soaked brain from day-to-day. I don’t think there will be any over arching theme other than an unprecedented look into the thoughts I normally just let stew and disappear. Those of you who know me and were not aware of the potential for strangeiosity that lay within my mind, may marvel at how well adjusted I seemed to you all this time. Those of who have known all this time, you finally get the lurid details. Those who don’t know me well, while I am confident you will be entertained, I expect that I probably will not be afforded the chance to get to know most of you better, but it’s okay as I must make sacrfices for my art.

If I am able to pull myself away from my thrice weekly searches for extreme gaping videos on YouPorn long enough to compose a missive to the ether with some regularity, than I may eventually move this kit-n-kaboodle to a real-live, actual, blogging location (BlogSpot or WordPress or someshit). In the meantime, though I’ll just be putting this shit up on this shit right here.

That is all for now.

bye losers,


PS – If I tagged you, that means you are someone who’s opinion I value. So now you’ve read my very 1st bloggity-blog-blog, please post a comment if you would be so kind. If I didn’t tag you that doesn’t mean I don’t value your comment I may have just forgot or something (take note of the repeated references to my possible drinking habits in this blog) so don’t think I don’t wanna hear your thoughts on my writings…



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